Beauty and the Captor

A Dark Romance Trilogy

Nicole Casey

Copyright © 2019 by Nicole Casey. All Rights Reserved.

Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronically, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the proper written permission of the copyright owner, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.

Contents

Audiobook Announcement

I - Her Beast

Prologue

1. Scarlett

2. Scarlett

3. Derek

4. Scarlett

5. Derek

6. Scarlett

7. Derek

8. Scarlett

II - Her Savior

Prologue

1. Scarlett

2. Scarlett

3. Derek

4. Derek

5. Scarlett

6. Scarlett

7. Derek

8. Derek

9. Scarlett

III - Her Dom

Prologue

1. Scarlett

2. Derek

3. Derek

4. Derek

5. Scarlett

6. Scarlett

7. Derek

8. Derek

9. Derek

10. Scarlett

11. Scarlett

12. Scarlett

13. Derek

14. Derek

Epilogue

Have You Read My New Reverse Harem Romance Series?

Book 1: Two Billionaires in Vegas - A Menage Romance

1. Erin

2. Jackson

3. Erin

4. Caleb

Love by Numbers

Also By Nicole Casey

About the Author

Audiobook Announcement

Her Beast is now available on Audible! Get your audiobook now HERE along with the ebook version to enjoy the story even more.

I - Her Beast

Prologue

Derek

I’d done a good job. I acknowledged to myself as Senor Ruiz came to retrieve his latest acquisition. But I wasn’t proud. Marcos was proud; it was clear by the way his eyes glowed with approval. He patted me on the back as the other man took hold of the lead and led the product of weeks of mind-bending work out of the room. My work. Countless hours of work.

“This one was important, and I knew you wouldn’t let me down, son,” Marcos congratulated me as he motioned for a servant from across the room. “You never fail to impress me.”

The servant appeared at his side seconds later, holding open a box of Cuban cigars. Marcos selected two from the box and handed me one before striking a match to light mine and then his own. I inhaled deeply, savoring the familiar taste of a victory cigar. The earthy, tobacco flavor slid across my tongue as the pungent smoke perfumed the air.

As I’d grown into the life that had been laid out for me, I’d come to view Marcos in some shady area between friend and father. I remembered waiting for moments like these, anxious for my hard work to amount to something in his eyes. Years later, there was none of that eagerness now, but a quiet hum of satisfaction nonetheless.

As Senor Ruiz made his way down the long hall, I couldn’t help but watch the symbol of my success. Her hips swayed as she crawled gracefully down the hall, her head down and her body naked except for the leather collar around her slim neck. She hesitated for just a moment as she reached the door, and I felt the familiar tightening in my gut. She’d performed flawlessly for the past two weeks, and I hoped she wasn’t reverting to old habits. But with a swift tug on the leash attached to her collar, she crawled out the door, and I lost sight of her.

Yes, I’d done a good job. The girl had been stubborn and prideful the day she’d been brought to me, but not anymore. Now, she would make an ideal slave for her new master. I breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn’t only the embarrassment of her slipping up that had worried me, but rather, after so long working with this one, I’d long since tired of her. I was ready for a new challenge, something that would send more than an innate sizzle of arousal through my veins.

It wouldn’t last long. It never did. One slave was no different from the next, even in the early days before they were conditioned for sale. They fought and they pleaded, but quickly they gave up the fight, allowing me to mold them into precisely what they needed to be.

“You were built to command, my son,” Marcos said, drawing my attention back.

I wasn’t built for this, some part of me wanted to shout. But the truth of the matter was…I was. I’d watched the other men working with the slaves for years, and not even the most experienced of them had acquired complete domination over a spineless, young girl in the time it had taken me to turn the obstinate daughter of Marcos’ biggest rival into an adept slave.

“And in celebration of your success, I have a surprise for you,” he continued, draping his arm around my shoulder and leading me down the hall to his office.

I didn’t like surprises. Surprises meant unexpected, and I liked to know what to expect. Still, I confess I was mildly curious. Marcos’ body seemed to be thrumming with anticipation.

Once inside his office, he placed a file folder down on the desk and motioned for me to take it. Another job? Another slave? This wasn’t my idea of a surprise, but I opened up the folder to see what was inside. And then I saw the photo lying on top of a neat stack of papers. My stomach clenched and my rusted heart thudded heavily in my chest. It was him—the man who had taken everything from me. James Donovan.

“Where is he, Marcos?” I was no longer tired. I was primed, ready. An old rage pulsed through my veins and my fingers shook with impatience. I could feel the cold steel of the Glock in my hand, hear the grind of steel against steel as I cocked it. I could even envision Donovan’s face in that split second before the bullet tore through his body. I’d longed for this moment and I’d waited for so long.

“No, Derek.”

“No? What do you mean no?” Why the hell was he dangling the man in front of me just to deprive me of the vengeance that was, by right, mine?

“I mean, I am not going to let you rush into this hastily. It will be over too quick, and you’ll be left with nothing but the bitter taste of disappointment. Your revenge cannot be swift.”

I wanted to argue with him. I’d wanted Donovan dead for so long, the idea of postponing the kill even a minute longer felt almost unbearable. But Marcos was right. I wanted him dead, yes, but I also wanted him to suffer. I’d regret acting on impulse, no matter how strong that impulse was.

I took a deep breath, hoping the smoke-tinged air would somehow infuse my body with even a modicum of the calm I’d felt just moments ago. “What did you have in mind, Marcos?”

“James Donovan’s wife is dead, but he has a daughter. And you, Derek, have a very unique set of skills.”

Hmm. Well, it wasn’t the most original plan—since it was the exact same method of revenge Marcos had used on his own rival, but it was effective. Take the thing of most importance to a man and make him watch as you broke it and transformed it into a shell of what it once was.

I’d already known Donovan had a daughter. Even twelve years later, I could vaguely remember the feisty little redhead with eyes that were too big for her face and a chip on her shoulder. If there was any of that girl left in her now, she’d pose an even bigger challenge than the last slave. But there were few things in life better than a good challenge.

“You know where she is?” I asked though I was already certain he did.

Marcos nodded.

“I want to get a look at her, and then I’ll send Vito and Alejandro to pick her up.”

“I think you’re making a wise decision, my friend,” he said, patting me on the back once again.

A short flight, and an even shorter drive later, I sat in a nondescript Lexus across from a dilapidated looking park. The girl would be turning the corner onto the street any minute—like she did every day at precisely 8:45 in the morning on her way to work—according to Marcos’ carefully gathered intel.

Fuck me, I breathed, as she turned onto the street. The hair was the same—a fiery auburn that put copper redheads to shame—but everything else about her had changed. She was tall, and though the shapeless coat and clothing she wore did nothing to accentuate it, it was obvious she was slim. She moved with a kind of grace I hadn’t seen before, and the gentle sway of her hips beneath her bulky clothing had me following her every movement, like the hypnotizing swing of a pendulum.

As she came closer, I could see that her oval face had lost all traces of its childhood pudginess, and her eyes, though larger than the typical woman’s, fit into the delicate features of her face perfectly. Something about the look in her eyes though told me she was lost, not geographically, but as if part of herself was missing. She looked in-need, though nothing about her made her appear needy.

I fought the sudden urge to get out of the car. I wanted to take her back with me now. I wanted to bend her. Shape her. Make her needy for nothing but the will of her master. But I stayed where I was. The plan had been set, and I wouldn’t deviate from it in my haste to have this beauty.

She would come soon enough.

1

Scarlett

I skimmed through the photos as they came out of the film-developing-machine. I was supposed to flip through them quickly and then shove them in an envelope for our customers, but I never did that. I liked the pictures because no one ever took snapshots of the sad moments in their life. It was always the happy memories caught on camera.

I look at the photos, and I imagine what life has in store for them next. It’s silly, of course, but I’ve been told I’m a natural born storyteller. And so, I fill in the missing pieces between snapshots. Like what had happened after the Robinson’s returned from their honeymoon in Aruba—a trip that had used up nearly a dozen rolls of film? Did she quickly realize the man couldn’t screw the cap back on the toothpaste to save his life? Did he wonder how the hell the woman could possibly need three dozen pairs of shoes? I imagine their first fight came quickly—because they’re both passionate and stubborn people. In the end, though, they’ll always work it out. They aren’t perfect, and they’ll spend a lot of time-fighting, but they love each other. And so long as they never forget that, they’ll be OK.

And what about Lindsay Miller’s graduation photos? I think she’ll meet her first serious boyfriend in college. He’ll be a great guy, but after a year or two, they’ll realize they just aren’t right for each other. But they won’t part on angry terms, and they’ll even get together for coffee a couple of times after a nasty breakup or particularly bad exam. Five years later when she’s finished college and found Mr. Right, she’ll even invite her first love to her wedding, and just for a minute, both of them will wonder if they’d made a mistake breaking up.

Hey, it’s not picture-perfect all the time—I said I was a good storyteller, not a fabricator of fairy tales.

Why did I do it? It all came down to the same thing, really: to create a life that existed beyond this moment, because if it existed for them, it could exist for me, too, right?

The bell above the door to the shop jingled, and I shoved the stack of photos in my hand into the waiting envelope as nonchalantly as I could. It was all well and good to daydream about customers’ lives; it was another thing entirely to get caught doing it. Aside from looking like a nosy snoop, I was fairly certain there were laws against this sort of thing—or at least company policies that discouraged peeping-tom employees.

Fortunately, the customer who had just walked in and caught me unaware was Mrs. Jenkins, and while the woman had a heart of gold, she had the eyesight of a potato. I’d developed her film a half hour ago, and it was obvious she had taken the pictures herself since half the prints were of the inside of the lens cap.

It was rather strange for the woman to be out so late, but the reason became clear a moment later when her son walked in with a half-crazed gleam in his eyes. His hands were full of bags from every store on the strip—they’d been Christmas shopping. She couldn’t get around on her own, and her son stepped up to help her out as often as he could. There were limits to just how many tea cozies, handmade quilts and lace doilies a person could peruse before they went a little screwy. And it looked like Mr. Jenkins Jr. had passed that mark about an hour ago.

“Good evening, Mrs. Jenkins, Mr. Jenkins. Enjoying the weather?”—the usual small talk through which two or more people completely ignored what they would really like to say in favor of the same pleasant, but meaningless banter ad nauseam. I was very good at small talk. I’d spent most of my life engaged in nothing but small talk. My father wasn’t the meaningful conversation-type.

“It’s lovely, dear,” she replied while her son nodded and ran his fingers through the sparse hair on the top of his head, making it stick straight up. I didn’t think he cared. Since he looked about two minutes away from ripping it out from the roots, what difference did it make if it stood on end?

Something else registered in his eyes a moment later though, as his gaze darted back and forth between the envelope of photos in my hand and my chest. I turned away and took as much time as I could retrieving and opening a bag for Mrs. Jenkins photos. I didn’t want him to look at me that way. I didn’t want any of them to look at me that way.

I slipped the envelope into the bag and turned around to hand it to Mrs. Jenkins while I kept my eyes carefully averted from her son. A few more mundane pleasantries and the pair bustled out the door, hoping to squeeze in a little more shopping before the stores closed up for the night. I checked the clock—five more minutes and I was done for the day, too. And since it was unlikely anyone would come dashing in at the last minute, I shut down the developer machine and started to close out the cash register.

Six minutes later, I closed and locked the door behind me. The busy street was still filled with people making away with their last-minute purchases. I watched them for a moment. What had they been shopping for? Christmas presents for parents and children, nieces and nephews? Who were they in a hurry to get home to?

A young woman darted across the street to her car, bags flapping at her side. I imagined she’d just found the perfect present for her impossible mother-in-law. She was hurrying home to show off her find to her husband, and he’d pretend to be vexed that she’d found the better present. Really though, he was happy that his wife put so much effort into the woman who could be more than difficult to get along with sometimes.

OK, that was a little fairy-tale-ish, but it was Christmastime. I was allowed to be a bit fanciful. Reality could kiss my ass.

The woman dropped her bags in her trunk and slipped into the car, and as if that was my cue, I turned away and started down the street in the opposite direction. I stayed on the main street for a block and a half, but then veered off through the parking lot of the Cash n’ Carry—it took four minutes off the walk home. During the warm, summer months I didn’t mind the extra time to get home, but it was winter now, and the wind had picked up. It billowed up my calf-length skirt and snuck up the sleeves of my long, puffy coat. I could even feel it testing the edges of my knitted hat as it tried to find a way in. I pulled my hat down further, so low that my eyelashes brushed against the brim when I blinked.

Three more blocks and I’d be home, though that prospect was always met with conflicting emotions. The temperature was warm there, but the company was ice cold. It was home though. Right now, with the chilly evening air biting my skin, I’d be content to hide away in my room all night if it meant escaping the bitter wind’s persistent assault. I picked up my pace, ignoring the way my cold muscles objected. And the speed helped. It warmed the core of my body and spread some of that heat to my shoulders and thighs.

Suddenly, a loud screech sounded behind me. It made me skitter forward several steps. It was so close I thought whatever made the sound was going to plow right into me.

I spun around to find the front bumper of a van less than a foot from my calves. The wind had been blowing so hard I hadn’t heard it approach. Nothing but that piercing screech. The driver must have lost control of the vehicle on a patch of ice, and I breathed a grateful sigh, realizing that a few more inches and it could have splattered me like a bug on a windshield. Yes, maybe that was a bit melodramatic, but could you blame me after such a close call?

The driver got out of the vehicle, and I waved to him, letting him know I was fine. While I appreciated his concern, it was still just as cold out now as it had been thirty seconds ago. Since there was no harm done, I didn’t want to hang around to see if I could get frostbite.

“I’m fine, really,” I called above the wind when he continued to approach.

The passenger door opened at the same time, and another man stepped out. He looked unassuming; tall, but lanky. He was probably just concerned I’d been hurt.

Their approach was casual enough that I couldn’t pinpoint any particular reason to be frightened, but an icy shiver tremored down my spine that had nothing to do with the cold wind whipping my long braid against my face.

I hadn’t had a whole lot of run-ins with creepy freaks, but I wasn’t about to stick around to find out if this was one such occasion. So, I turned on my heels and took off like a sprinter. I’d wanted to try out for the track and field team in my last year of high school, but my father had never let me. Right then though, I bet I put the school’s best runner—Julie Wells—to shame. The ground was a blur beneath my feet and the trees that lined the street whipped by.

I heard footsteps behind me, heavy and fast. They were following me, running after me. But I was fast. I could beat Julie Wells around the school’s track course with both hands tied behind my back. So, I fought against the panic that welled in my chest and willed my legs to go faster.

Faster.

But their footsteps grew louder. And louder.

Oh god, they were close.

Within seconds, they were right behind me. Their heavy footfalls sounded against the pavement in cadence with my own. I tried to speed up, to stretch my legs out farther, but I was losing ground fast.

A hand gripped my arm from behind, and I screamed, silently cursing Julie Wells for making me think I was fast. The hand yanked me back so hard my feet came out from under me.

I kicked and flailed, but the vice-like grip on my arm didn’t relent. I felt like a marionette hanging awkwardly on one string.

I screamed louder as panic filled my chest. My breath came faster and my heart beat wildly. I could feel my pulse pounding in my head. I wasn’t beat yet though. I couldn’t give in, I had to fight.

I struggled to get my feet beneath me, and the moment I did, I lunged upward, not to my full height, just high enough to sink my teeth into the meaty hand on my arm. I bit hard, thanking the stars for the incisor teeth I’d always thought were just a little too sharp.

They were the only weapon I had, and I sunk them deep into the hand. A thick, metallic-tasting liquid flooded my mouth. I’d done damage—I knew it, but still, the bleeding hand held firm. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw another hand coming at me—fast.

And the next thing I knew I was lying on the ground. At first, a surge of victory flooded my veins. I’d won. I was free.

My shoulder hurt and my head throbbed, but I’d done it—I’d made him release me. I felt feral…powerful…

…And then I felt like a caged animal. A hand gripped each of my arms and yanked me upright. The faces that hadn’t seemed threatening when the man had stepped out of the van just a moment ago now twisted into evil sneers.

“You’re going to pay for that, bitch!” the man with the bloody hand growled while the two of them dragged me back toward their vehicle.

I dug my feet into the ground, but it did little to slow their pace.

I screamed.

They continued unperturbed.

And I knew why. A block ago, someone would have heard me. Someone would have rushed out to help, or called the police…or done something. But here, there was a rundown park to one side of me and an abandoned apartment building on the other. My only hope was that someone would be passing by like I had been. Still, it was hope, and I latched on, screaming so loud it hurt my own ears, and whipping my head back and forth, searching for someone—anyone. Please, anyone!

There was no one.

Beside the van, Bloody-hand started to open the door, but he jerked his hand away. I must have bitten into something substantial. He howled in pain.

It gave me a brief moment’s satisfaction to know I’d done some serious damage, and it renewed my dwindling hope of escape. I’d hurt him once; I could do it again.

But my hope was short-lived. Both hands shoved me, and I fell forward, banging my forehead against the carpeted floor of the van.

“Dose her,” Bloody-hand snarled.

That didn’t sound good—rather ironic, though. I’d spent my entire teenagehood avoiding every street drug and stolen prescription drug that circulated my high school, and these two buffoons were going to drug me? It probably shouldn’t have been the first thought to occur to me, but it was almost surreal. Two minutes ago, I’d been hurrying home like any other normal day. And now…now I was desperately clinging to the fleeting hope I could escape these monsters.

In two minutes, I’d gone from normal to fighting for my life. And I was losing.

A weight pressed against my back—an elbow, maybe—and it stopped me from throwing my body backward, but I couldn’t stop fighting. I raised my feet off the ground and kicked out, again and again. My boots weren’t pretty—I didn’t wear pretty things—but they were sturdy. If I could just make contact, I knew it would buy me a second or two.

Something sharp jabbed my neck. It took me a second to realize what it was—a needle. When they’d said they were going to dose me, I envisioned one of them plugging my nose while the other forced me to swallow a bunch of pills. I hadn’t anticipated this. How could I have? My life had been normal two minutes ago.

I tried to kick out again, but my foot flopped limply back to the ground.

Again.

This time, I could barely make my leg move at all. My legs were so heavy. My whole body felt heavy actually, though I don’t know how that was possible since the rest of me was lying on the scratchy carpet. Could something seem heavy if you weren’t trying to lift it?

When my eyelids grew heavy, the panic I’d been holding at bay flooded my chest. I couldn’t keep it back any longer. Whatever they’d injected me with was doing this, and in a few seconds, I was going to be unconscious—I just knew it—and there wouldn’t be a damn thing I could do to stop them.

I screamed in my head, too weak to open my mouth to let the sound out. And then I was even too weak to do that, and I drifted into oblivion.

It was only in that last moment of consciousness the thought hit me; would I ever wake up again?

2

Scarlett

I came awake slowly, but right away I knew it wasn’t the first time I’d woken up since slipping into a drug-induced unconsciousness in the back of their van. The last time was cloudy, but it was there. I remembered bits and pieces. I was on a bed, and I was struggling with them. Their hands had been everywhere, ripping and tearing at my clothes. Brutal grips as I was turned this way and that, pinched and squeezed.

I recalled pleading, but it had done nothing. And then, when they’d torn off my bra, I’d gone berserk, kicking and flailing and screaming.

And then nothing.

Had they jabbed me with another needle? Or knocked me unconscious? By the way my head was throbbing from a focal point in the back, I figured I could guess which one.

But then what? What had they done when I was no longer fighting them, no longer even conscious to make the weakest of protests?

Fear lodged in my throat when I thought about the most likely thing they’d done. They’d been stripping me—on a bed. What else could their intentions have been?

But mentally assessing myself, I didn’t feel any different. There was no soreness between my thighs to suggest they’d used me that way. I could feel everything else—my shoulder ached, my arms hurt where they’d first grabbed me. And I could feel every bump and bruise from their rough-handling of me. But not that. They hadn’t raped me.

But why not? Were they waiting until I was conscious again? Is that what they wanted?—for me to fight them, knowing I was going to lose? If I continued to lay here, eyes closed and perfectly still, would they get bored with me, or think they’d done some sort of irreversible damage with their last blow?—no fun to play with a brain-damaged victim, was it? It was my best plan at the moment, or rather, my only plan until I could come up with something better.

So, I did my best to keep my breathing steady and keep my eyes closed without squeezing them too tightly-shut and giving myself away. I tried to keep my limbs still, but that was lowest on the priority list. It seemed reasonable that the body might move innately when unconscious like it did in ordinary sleep.

And then I moved on to assessing my situation.

I was on a bed, presumably the same one I’d woken up on before, but that was little help because I hadn’t had the time to look around and survey my surroundings then.

I was naked—I cringed mentally at the realization, but I struggled to keep my features smooth. But I could feel the same comfortably warm air across every inch of my body that wasn’t pressed against the mattress. My legs had been left—or positioned—slightly parted, and I felt an overwhelming urge to squeeze them shut. I resisted—just barely.

There was no noise in the room aside from my relatively stable breathing, which suggested there was no one else here. That made it tempting to open my eyes, but not yet. For all I knew, it was a really big room and I just couldn’t hear the others breathing.

All right, so, I was naked, on a bed, in a room, the door to which may or may not be locked, and the men who’d done this to me may or may not be in the room with me. So far, this wasn’t looking very good for me.

I ever so slowly moved one hand from where it laid near my side, just enough to ascertain the likelihood of whether I’d been restrained. My hand seemed to move freely though, which made it unlikely.

That was at least one relief. If they did come at me again, I’d have some small chance of catching them off-guard and escaping—through the door which may or may not be locked. Still, that sounded like the beginnings of a plan to me. Not a good one, but better than nothing.

I’d listen for the sound of them approaching and the moment they did, I’d spring away and out the door—assuming it wasn’t locked from the outside or with a key. There was no point in worrying about it—there was no way for me to know ahead of time. And there was no sense in trying to fight them. I’d failed miserably on more than one attempt, and feared it would inevitably only lead to a repeat.

But minutes ticked by and still no movement. Maybe they’d just left me here for good. But just as I was beginning to entertain the possibility, I heard the grind of a lock and a door opened a second later.

I did my damnedest to fight the panic rising in my chest. I wanted to scream, to run, not to lay here and wait patiently for them to approach. But by some miracle, I was able to do it.

As the intruders came closer though, I realized there was only one set of footsteps. Not two. Where was the other one? Was he waiting by the door?—blocking it to impede my escape? Damn it. With my eyes closed and no sounds other than the single set of footsteps, I had no way of knowing. And I didn’t exactly have a whole lot of time to modify the plan. So, I’d stick with the original, and if there was an obstacle in my way, I’d find some way to charge right through it. Maybe there was something I could grab quickly to use as a weapon—like a lamp, or even a heavy book—and I could throw it or ram it into him.

The footsteps were only a couple of feet away, and I could hear him breathing. The sound was faint but somehow reassuring. He wasn’t some kind of larger-than-life monster. He was just human. Flesh and blood. And I could do this.

He stopped right next to the bed, but be remained there. I’d swear I could feel his eyes on me and the urge to cover up skyrocketed. Not yet. Don’t do it, I cautioned myself. I wondered which one it was. The one I’d bit or the one who’d jabbed me with the needle? It didn’t really smell like either of them. In fact, it smelled nothing like them. It was a heady, woody scent, with an undertone of something that could only be described as one hundred percent male—not the old sweat and gym socks kind of ‘male’, but virile, the kind of scent a woman couldn’t help but notice—apparently, no matter the situation.

“I know you’re awake,” a voice spoke from next to the bed—a voice I’d never heard before. It was clear and deep, with the faintest hint of an accent—though I couldn’t place what kind. It definitely wasn’t either of the men I’d been expecting.

I resisted the urge to open my eyes. Yes, I’d probably been busted, and it seemed like there was little point in keeping up the charade. But it was possible it was a trick, that he was just trying to find out if I was awake.

So caught up in thought, I wasn’t prepared for it when a finger brushed across my lips. I hadn’t been expecting it. His touch was gentle and fleeting, not like the way the other men had mauled at me.

My eyes flew open and I gasped. This was certainly not what I’d been expecting, though it rather lined up with the scent of him. The man was beautiful. Well, maybe that was a poor choice of words since there wasn’t anything feminine about him. But handsome was just too weak a word to describe the man hovering above me. Dark hair, vivid blue eyes, perfectly balanced features, a strong jaw…the list went on, but the eyes kept drawing me back. For the briefest of moments, they even put me at ease, as if I knew somehow they were a comfort, not a danger.

But then logic won out and I scurried off the bed, away from him, dragging the covers from the bed with me as I went. There was no one standing in the doorway to block my exit, but the door was closed. I hadn’t heard him close it, and I could only hope he hadn’t had the sense to lock it.

I dashed to the door, but the handle wouldn’t budge. I kept trying it anyway, expecting to feel his hands latch on me from behind at any moment, but they didn’t.

Abandoning the door, I spun around to fight him off, but he was still standing next to the bed, though he wore an amused expression now and his vivid eyes were filled with heat.

I spotted another door out the corner of my eye, and I ran for it, hoping it might lead me to an escape before the cocky man came after me. But it was a bathroom, I realized once I’d made it through the door uninhibited. An enormous walk-in shower and giant bathtub…but, not a single door or window.

It made sense now why he hadn’t bothered wasting his energy coming after me—there was nowhere for me to go. I stayed in the bathroom with the bedcover wrapped around me, huddled in one corner as if I could will the wall to swallow me up.

It didn’t.

His footsteps sounded quietly across the carpet, and I pressed my body harder against the wall. He stopped at the doorway, wearing the same amused grin. If I wasn’t terrified, I would have wanted to slap that cocky expression right off his too-handsome face. As it was though, I had no intentions of coming out of my corner—maybe ever.

After a moment he turned away and walked over to the bathroom sink. I wished I’d picked a corner in the other room because even though the bathroom was bigger than any I’d seen, it was still too small. His presence seemed to take up too much of the precious space between us.

He picked up a plastic cup sitting next to the facet, turned on the sink and filled it up. A strange time to stop for a drink, wasn’t it?

But when he turned off the facet, he started toward me and I pressed back so hard against the wall that it felt like the tile on the wall behind me was digging into my bones.

He stopped maybe two feet away and extended the hand holding the cup. He was giving me water? Why? And then he extended his other hand and opened it up. There was a pill in it—ibuprofen, I recognized. Again, why?

“I imagine you must have quite the headache,” he said and extended both hands a little further.

Confused, but recognizing the truth in what he said, I clenched the blanket tighter against me with one hand and took the proffered pill with the other. I popped it into my mouth and reached for the glass, sipping just enough to swallow the pill. Since he’d brought it up, I’d become much more aware of the pain throbbing at the back of my head, and was hopeful the pill would provide some relief. It was difficult to think clearly the way it was pounding. Every beat reverberated through my head.

I handed the glass back and doubled up my grip on the blanket. He took the cup and placed it back on the sink and then returned to where he’d been standing in front of me. He didn’t make any move to touch me. He just stood there. The silence stretched out, winding its way through our frozen tableau and making me feel even jumpier than I’d been.

What the hell did he want from me? Was this a game?—some twisted way of drawing out the anticipation of what was coming? Or was he their lackey?—sent to keep an eye on me until they came back? No, I dismissed the last thought. This man was nobody’s lackey. His clothes, his posture, the tilt of his chin, the aura that radiated from him, the cocky smile, the steely control in his eyes—this man did nobody’s bidding but his own.

So, what did that make him?—the ringleader? He was the alpha who demanded the first bite, and when he was finished the others could have whatever scraps he left behind?

“What…what do you want?” I stuttered in a weak and pathetic voice.

“Ah, you can speak. I was beginning to doubt what Alejandro and Vito had to say about your wicked tongue.”

My wicked tongue? They’d kidnapped me, stripped me and knocked me unconscious, and I was the one with the ‘wicked’ anything?

“Why don’t we have a seat and talk?” he suggested, motioning back toward the other room.

I didn’t want to sit or talk, but at least getting out of this room would put some distance between us. So, I nodded, and then waited for him to leave the room first.

I breathed a small sigh of relief when he’d stepped through the doorway, taking with him the feeling of claustrophobia that had begun to creep in on me, and then I followed him out slowly. But when he sat down on the edge of the bed, I stopped where I was. I was not going to sit on the bed with this man, and since there were no other seats in the room, I decided I was fine right where I was.

“Come closer,” he said in a tone that made it seem like keeping my distance was silly, and yet, two more steps and that was as close as I was going to get.

He chuckled and seemed to let it go. “The first rule you will learn is you will obey. If you don’t, you will be punished however I see fit. Do you understand?”

Understand? No, I certainly did not understand. What the hell was he talking about?

“No,” I cried and backed up several steps.

“No, you don’t understand? Or no, you won’t obey?” he asked easily.

He had to be crazy. “No, I don’t understand what the hell you’re talking about, and no, I will not obey you. You don’t own me.”

“You may not understand, Pet, but you will come to obey me, I assure you.”

I stood there frozen, my mind reeling in shock. This couldn’t be happening. It was beyond insane.

“Now, remove the blanket.”

What? No! Hell, no. I clutched the blanket tighter against me and glared back at him.

“I won’t tell you again,” he said, and though I could tell he meant it, and I didn’t even want to guess at what he was going to do, I stood there stiffly, refusing to relinquish it.

He sighed heavily and rose to his feet. He moved gracefully, like a lion, and I had a sinking feeling I was his prey. He kept coming until he was right in front of me and his presence was ten times more overwhelming—and scary—than it had been in the bathroom. He didn’t look angry. His breathing hadn’t changed and his hands were unclenched, relaxed at his sides, but I knew looks could be deceiving.

I should have run, retreated back to my corner in the bathroom, but he would just follow me there, so I stood my ground.

“I’ll make this easy for you, Pet. Kneel.” His voice was little more than a whisper, but he didn’t need to talk louder. His lips were just inches from my ear.

He wanted me to kneel?—like a dog? I wasn’t some animal he could tame. “I’m not a dog,” I snapped at him.

“No, you most certainly are not,” he agreed as he ran a finger down my jaw. “But you will kneel and you will give me that blanket.”

“Never,” I barked.

“We’ll see about that,” he said, and in a flash, he had my wrists trapped in one, big hand and he was dragging me toward the bed.

I dug in my heels, but I was no match for his strength, and he pulled me with him easily. Once there, he untucked a pair of shackles that had been concealed between the mattress and the box spring and hooked them on my wrists.

I tugged, but the shackles were attached to somewhere in the bed. I was trapped, hunched over at the side of the bed. I couldn’t even stand upright. The blanket had bunched around my waist as he’d dragged me, and he yanked it off, leaving me completely exposed, with no way of covering myself.

I cried and screamed and tugged against the restraints, but it was no use.

“You may kneel, and I will punish you for your disobedience with my hand. Or you can refuse, and I will use my belt.”

That’s why he’d trapped me like this, with more than enough slack to go down on my knees, but not enough to stand up, keeping me in a perfect position to…to punish me.

I screamed louder, hurting my own ears and making my headache more. I twisted and turned in a futile effort to get away while he stood there beside me, just out of reach so I couldn’t even lash out at him. I saw his hands move to his waist, unbuckling the strap of leather…

“Please let me go,” I pleaded in the same futile effort. He wasn’t going to let me go—maybe ever.

He shook his head and then moved behind me, and I knew I had about three seconds left to make a choice. I couldn’t stop this from happening, and the belt was going to hurt a lot more than his hand. But still, I couldn’t force my legs to comply. They would not obey, no matter the consequences. Maybe it was still too unreal. Perhaps I couldn’t believe he would actually do it, that he could actually spank a complete stranger with his belt.

But then I felt his hands on me, grazing over my backside. My attention had been diverted to escape, first from the room and then from his belt, but now I became painfully aware of my state of undress. I was completely naked, bent over more than enough for him to see every part of me. No one had seen me there, and I didn’t want him there now, looking at me, touching me.

Without warning, his hand left my flesh and I felt the sting of his belt, like a lash of fire across my cheeks. I cried out, gripping the bottom of the mattress when my knees threatened to buckle.

Another lash of fire crisscrossed the first. I screamed so loud my throat started to ache.

Another, and then another, and I couldn’t stop my knees from giving out. I sobbed in between screams. He had what he wanted—I was kneeling before him now.

But the belt came down again, lower, across the backs of my thighs. “Stop! What the hell do you want from me?”

He had what he wanted. Why wouldn’t he stop?

The belt struck me again, across my cheeks, on top of a previous strike and blazing ten times hotter.

“You did not obey, Pet. Your knees gave out on you,” he said when he stopped, but then he spanked me again, and the fire made my whole body jerk against the bed. And then again.

“Are you ready to obey?”

“Yes,” I sobbed pathetically as a steady stream of tears dripped down onto my naked breasts.

He dropped the belt on the bed and bent down to unshackle me. He didn’t seem the least bit worried that I’d grab for his belt and give him a taste of his own medicine. But of course he wasn’t worried—he was infinitely stronger than me. The sick freak could have easily pushed me down on my knees if he’d wanted to, but he’d wanted to hurt me and humiliate me. And if I lunged for that belt, I had no doubt he’d do it again.

“Now, turn around and face me. And kneel.”

I hated him. He was sick and twisted and evil. And somehow I would make him pay for this. For now, though, I couldn’t take one more lash across my flaming backside, so I scooted around on my knees and sat back, almost on my heels, when I faced him. Keeping my thigh muscles squeezed tight, I was able to keep myself elevated just enough to stop my heels from digging into the fresh welts that had no doubt risen across my skin.

“Very good, Pet. Next time, don’t make it so difficult for yourself. It will be much easier for you here if you understand that obedience is mandatory.”

I kept my mouth shut. I wanted to tell him where he could shove his obedience, but I wasn’t stupid enough to do it. Or maybe I just wasn’t brave enough. I’d never had to be brave, not like this. And I wasn’t feeling it in overwhelming abundance right now. So instead, I glared at the floor, trying to ignore the red-hot lashes and the eyes I could feel grazing over every inch of me.

“Open your legs and rest your hands flat on your thighs,” he commanded.

Oh god, why was this happening to me? I knew the consequences all too well now if I didn’t obey, but I wasn’t just some whore who could spread her legs on demand.

I tried, while every fiber of my body resisted. Eventually, the will to avoid his belt won out over a lifetime of modesty, and I did what I was told. I obeyed. And I cursed myself for being so weak all the while.

And I sobbed as he looked me over. His expression was neutral, controlled, but I could see the heat blazing in his eyes. It was strange. It was the kind of heated gaze I’d tried to avoid all my life but forced to endure it now, I could analyze it—probably because I couldn’t just sit there. I needed to think about something. And not about why he was doing this, or what he was going to do to me next.

So, where did it come from?—that heat? Was he turned on by me?—by something particular about my body? Or would he be just as aroused by any woman, naked and forced to her knees in front of him? And did that same rationale apply to other men, too? So long as a woman played into his fetish, was she interchangeable?

And how did it make me feel? If I could separate myself from my situation, and pretend he was just an ordinary man—an extremely attractive, ordinary man—how would I feel about him looking at me that way?

I didn’t like my answer.

“You have a very beautiful body, Pet.” He was looking at me expectantly as if he was waiting for me to thank him for the compliment. He really was insane.

He let out a sigh as if he was disappointed, but he seemed to dismiss it. “I’ll tend to your welts now. Climb up on the bed and lay down on your stomach.”

“My…my backside is fine,” I lied, but I’d rather live with the sting for the rest of my life than submit to whatever ‘tending’ he had in mind.

He eyed me for a moment, maybe debating whether my words constituted disobedience. But I had been careful in my phrasing. I didn’t tell him ‘no’, only that it was unnecessary. Apparently, this coward was a quick learner.

“Suit yourself,” he said then, but he proceeded to come even closer. He stopped right in front of me and reached out to stroke his fingers through my hair.

I wanted to pull away, but I held still. There were worse things he could be touching. If I was going to fight him, I was going to save my strength for that. And I knew ‘that’ was coming. If not now, then soon. I choked back a sob, knowing that in the end, no matter how much I fought him, he would take what he wanted. And whatever he couldn’t take, he would just hurt me until I handed it over to him. All it had taken was a few lashes with his belt and I’d jumped to obey. How much more would he take before he was done with me?

An icy chill shivered down my spine at the thought because the answer was clear and far more terrifying than I could have imagined not so long ago. He wanted everything. He wasn’t content to rape me and then leave me alone. If that was what he’d wanted, he would have gotten it over with by now. Forcing me to submit, to obey him…he didn’t just want my body. He wanted my soul.

It was too bad for him there wasn’t much of one left for him to take. But he didn’t care—whole or broken, he’d take it all.

“When I return, I expect you to greet me in this position. Always. Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” I said, a little too eagerly. But if he was going to return, that also meant he was going to leave. I might still be trapped here, but at least I would be alone.

He chuckled, obviously not missing the eagerness in my tone. But he caressed my cheek once more, and then he was leaving. Across the room, at the door, and then he was gone.

When I heard the scrape of the lock, I breathed a sigh of relief and sprang to my feet. He couldn’t damn well make me kneel if he wasn’t here, could he? And I wrapped the blanket back around my body, pulling so tight when I tucked the edge between my breasts that it felt like an old-fashioned corset, cinching my breasts together. I didn’t care. It felt like armor, and I was glad to have it back on. Exactly how long I’d have it on before he made me take it off again, I didn’t know. But I intended to have a better plan than to cry and obey him figured out before he returned.

3

Derek

“So, how is our lovely, new slave?” Marcos queried as he sat back in the wing-backed leather chair, with one of his more recent acquisitions kneeling at his feet. The girl was plain, certainly nothing like the girl I’d left not long ago in the training room. But this one had submitted quickly and easily under Marcos’ guidance, and that was the way he liked it.

And that’s the way I usually liked it too, at least as far as work was concerned. Usually. It was easy—breaking something that was so weakly held together it crumbled with the slightest touch. Easy. And boring. Of course, something about it always appealed to me—making something submit, to bend it to my will. How could it not? But it was always unfulfilling in the end.

Now though, after just a few minutes with the fiery, new temptress…it seemed things might get interesting.

“She’s more than I could have hoped for,” I replied honestly, thinking Marcos was missing out with his penchant for the weak-willed and weak-minded.

“I’m glad to hear it, but what I want to know is your assessment of her.”

I laughed, but I wasn’t surprised. “I think she’s not typical of the girls you usually give me, but we knew there was a decent chance of that. She’s manageable and I have no doubt it will work out just fine.”

He eyed me for a minute, but he let it go at that. The girl wasn’t the first atypical slave I’d trained, and she likely wouldn’t be the last. Just an interesting and arousing bump in the road.

“So, what do you have planned for her next then?” he queried with a little more interest than usual. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who had noticed the girl was unique.

“Dinner,” I said, and it sounded simple enough. I smiled, knowing things were never quite what they seemed.

I rose to leave but then paused. “Has Donovan been informed?”

Marcos glanced at his watch. “Any time now.”

Good. There was no backing out now—not that I had any intention of it. With that knowledge, I left the room, going in search of what I would need next.

And ten minutes later, I unlocked the door and wheeled the cart and chair inside. Closing the door behind me, I glanced around, but the girl was nowhere in sight. The shower was running in the other room though, so I had a good idea where she was. And she either hadn’t heard me come in or else she’d already forgotten the lesson from just a few hours before.

I left the tray and chair by the door and followed the sound and the billowing steam into the bathroom, but the scene wasn’t what I’d expected. It was strange enough to think she’d decided to grab a shower so soon, but she wasn’t even in the shower. She stood just a few feet from it, wrapped in the damn blanket I should have taken with me. She was barely visible through the steam, but as I got closer, I saw the moisture glistening on her skin. She’d turned the room into a fucking sauna. Did she think this was a day at the spa?

“What are you doing?” I asked, keeping my tone light, amused.

She whirled around, startled to find me there so close behind her. The look of panic and indecision on her face was priceless, but it did seem that what I’d told her before I left had slipped her mind. That, or she was a glutton for punishment—not that I minded.

She remained there on her feet, staring back at me defiantly, though I could see the way her lower jaw trembled. I cocked an eyebrow, giving her one last chance to use some common sense.

She didn’t take it.

She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin higher, but it had none of the desired effects when her whole body was trembling with fear. It was amusing though. Almost cute. Like one of those pint-sized dogs barking at a pit bull. The pint-sized pup didn’t know it, but everyone else could plainly see that the pit bull could rip it to shreds without breaking a sweat.

“So, you’ve decided to be difficult, have you? I can be difficult too, Pet,” I said as I reached for her.

She pulled her arm out of reach and tried to sidestep me. But not only was I stronger than her, I was faster too. I grabbed hold of her around the waist and yanked off the damn blanket—and made a mental note to take the thing with me this time. And then I dragged her out of the bathroom to the bed.

I shackled her wrists to the restraints protruding from the mattress and her whole body stiffened in anticipation of what she thought was about to come.

Shame on me if I was ever that predictable.

I chuckled and left her there while I went to retrieve the cart and chair I’d brought in, and I pulled them over next to her, just out of her reach. She tried to angle her body away from me, which only emphasized her slender curves. She was scared, no doubt still waiting for the lash of the belt, but she was also clearly confused. Good.

I removed the lid from the tray and breathed in deep. As always, the food was exquisite. And by the way she stilled, she was beginning to realize what was going on. She’d lost several hours unconscious on the trip here, and then several more since then. While her mind wasn’t fully cognizant of the time that had passed, her body was becoming abruptly aware that nearly twenty-four hours had gone by since she’d last eaten.

“I had intended to be kind, to reward your obedience. I was going to feed you, Pet. You are hungry, aren’t you?”

She glared at me, but her nostrils flared, taking in the delicious aroma.

“Answer me,” I growled.

“Y-yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes…I’m hungry.”

“And after the fit, you threw—after you disobeyed me—do you think I should feed you?”

“Yes,” she barked.

“Is that so? Then what would stop you from disobeying me again?” I took a bite of the food on the plate.

She squeezed her lips together. She refused to beg for forgiveness, and of course, she was stubborn, so she couldn’t agree with me.

I took another bite and another. Her stomach growled, but to her credit, she didn’t make a sound, and she barely moved a muscle. Only her eyes moved, following the fork from the plate to my mouth, over and over again. Even when she could see that the last few bites were going fast, she held strong.

When all the food was gone, her shoulders slumped just a little. I’d been hoping she would have put her pride aside for the sake of basic human survival, but I couldn’t say I was actually disappointed. It was just too much fun to watch the exquisite girl battle it out in her head. She was most certainly shaping up to be the challenge I’d hoped for.

I re-covered the tray with the lid and wheeled it to the door and out of the room. While I’d debated leaving her shackled there, I couldn’t help but think of the steamy scene I’d walked in on, and I was curious what she would do next if left unshackled and to her own devices. I left the chair, too, just to add something new to the mix.

As I approached her, she slunk back, still anticipating the spanking that wouldn’t come—at least, not yet. I caressed her cheek when she could slink no further away. She had incredibly soft skin, and I couldn’t deny that I was more than a little tempted to keep touching her just to feel her silken flesh beneath my fingers.

I could see it in her eyes when she started to debate whether to sink her teeth into my hand. I’d seen Vito’s hand—her teeth were a powerful weapon, indeed—but she thought better of it and kept her lips clamped shut.

That was a good sign. She could have easily done it—at least, she would have thought she could—but she already feared the consequences of such a reckless action. Stubborn, but not stupid. I was liking my new slave more every minute.

Without a word, I unshackled her wrists, half-expecting her to lunge at me with teeth bared. But she didn’t move. She eyed me warily as I turned away, and I could feel her eyes boring into my back as I strode out of the room.

I adjusted my cock once I’d closed the door. The girl was the most appealing sight I could remember, but we were just getting started.

I sighed, thinking of the slaves Marcos kept in the house. I could use one now to take the edge off, but somehow it seemed like a poor substitute for what I had in store.

When I returned in the morning and wheeled in the tray laden with food, I was only half-surprised to find her in the bathroom again. The water in the shower was running but there was no steam billowing out into the other room this time. Either she was running it on cold, or else she’d left it running for so many hours that the hot water had run out.

I felt an odd pang when I went to investigate and found her huddled in the corner with her knees drawn up and her head tilted to the side. She was asleep, but the tears she’d cried had dried on her cheeks. Beneath the fan of her eyelids, the delicate skin was darker, the result of a combination of fatigue and a lack of food.

Her hair was dry though, suggesting she hadn’t made use of the shower. But then, why did she have it running? It was odd, and it made me curious, but there would be time enough for answers. Right now, she needed to abandon her hard-headedness for the sake of her health.

“Wake up,” I said, none too gently. I wasn’t there to hold her hand.

She startled awake, but she remained where she was, huddled in the corner.

“You’ve been a fool and you’re suffering unnecessarily. I’m done tolerating it. Kneel. Now.”

She acquiesced more readily than I’d expected, though fatigue and hunger could do a lot to one’s resolve—I would know.

Her shoulders were slumped and her arms hung limply over her body in a half-hearted attempt to cover herself.

Her fatigue was too pronounced. Something wasn’t right.

“When was the last time you ate?” I asked, beginning to suspect the cause.

She stared blankly at the floor.

“When?” I demanded.

“Last…last night. At dinner. At home,” she replied quietly.

But that wasn’t right—her sense of time would have been distorted, so I had to extrapolate what that really meant. Dinner—at home. The last time she’d been home was the morning before her shift on the day she’d been taken. And dinner at home meant the night before that. And that meant when she’d stubbornly refused to submit when I’d come with food yesterday evening, she’d already gone forty-eight hours without food. And now, twelve hours later, the fool had gone somewhere around sixty hours without food.

I was very particular in the taking of any new girl. She was to be surveilled, and every aspect of the day leading up to the event recorded for me. Vito had reported that she’d eaten at the store where she worked just prior to her leaving work. If the girl was telling the truth though—which by her physical state, it suggested she was—it meant Vito had lied to me. No doubt, he’d lied to punish the girl for biting him. But I didn’t give a fuck what his god damned reason was. The son of a bitch had lied. To me. And I’d make sure he didn’t make that mistake twice.

For now, though, I had the problem in front of me to rectify. I turned off the shower and retrieved the cart from the other room, actually wheeling it right into the bathroom. The girl needed food, and I wasn’t going to risk her defying me further and having to withhold it.

With an air of nonchalance, I removed the lid from the tray and proceeded to cut up the food. I shoved a forkful in front of her lips, half-expecting to have to force it into her mouth. But her lips parted and she snatched the food off, chewing greedily. And too fast.

“Slowly,” I cautioned, and filled the fork again, though with half as much food this time.

She devoured the entire plate, though it took quite a bit of time since I started to insist she wait in between bits, in part to make her wait, and partly because a stomach that empty could turn quickly—another fact I knew all too well.

I left when she was done, fully expecting her next feeding to go smoothly after getting past this first battle.

But I’d expected too much. With her body no longer weak from starvation, the fire in her reignited. She was in her corner in the bathroom with the shower running again when I returned, but the moment I walked in, the stubborn light shined bright in her eyes.

I didn’t relish the idea of leaving her with no food—she really did need it after so much time without. But when she glared back at me when I told her to kneel, she left me with no choice. So, I held off on dinner as long as I could and wheeled the cart right into the bathroom—where I knew she would be.

“Kneel,” I said, letting my fingers hover over the belt around my waist.

She glared at me, but she also did what she was told—a fucking miracle, given the same stubborn light had flashed in her eyes. It seemed then, with the way she’d moved quickly after the threat of the belt, that she feared physical discipline more than starvation. And that meant a firm hand would be what this one needed.

And I was more than happy to accommodate that need.

4

Scarlett

I had no idea how many days passed. There was no way for me to keep track—no clock, no window to see outside. Nothing. But what I did know with increasing certainty was I had winded up straight in hell. The man who kept bringing me food, making me kneel like an animal at his feet and spanking my backside with a hard slap whenever I hesitated—he was the devil himself. He was cruel, and worst of all, the thing I hated most was that he left me alone in my prison with nothing but the god damned silence.

I couldn’t stand it. No sounds of cars in the distance or birds chirping outside. Not even footsteps or the low murmur of voices to suggest I was anything other than completely alone.

I’d debated provoking him over and over again, just to give him a reason to stay, a reason to talk. Hell, the sound of his breathing was better than the utter nothingness that surrounded me when he left.

During some meals, he would ask me things, questions like my favorite book and my favorite movie, and so long as I handed over whatever he wanted to know, he kept asking questions, staving off the silence I knew was coming. But the moment he ventured into personal territory and I refused to answer, he left. And the world was silent again.

The shower helped a little. At least, it did at first. But an hour or two of the monotonous sound of running water and it seemed to blur right into the nothingness. I couldn’t keep going like this. It was going to drive me mad.

Maybe that’s what he was trying to do. At first, when those men had stripped me and the devil had spanked me with his belt, I’d assumed what he wanted was sexual in nature. But now, even though I was forced to remain naked all the time, I wasn’t so sure. In the times he was here, feeding me like a dog and making my blood boil with anger and humiliation, I thought maybe what he wanted was a pet. But then he’d leave and wouldn’t return until it was time to feed me again. Who the hell only wanted a pet to feed it?

So, all I could conclude was that he was merely feeding me to keep me alive so he could watch me slowly go insane.

It was almost time for another feeding. I could tell by the way my stomach had begun to rumble. He must come at regular intervals to have my stomach so well-trained. It irritated me that any part of me had come to submit to him, but my stomach had willingly gotten on board that train.

No other part of me had though. It was still a humiliating struggle every time to go down on my knees, to open my mouth and let him feed me like an infant. The worst was when he did touch me, not sexually—aside from swatting my backside, he never did that—but intimately.

He would stroke my hair or caress my cheek. And what made it so horrible was that not once had I ever pulled away. His touch felt…good and I hated that. But after so much time with no sound, no new sights, no anything, my body seemed desperate for sensation. And the touch of my captor’s hand against my face was better than the nothingness. I was ashamed to admit it, but there were times when I’d secretly wished he’d touch me more, in new places. A hand on my arm, or his fingers on the back of my neck—new sensations to hold me over during the times when there was none.

Still, I wanted to scream at him—for humiliating me, for touching me, for not touching me, for asking me things and never sharing any answers of his own—and I nearly had so many times, but I held myself in check, knowing at any time he could stop coming back. The food would be gone and I’d starve to death. Much longer here though, and that might not be such a terrible thing.

I heard the slide of the lock and the door opened. It was him. Of course, it was him. Nobody else in the world existed anymore, not in my prison. I was irritated—more than usual—probably due to the compounding effect of so much time here.

He wheeled in the cart and closed the door behind him, and I watched him from the corner of the room. I’d long since abandoned the bathroom. The shower did little to curb the silence anymore. And at least the other room’s carpet wasn’t as hard against my backside as the cool, tiled floor in the bathroom.

I’d thought for a while I could gauge the approximate time of day by the type of food he would bring, but then he’d brought breakfast two times in a row, and two dinner-like meals after that, blowing that theory out of the water. It was the same foods though—three different meals rotated in some random order.

Crepes again, I could tell, when he’d lifted the lid. Maybe it was all he could cook, but I’d gladly take a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for a break from what had once seemed like sinfully delicious food.

He left the tray against the wall near the door and retrieved the chair from where he’d left it the day before. This was new.

He sat down against the wall and eyed me expectantly. I pushed away from my corner slowly and rose up onto my knees.

He nodded, but I was confused. If he planned to start throwing food at me and having me catch it in my mouth, he could kiss that idea goodbye. It was bad enough I had to kneel. I wasn’t going to do tricks, too. And as much as I hated to admit it, if he was going to stay over there, if he was going to stop touching me, I’d rather him just stop bringing me food, too.

I’d never imagined how dependent on sensation I was, especially when the only consistent in my life—my father—never touched me. He didn’t hug me, or pat me on the back. He never kissed me good night. But there were always at least other sensations—the sound of his TV murmuring the news or some cheesy sitcom; the smell of the alcohol he drank or the pungent aroma of his cigarettes.

And then at work, there were other sensations—people talking, the photo machine whirring, the scent of perfumes, colognes, and food from the restaurant down the street. There were children to watch playing along the sidewalk and the brush of the breeze against my skin when I walked home.

Here, there was nothing. If there had ever been a scent in the room, I’d long-since acclimated to it. And there was nothing else. No people, no sounds, no scents. There wasn’t even a single book to read.

My books—I missed my books. I had hundreds of them, most of them passed on to me from customers in the store, like Mrs. Jenkins, who forever saw me with my nose in a book. Mysteries, romances, crime thrillers, biographies, even an old nursing textbook from Mrs. Jenkin’s college years. What I wouldn’t give for any one of them now.

But the only sensation I was allowed was my captor’s brief touch. I hated him; I hated him even more for making me crave something I despised, but I did crave it. If it was gone now, if he wasn’t even going to touch me during the brief time he was here, then it was only fair he put me out of my misery—not that I expected him to be fair.

“Come here,” he called, startling me out of my dark thoughts. I hesitated for a moment, but if it meant we could circumvent the whole trick-performing plan and he wasn’t intending to deprive me of the sensation I desperately needed, then it probably wasn’t so bad.

I moved to stand, but he shook his head and I stopped. What did he want then? It didn’t take me long to figure it out. Kneeling was no longer enough. He wanted me to crawl.

No. I wasn’t that hungry, and it really was ridiculous to be so dependent on his touch. And if he retaliated by making me skip a few meals, I’d get over it. And I’d find some way to deal with it when he took away his touch, too.

So, I lifted my chin higher and shook my head.

He sighed and stood up. I thought he was going to bring over the tray of food or else leave, but he approached without it.

“I have been more than patient,” he said when he stood in front of me. “I’ve been lenient, giving you the opportunity to make the necessary changes to your character on your own. But you’re not going to do that, are you, Pet?”

Necessary changes? Of course, I wasn’t going to change for him. Had he really thought I would? I shook my head, apparently not quite brave enough to spit out the words.

“That’s what I thought,” he said with a sigh. It sounded like a sigh of relief though, not resignation, and that confused me.

Before I could respond, he yanked me up off the floor and flung me over his shoulder. As he started toward the bed, I realized I’d been foolish to let myself forget about that first day with him, when he’d pulled off his belt and spanked me with it, shackled to the bed. Is that what he had planned to do now?

But when he reached the bed, he didn’t put me on the floor like I’d expected. Instead, he sat down and pulled me into his lap. I struggled weakly to escape, but I was so confused I didn’t really know what to do. He held me tight with one arm while the other stroked my cheek, and I sighed inside. A change from the nothingness. I welcomed it, though I was careful to keep my expression from showing it.

After a moment though, I couldn’t help but lean into it, absorbing the sensation after too much time without. But this new position made me painfully aware of my state of undress, somehow more potent now on his lap than it had been on the floor.

“I knew it wouldn’t be enough, Pet, but I had to give you this time to realize you’re never going to become what you need to be without my help.”

What I needed to be? What was he talking about? Somehow I doubted anything he could do could be constituted as help.

“You have to let go of this stubbornness and pride,” he said as he continued to stroke my cheek, and then moving lower, across my jaw, down to my neck.

My body hummed in response to the new sensation. He hadn’t touched me there before, and it seemed to awaken a plethora of nerve endings. Through my haze of sensation bliss—as wrong as it might be—I was vaguely aware of his words. The tone of his voice was soothing, particularly heaped upon the touch of his fingers, but there was an undercurrent running through him that was slowly breaking through the haze. I knew somehow that it should be setting me more on edge than usual.

And then there was an expectant silence as if he was waiting for me to say something. Was I supposed to apologize? Agree with him? Did he really think I was going to do either? I sat there stiffly, trying to ignore the sensations that came from where he was touching me.

“All right, let’s get started, shall we?” he said, leaving me just as confused as I’d been since the moment he’d come in and sat down across the room.

All of a sudden though, he flipped me over, laying me out on his lap. I flailed, trying to scramble down onto the floor, but he held me tight against him, pressing the small of my back down firmly, which pressed my most private place hard against his thigh. A sizzle of a different kind of sensation spread out from there, and I flailed harder, twice as panicked, and infinitely more disturbed than I’d been when my body had responded to his touch on my face or even my neck.

But he just pressed down harder, almost as if he was deliberately trying to grind my clit against his thigh. And whether it was intentional or not, that was precisely what he was doing, and I needed him to stop. It was wrong. Disgusting. How could my body be responding like this to anything he did?

I felt his other hand against my backside, grazing over my skin. It amplified the sensations between my thighs and made me want to press firmly against his hand. I sobbed at my own depravity. What the hell was wrong with me? What had I become in my desperate need for sensation?

His hand disappeared and I let out a small sigh of relief. But before the breath had escaped my lungs, his hand came back down with a stinging slap.

I cried out in response to the pain, and to something else. It was sick, and it made me question if I’d already taken a leap into insanity. There was no other explanation for it. How else could it be possible that his cruel slap could send a jolt of arousal through me?

He spanked me again, this one harder than the last, but the response was the same.

Again, and tears began to trickle down my cheeks. I clenched my thighs tight, fighting against the ridiculous sensations that had begun to set my sex on fire. “Stop. Please, stop,” I cried, but he ignored me, spanking me several more times in quick succession.

I struggled to get away, but it only rubbed my clit against his thigh, making it worse. So, I fought to remain perfectly still as he rained down another onslaught of stinging slaps.

It didn’t help. The fire had already been set. Nothing would put it out, and every slap and every rub only made it burn brighter. What the hell was wrong with me?

Eventually, he was done—twenty-five slaps? Thirty? Every one of them had added fuel to the fire, and now I was throbbing, desperate for anything that would quench the fire.

Instead of pushing me off, he held me there and rubbed my stinging flesh. The need to press myself harder against him was nearly overwhelming. I took slow, deep breaths, but somehow the oxygen in my lungs wound its way through my body to between my thighs and fanned the flames brighter.

His fingers skimmed down the backs of my thighs—a new sensation that shot directly to my throbbing clit. But on his way back up, he brushed over my exposed sex and his fingers stopped moving.

I redoubled the effort to get free, but his hand on my back held me there.

One finger stroked me, and I sobbed hysterically. His finger had glided far too easily, and that meant there was no denying what his spanking had done to me.

“You are very unique, aren’t you, Pet,” he said as he glided back and forth across my lips.

“Let me go. Please, just let me go,” I cried over and over again, but of course, he ignored me. His torment wouldn’t be complete until he’d turned my whole body against me.

He slid a finger to my clit and my body jerked against him. No matter how much I flailed, or how much I didn’t want my body to respond, I was helpless to stop it as he started to rub the sensitive bundle of nerves. He moved slowly at first as if he were testing my body’s response.

I kicked and tried to reach back to swipe at him, but all I met with was air. He knew exactly what he was doing because he had me pinned perfectly. His finger increased its pace on my clit and I couldn’t stifle the moan that traitorously escaped from my lips.

He chuckled, and I couldn’t possibly have been more mortified. He found it amusing, the way my body had betrayed me.

“Stop resisting, Pet. It will be over quicker if you don’t fight it.”

I knew what he was saying was true. All my effort was doing little more than slowing my body’s ascent. Unless he stopped, it was going to happen soon. I could feel the coil winding up tight inside me. But I couldn’t just stop. I couldn’t be a willing participant in my own humiliation.

So, I continued to fight him, clenching my body and gritting my teeth against the spin of the coil, winding faster, tighter by the second.

He increased his pace even more, determined to overcome my resistance, and I almost gave in. God, how I wanted to give in. The sensations were overwhelming, the first bit of real pleasure since I’d ended up in this wretched place.

He moved faster, his finger gliding easily, soaked in my own juices. I was so close. So damn close. No. Yes. No. No! I had to fight. But as I neared the top, my body took over. It refused to fight, to resist. All that existed was his finger on my clit. But then his other hand was on my ass, squeezing my stinging flesh. God, it hurt, and it felt so good as if the pain and pleasure had combined to create a new sensation—one I hadn’t known existed.

I writhed against him, and the moans I’d fought so hard against turned to cries. “Please,” I cried, but I wasn’t begging him to stop. I was pleading for something else, for the release that hovered on the brink.

And then I was toppling over. I’d asked, and he’d delivered, springing free the coil that had wound tight inside me and sending out waves of blissful pleasure from my sex.

I sagged against him as the waves receded, and only realized then that with his hand on my backside, that meant he hadn’t been holding me down. I could have scrambled away, but I hadn’t. I’d laid there, writhing, on fire and begging for the orgasm he’d given me.

I did scramble down off his lap then, and he didn’t stop me. I ran across the room to the corner—my corner.

He didn’t demand that I come back. He didn’t even laugh at me like I’d been expecting him to do. In fact, he seemed to ignore me completely as he turned his attention to the tray of food. He seemed relaxed as he sliced the food and began to eat, but there was a tension that radiated from him, all the way across the room.

It wasn’t anger—what did he have to be angry about? He’d humiliated me more than I thought was possible for a person to be. He was probably quite pleased with himself at the moment. Still, the tension remained through bite after bite, and eventually, I recognized it. I couldn’t not. Not when it had been the same tension that had held my body in its grip when he’d had his wretched fingers on me. Spanking me, or turning my body against me, or some combination of both had turned him on.

Without my permission, my eyes darted to the fly of his pants, looking for confirmation. And the massive bulge I found there left no doubt.

So, this was sexual for him. Then why had he spent so much time tormenting me with silence? I’d dismissed the possibility after what must have been days of near-total solitude. And it wasn’t that I wanted it—I didn’t want this to be sexual, no matter how much my body had just proved otherwise. But I needed to understand, to know what exactly my future held in store. Or maybe I just needed to think about something—anything—other than how my body had just turned against me and responded to the devil’s touch just moments before. Trying desperately to fight back more tears, it was easier to try to analyze him than to turn the looking glass inward.

It dawned on me then what he was doing. He was eating my food. When it was gone, there would be no more until he returned. And I had run back to the very spot this had started. If I wanted food, I would have to crawl over to him—to the man who had taken humiliation to a whole new level—and kneel before him like a good pet. But I couldn’t do that. I wouldn’t. I didn’t want to see the knowledge in his eyes of what I’d let happen.

No, I would rather starve.

He finished my meal while I huddled in the corner. I tried not to look at him, but sick curiosity kept drawing my eyes back. I’d never seen one before—the thick bulge in his pants. I’d seen drawings in health class and had learned that a penis increased in size when a man was aroused. But I’d never imagined it could grow that much.

Against my will, the image came to mind of him trying to force that enormous bulge inside me. I cringed, thinking I would certainly split in two. But the thought appealed to the sick, depraved girl inside me, the one who had writhed against his fingers and moaned in pleasure despite how wrong it was.

What the hell had he done to me? Before this, I’d never…well…there’d been the occasional strange dream, the kind that would wake me, sweaty and aching, and disgusted with myself for conjuring the dark scenes.

But they had been dreams—nightmares by any normal standard. And this was reality—bitter, harsh reality. I couldn’t simply wake up from this nightmare and shame-facedly relieve the ache before drifting back to an innocent slumber. But maybe that’s all this was. My body was simply responding the way it had in those dreams. I’d rewarded it often enough for it, rubbing hard and fast to the last snatches of the dream until my body convulsed with its relief.

It didn’t make it any less humiliating now, but it helped to explain why I’d responded the way I had.

“You are very unique, Pet,” he said, drawing my attention back as he rose from the chair. And then he left with the tray.

I debated going to check around the chair, pathetically hoping he’d left some kind of scraps behind, but I knew he hadn’t. It would be hours before I had the chance to eat again, and who knew what horrible thing he’d make me do for it.

It seemed I no longer paid for things with money—of which I’d had precious little, to begin with. The price he demanded was my pride. My humiliation bought me food, but what happened when he’d extracted every bit of it from me? Then what would he demand in payment?

I closed my eyes and shifted tighter into my corner. The carpet rubbed against my abused bottom, providing a fresh reminder of what had happened and making the tears in my eyes well over. Maybe it would be better to get it over with—to stop resisting, stop trying to hold onto the pride and dignity he was just going to take away from me in the end.

I’d been right about this being sexual for him. And I’d been right that he’d been trying to slowly drive me insane. I had a feeling he wasn’t going to stop until he turned the girl he’d taken into nothing but a complacent shell he could use any way he wanted. Why try to stop it from happening when it was going to happen eventually?

I breathed a deep sigh, trying to cleanse the fight from my body. It held on tight. I could feel it wrapped tight around somewhere in the center of me, woven into the fabric of my being. I kept breathing, trying to disentangle each strand.

My eyes grew heavy, and I didn’t fight them. Every moment of sleep had been a struggle, but now it seemed like the exhaustion had finally caught up with me. I welcomed it, willing it to help me slip away. To escape the pain, the uncertainty, the humiliation…even if only for a little while. I would struggle to offer it all up later. I would worry about handing over whatever pride I had left later. Later.

I drifted off quickly, but he followed me there. In my dream, he teased and tormented me. He tied me up and he hurt me. And he held me down with my arms pinned above my head and he rammed his massive cock deep inside me.

When I awoke, I was sweaty, and the aching throb between my thighs was all too familiar.

But when I looked up, he was there. He was staring down at me with an amused grin on his too-handsome face. My cheeks flamed, remembering the scene in my dream and wondering what clues my sleeping body had given him about what had been going on in my head. Had I moaned? Begged? Touched myself?

“Hello, Pet. Sweet dreams?” he queried with an expression that said he knew too much. “Kneel,” he said and I struggled up onto my knees, hoping he’d abandon the subject and feed me. I’d gladly crawl all around the room if he’d just leave the topic alone.

Instead, though, he crouched down in front of me and he slipped his hand between my thighs.

I tried to back up, but my corner gave me nowhere to go.

He didn’t run his fingers along me this time but shoved a finger inside me. Oh god. Sensation. Too damn much sensation. On top of the dream that still clung to my body, his touch was too much.

“Hmm, very sweet dreams it seems,” he said as he removed his finger and raised it to his lips.

My wetness glistened on his finger and I squeezed my eyes shut as he slipped it into his mouth. And then I felt him pressing his finger against my lips, trying to force it inside. I kept them closed until a low growl rumbled up from his chest in warning. Reluctantly, I let him in, and I tasted myself on the invading digit. It wasn’t crepes, or either of the other meals he fed me. It was something different. New. Earthy, with a soft sweetness like honey. The new sensation fed my depraved brain.

“Tell me about your dream,” he persisted.

“I-I don’t want to,” I said, finding it difficult to concoct some mundane dream with the man who’d starred in it in front of me and my body taut with unwelcome arousal.

“You know what you want is irrelevant,” He told me. “You can tell me, or you can fight me on it and I’ll strap you to the bed and whip you until you do.”

Something told me he wasn’t bluffing. “You,” I blurted out. “…you were inside me,” I confessed miserably.

He looked surprised—I’d actually surprised him—but it was short-lived. “If you wanted me to fuck you, Pet, why didn’t you just say so?” he asked, but he was just taunting me. Even if I did want it—which I didn’t—if I had asked him for it, he would have denied me just to torment me more.

“I-I don’t.”

“I don’t think your body agrees with you,” He said as he slipped his finger back inside me. I tried to squirm away. I really did try. Or at least, I wanted to. But it felt so good; like a thousand sensations all at once. Besides, it would make no difference. If I shot to my feet and tried to get away, he’d just stop me and punish me for it. Maybe if I stayed still, he’d tire of me.

But he kept it up, plunging in shallowly, again and again, making my body clench around him innately, trying to draw him in deeper. And then he did. He thrust in deeper, and his finger glided against too many sensitive nerve endings for me to stop the quiet moan that escaped my lips. But then he froze, right there inside me.

I wanted to run, and I wanted to make him move inside me, both wants warring against each other and keeping me just as frozen in place.

“You’re a virgin?” he asked, though it sounded more like a statement than a question. However, the surprise in his eyes was unmistakable.

“Y-yes,” I sobbed, knowing that if there’d been any hope of him leaving that part of me alone, it had just vanished.

“You’re nearly twenty years old. And you look like this,” he said, motioning to my body with the hand that hadn’t stilled inside me. “How’s that possible.”

I didn’t want to like what he was saying. I didn’t want to take it as a compliment, that he thought I was attractive. It shouldn’t matter. It didn’t matter. And yet, a small, despicable thrill traveled through me, realizing it was true.

But he wanted to know how it was possible I was still virgin? Maybe because I’d spent every day of my life since becoming a teenager trying in vain to prove I wasn’t a whore, that I would never be a whore. Not like my mother. Every day I spent trying to show my father I wasn’t like her.

But it turned out…I was just like her. There was no denying it now, now when all I wanted to focus on was the finger inside me, the finger that I desperately wanted to start moving again, preferably back to my clit like he’d been doing before, rubbing until the fire inside me culminated into something exquisite.

He didn’t though. He moved around inside me as if just enough to make sure I didn’t forget that he was there—as if I could. And then, all of a sudden, he withdrew completely and stood up. I didn’t watch where he went—it was too humiliating to look up, and I didn’t want to see what he was doing. I kept my eyes glues to a speck of fluff on the floor by my feet.

He returned a moment later, and I wished I’d paid better attention—not that it would have made any difference in the outcome. He hauled me to my feet and shackled my wrists in the restraints that must have been the ones attached to the bed. I tried to pull away, but of course, it was useless.

He pulled me over to the bed and hooked the restraints high up on one of the posts, which pressed hard against my face and the valley between my breasts. Had I made him angry? Why was he doing this?

But when I turned my head to look at him, he didn’t look angry. “What are you doing?” I whispered frantically.

“You’ve been full of surprises, Pet, and I think I’d like some answers,” he explained. “This is how it works. I’m going to ask you a question. When you tell me the truth, I will reward you with pleasure. For every time I believe you have lied to me, you will get the belt. Do you understand?”

No! Of course, I didn’t understand any of it. But I kept my mouth shut and nodded once. What difference did it make? He’d do what he wanted regardless of whether I understood.

“Good. Let’s get started then,” he said as he reached around from behind me and palmed my breasts. I tried to wriggle out of his hands but stretched tautly, I couldn’t move more than an inch. And even if I had been able to get away, would I have? The fire between my thighs was anything but extinguished and what he was doing was feeding it. Would I have stopped him, even if I’d been able to? Not so long ago, I would have said yes, with absolute certainty. But it was harder to believe that now when I could feel my chest straining against the post between my breasts, trying to press harder into his hands.

“Have you ever let a man do this, Pet?” he asked as he toyed with my nipples, sending rivulets of desire to my sex.

“N-no,” I answered honestly.

“Really? And what about this?” he persisted as his hands grazed down to my backside and cupped my cheeks.

“No…” I answered as the pulsating between my legs intensified.

“What about this?” One hand circled around in front. “Have you ever let a man play with your hot, little pussy?” His fingers pressed against my clit and started to rub.

“No…never,” I whispered, certain I was red with embarrassment from head to toe.

“You have a beautiful body, and you’ve kept it to yourself your entire life—why?”

I didn’t want to answer. It wasn’t just my body or my pride he was after, but my secrets, the things that made up who I was. But what would be a feasible reason? Why did a normal girl abstain from sex?

“I just…I’m not good with people. I’m awkward, that’s all.” Yes, it made sense. A socially awkward girl would have a hard time getting a date.

“I didn’t ask why you don’t have a boyfriend. I want to know why you don’t fuck.”

“It’s the same thing!” I yelled and then tried to rein it in. “I mean…I couldn’t just go up to some guy on the street and…you know…”

He chuckled. “Actually yes, Pet, you really could.”

He meant it. He really thought I was attractive enough that I could do that. I hated how much I liked hearing that. He rubbed faster, making my body jerk against him.

“But you lied to me, didn’t you?” His tone had grown serious.

How could he know that? He couldn’t possibly know the reason I’d done my best to be a good girl, to be anything but what he was turning me into.

He stopped rubbing, and I heard the quiet slide of his belt as he slipped it off his pants. “No, please. Don’t,” I cried.

The belt landed with a thwack across my backside, and it jolted my whole body, pressing my clit hard against the post directly in front of me, and making my body respond with a fiery ache. Oh god, no. Not this, too.

Another lash, crisscrossing the first. It stung, making me cry out, but it made the fire in me blaze hotter, too.

Two more, and then he dropped the belt on the bed in front of me. “Let’s try this again. Why?” he asked as he ran his fingers lightly over where he’d struck me.

“Because of my father,” I sobbed. “Because he always said I’d be a whore.” Now was he satisfied? He’d wrenched that private piece from me.

He didn’t move for a moment, as if he was taking time to process what I’d said. I thought he was done—he’d gotten his answers. I needed him to leave. I needed to be alone, and as much as I hated to admit it, I desperately needed to quench the fire he’d created that was making it near-impossible to think about anything else.

But then he reached around me and his fingers made contact with my too-sensitive flesh. I moaned—I couldn’t stop it. And something inside me snapped.

I’d confessed. I’d admitted out loud what had dictated my life for so long. But with the admission came the acceptance that I’d failed. The way my body was burning, the years of dark and twisted dreams, and the thoughts running through my head right now of just what I wanted this man—my captor—to do to my body.

Whatever he’d done to me had vanquished a lifetime of keeping my body and thoughts in check. And what I hated most, what made me wish I could wrap my hands around his neck and strangle him to death, was that it felt so damn good. To thrust harder against his fingers and feel him rubbing faster. And faster. To feel him driving me higher.

There was no sense in denying it. He knew exactly what he was doing to me. He knew what I was, how my body responded in ways it shouldn’t. He knew I was the whore I’d tried to deny being for too long.

And I didn’t care. I didn’t want him to stop.

“Oh god, yes,” I cried when I was nearly there. I didn’t want to bite back the words, or the moans. And I didn’t want to stop my body from writhing against him. I’d kept it locked up all my life, and my only reward for it was this hell, this devil.

God damn it, I just wanted to come. If he was going to make my life a living hell, then I was going to take what pleasure from it I could.

And when I was there, when I’d reached the brink, I didn’t try to stop it. I threw myself over the edge as wave upon wave of depraved pleasure pulsed through me.

“Very good, Pet,” he whispered next to my ear as I came back down.

The intensity of my arousal now past, what I’d done, how I’d spurred it on was like a thousand drops of humiliation all raining down on me in the aftermath.

“Unfortunately, why you’ve kept your pussy to yourself is not the only lie you told, is it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I sobbed. I really didn’t.

“You said you’ve never let a man play with your pussy. But you let me, didn’t you?” he whispered slyly as he reached for the belt.

I opened my mouth to protest, but remembering the way I’d welcomed his touch, not just now but the last time as well when he’d spanked me, I slammed it closed. But I yanked hard on the restraints at the same time, trying futilely to escape.

He couldn’t do this. He was the one who’d made my body respond like that. I hadn’t wanted it. It wasn’t my fault. And my fault or not, with my body’s arousal sated and my backside still stinging from his belt, this was only going to hurt. Badly.

“Stop. No. Don’t,” I yelled, but it didn’t faze him.

He brought the belt down with another resounding thwack, and the pain radiated down to my toes.

Again, but this time there was something else in the pain, a kindling spark.

One more, and when the lash of fire jerked my hips forward and pressed my clit against the post, I held myself there, feeling the spark burst into a flame. It was depraved and mortifying, but it was also the only way to turn the pain into something else, something even hotter than the fiery sting of my backside.

Two more, and I started to rub wantonly against the post. I couldn’t stop what he was doing to me, but I could use it. I could use my body’s sick pleasure to escape the pain.

He dropped the belt after two more strikes, and when he reached up to the restraints, I thought he was finally finished with me.

But again, I was wrong.

He spun me around until I was facing him and hooked the restraints there. I was breathing heavy, but not out of my mind with arousal, still sane enough that I tried to object when he knelt down in front of me and lifted my foot off the ground. When he lowered it onto his shoulder, I tried to yank it away, but he held it firm. And then he leaned in until he was just a hair’s breadth away.

I could fight him—not that it would amount to anything. I could feel his warm breath on my moist flesh. Did I want to fight him?

As if my body was answering for itself, my hips jerked forward and his mouth pressed against my clit. I could hear him chuckling, but then his tongue flicked across the sensitive nub, and I didn’t care.

He flicked back and forth, fast, and my body started to writhe. I felt the oddest need to touch him—to feel his flesh beneath my fingers, to twine them in his hair and hold him close against my sex. But handcuffed, all I could do was stand there and watch as his mouth did wicked things, flicking, sucking and nipping at me until the world narrowed once more to his mouth and the wildfire he was feeding with everything he did.

When he sent me over the edge this time, I could feel the blissful waves of my orgasm from my fingertips to the tips of my toes.

He looked up at me, his lips glistening, but it wasn’t his lips that caught my attention. It was his eyes. Vivid, blue eyes. Comforting eyes in a man who was anything but a comfort. Why? And why did they seem so god damned familiar?

He stood, and I waited for him to mock me, or touch me, or spank me, or whatever else he had in mind. But he just unshackled me and left. He walked out of the room without a word.

5

Derek

She was beyond exquisite. Hell, I couldn’t put a name to what she was. Her unique response to being touched, to being disciplined was beyond arousing, and it meant she might just be ready for sale a whole lot earlier than I’d expected. The revenge I’d sought, craved, for years, it was within my grasp now. Though she was stubborn, her innate desires and the way she seemed to despise them would help to break her down.

When I’d first laid eyes on her, I’d thought it might have taken months to make her ready, but there was no way I could have known what was lurking beneath the surface. And just four weeks in, she would be ready in a few more weeks at most.

The problem was, the last thing I wanted to do was give her away—a problem I’d never encountered before. Even back when Marcos had introduced me to training slaves, I was always anxious to be rid of them, at first out of guilt, and then eventually, out of boredom.

But I wasn’t bored, not yet. I was curious though. Sexy, beautiful…and wound up way too tight. She seemed to have genuine difficulties with her sexuality, and that could prove to be a bit of a stumbling block if she held onto it too tight.

But why? Where had they come from? A thought occurred to me, and then it enraged me. I imagined her reluctance had something to do with being forced earlier in life—like by a father. The white, hot rage that coursed through my veins surprised me. To think that her father had used her like that…I already wanted Donovan dead, but right then, death wasn’t good enough.

I scoffed at myself—I’d kidnapped her, was in the process of turning her into a slave, and I was filled with rage over the thought of her father touching her, or making her touch him? That was a new kind of fucked up thinking, even for this monster. But since I couldn’t quite get it to calm down enough to bring her dinner, I decided to do a little research, digging up what I could find about how she’d spent the time since being taken from the foster home.

Not much, it turned out—because there wasn’t much to tell. I’d located a storage unit in her name before I’d had her abducted, and had the contents brought to me, and that had her apartment inspected after her disappearance. Three boxes. That’s all there was. The sum of her life.

I looked through the books at the top of the stack—high school yearbooks. She was there but never smiling. Her eyes were sad, lost like she’d seemed the day I’d watched her. And no one ever wrote in her yearbook. The comments pages were blank.

There was a picture of a woman beneath the yearbooks in the box—a woman who looked very much like her. Her mother, I presumed by the physical similarities. Thinking about it now, the girl looked nothing like James Donovan.

There was only one photo of the woman who had to be her mother, and the picture was worn like it had been handled over and over again for years. I imagined her holding it to her chest every night when she went to bed as a little girl, hiding it underneath her pillow come morning to keep her father from finding it.

There were books—a lot of books. Apparently, she liked to read—a lot. How I knew they weren’t her father’s, I didn’t know, but somehow it fit. With so few friends that her yearbook pages were empty, I imagined she spent a lot of time on her own, reading.

At the bottom of the third box, I found a journal—a locked journal—and it had me curious. So, of course, I broke the lock and looked inside.

A quick scan through showed that it covered several years—from a few months after she’d been taken up until the end of high school.

I felt like I was violating her somehow—ha!—but I looked at the first entry, which was messier than the later ones. She wrote about moving again—the third time since her daddy came to get her. That meant she couldn’t have been more than nine or ten years old when she’d written it. She wrote that she didn’t like moving so much, but at least it was sometimes better than being in the foster home. Her daddy didn’t come into her room at night. In fact, her daddy didn’t touch her at all, not like Mr. Vaughan did.

Fuck! I knew that name. I knew it because it was my father’s name.

She’d lived with my family for nearly a year. My parents had been good people—I’d thought they’d been good people—taking in foster children as far back as I could remember, and she’d been one of those children.

I re-read the journal entry and then read it again. I couldn’t believe what she’d written. It had to be a lie. But what reason did she have to lie in a locked journal that I was quite certain no one else had ever seen? My father had gone into her room at night. He’d touched her—an eight-year-old girl. And I’d had no fucking idea. How many times? What had he done to her? And how the hell had I never noticed what was going on?

Ignoring the way my blood had begun to boil, I kept reading. And then I wished I hadn’t. There was apparently one thing she did miss from her foster care, according to her younger self—me.

“I miss Derek,” she’d written bluntly as nine-year-olds were apt to do. “I liked him.”

Reading it sent a jolt of something acutely painful through my chest. I could vaguely remember the times the little redhead had bugged to sleep in my room, and I’d told her no, thinking it was the right thing to do. My parents wouldn’t have approved, no matter how innocent it was. How many times had I sent her back to her room…to my father?

I felt nauseous and angry, but it was directed inward this time, and I had no idea what to do with it. I should have known, or asked, or done…something. Rage coursed through my veins, and I wanted to hurt the man who’d hurt her, but there wasn’t a god damned thing I could do about it. My father was dead and had been for a very long time.

And it was for that death, and for the death of my mother, that I’d been hell-bent on seeking revenge since I was thirteen years old. What the hell was I supposed to do now? Donovan had broken into my home, shot my father point-blank in the forehead, then my mother, and then he’d run out of the house with his daughter beneath his arm.

With no other family, I had been sent to hell, to the care of the vilest people I’ve ever known. If it hadn’t been for Marcos, I would have spent many more years there, locked in a dirty basement, a half-starved punching bag for the asshole and a whore for the bitch.

Was I just supposed to forget about it all because of what my father may or may not have done? Let bygones be bygones? It just wasn’t in the repertoire of things I could do.

But for the first time since that horrid night, I hesitated. Maybe Donovan still deserved to die, but his daughter? Did she deserve the fate I’d set out for her? But what choice did I have? Marcos already had a buyer—he was in the process of arranging the deal. I couldn’t back out. It just wasn’t done.

He might not kill me if I set the girl free, but he’d make sure she wasn’t free for long. And while he wouldn’t kill her, he’d make her wish she was dead. The only thing I could do was make sure she was trained. Make sure she was equipped with what a slave would need to survive her new master. And then perhaps, when her buyer tired of her, I could buy her back, though freedom might mean very little to her by then.

Fuck!

Against my better judgment, I turned my attention back to the journal and flipped through the pages. The entries were sporadic, usually several months between them. She talked about me less and less until about halfway through when I stopped seeing my name altogether. But halfway—for years after she’d been taken, she’d thought about me. Damn.

The last few entries were late in her high school years. What she wrote about most was a dream she’d been having recurrently, one that obviously made her uncomfortable, though she provided no details until the second to last entry. And then I understood why it had bothered her. Taken, punished, forced to submit, to perform, over and over again. She couldn’t understand why the dream kept coming. And worse, she couldn’t understand why she responded the way she did, why she couldn’t get it out of her mind or why it set her body on fire.

Fuck me.

No wonder she’d been unable to stop her body from responding to the things I’d done to her—they were what she’d fantasized about for years!

Reluctantly, but unable to stop myself, I turned to the last entry, and it was the same, elaborating on the same fantasy that played in her mind night after night, but there was one more thing. One little detail that had me rock hard in three seconds flat.

“I never know who it is,” the entry read, “but the eyes; they’re always the same, and there’s something so familiar about them, comforting. Unique. Vivid blue. Vivid blue. Blue…blue…blue,” she wrote over and over again down the length of the page as if she’d been racking her brain for an answer, for the owner of those eyes.

It was cocky to presume, but it wasn’t. I hadn’t really paid attention to how much time she’d spent looking at me—at my eyes, specifically—but it fits now. Some part of her recognized me, and she’d been trying desperately to figure out how.

But that also meant she’d been having naughty fantasies about me? For years? What the hell?

I slammed the journal closed and tossed it in the box at my feet. This was insane. But part of me didn’t think so. A large, throbbing part of me wanted to barge into her room and give her exactly what she’d been fantasizing about because from the moment I’d spied her on the street, she’d been the only fantasy occupying my thoughts.

I couldn’t do it though. I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t let her mess with my head like this. Instead, I focused on the other content of the boxes—books. Lots of books.

I took a couple of them, figuring I’d hold onto them to give her back as rewards. Usually, I wouldn’t allow outside media unless it helped to advance a slave’s training—like BDSM erotica. But I found myself wanting to do something, to make amends for the plan I’d set in action.

Yeah—a book was just the thing to make up for taking away a girl’s freedom and turning her into a slave.

Nothing was going to make up for it. She would come to obey me, and she’d already demonstrated that her body responded to me, but deep down, she’d hate me. Always.

And that was the reality check I’d needed. I wasn’t the Derek of her fantasies, however dark they might be. A long time and a lot of shit had happened since I’d been that Derek. And there was one man ultimately responsible for all of it—her father. And he had to pay.

I wasn’t certain I could feel remorse anymore, but something akin to it hit me. I didn’t want to use her like this, but I didn’t have a choice. The plan had been laid, and I would do what was expected of me. I would turn the most enticing woman I’ve ever known into the most appealing slave a master could desire.

* * *

I left her alone until the next morning. It was a small favor and a punishment at the same time—though I didn’t know precisely what I was punishing her for. Making me care? Was that even possible? Or was I just off my game with my revenge so close and thrown off by the discoveries in her journal?

Still, the few hours to herself wasn’t likely to set her training back any given that she was still cloistered in the room by herself, but it would give her mind and body a rest. A break before I did my damnedest to break her.

And I would succeed. I always did.

Leaving her alone though wasn’t entirely a gift. It always seemed to me that leaving her alone was in a way a worse punishment to her than a spanking. The way the tension seemed to leave her body when I walked in when it should have been skyrocketing higher; how she leaned into my hand when I caressed her cheek—all signs that the solitude was like torture to her.

Morning now, I opened the door and stepped inside. The sigh of relief she didn’t know I saw when I walked into the room did strange things to me. It made me imagine for just a moment she was glad to see me, and not that she was just glad to not be left alone in her cage. Maybe she worried I’d forget about her and leave her there to starve? Or maybe she was so starved for human companionship that even the monster I was, was better than no one at all.

I fed her breakfast, pleased that she didn’t fight me, and then it was time to start pushing her hard. She needed to be well-prepared, and after reading through that god damned journal, I wanted this over with as quickly as possible.

“Get in the shower, pet,” I told her when I’d placed the lid back on the tray.

She hesitated—the first time that morning—but too quickly, she did as she was told, following on her knees behind me while I considered her abnormally cooperative behavior at the moment. It was clearly an act, but to what end? Given her uniqueness, I wasn’t quick to jump to any conclusion. Of course, it was entirely possible—and most likely—that she was hoping her good behavior would result in me leaving quickly.

However, she didn’t actually like being left alone, and her hot, little body certainly enjoyed my company. So, it was possible she was only trying to avoid giving me a reason to punish her. If so, I was more than happy to find out just how far she’d go to avoid the belt or a spanking—both of which shot a jolt of arousal to my cock at the thought.

For the first time though, there was a pang of guilt there with it. And it was time to shut that useless emotion down. I couldn’t set her free, even if I wanted to, which right now, with her naked and on her knees in front of me, I had no desire to do. And that meant the only option was to make sure she was ready. It was far kinder than going easy on her when that would only lead to her suffering greatly at the hand—and whip—of her new master. And if my cock happened to benefit from the training she would need, where was the harm in that?

She stopped in front of the shower and I turned on the facet. “Get in and use the soap in the corner,” I instructed her then, though it was unnecessary. I could tell by the light, floral scent of her skin that she’d showered a multitude of times on her own since arriving here. Of course, she’d never had to do it in front of me, and I was looking forward to the show.

She stepped beneath the showerhead and I watched as water cascaded down her slender curves. When she’d squeezed the soap into her hands, she rubbed them together and then started at her neck, working her way across ‘safe’ zones, like her shoulders and down her arms.

“Stop,” I said when she moved down to her stomach, and I stepped forward and squeezed the soap into my own hand. “Turn around,” I told her and her eyes flew to mine. I cocked an eyebrow and she pressed her lips together hard, but she complied.

I rubbed the soap on the back of her neck. Her whole body seemed to sigh, though she covered it quickly, stiffening her spine.

“Take pleasure when it is offered. There is nothing wrong with it,” I found myself telling her. “Your body was made to feel pleasure, to respond to touch,” I continued as I worked my way down between her shoulder blades.

It seemed she was making a genuine effort, breathing slowly, deeply, and unclenching her shoulders. But it also seemed, like this, it was far more difficult for her. When her body was revved up with intense arousal, it was near-impossible for her to resist it. It clouded her thinking and probably helped to quell her father’s voice in her head—the son of a bitch who’d tried to warp his daughter into thinking there was something wrong with her simply for being human, for being a woman.

Even if her innate interests leaned to the dark and erotic side, there was nothing wrong with her acknowledging them. Hell, a girl with interests like hers could have most of the world’s population of men wrapped around her finger in five seconds flat. What the hell could be wrong with that? And though it shouldn’t make a bit of fucking difference to me, I wanted her to believe what I was saying, to accept that there was nothing wrong or dirty about what she liked. She wasn’t a whore—no matter what her fucked up father thought.

“Stop listening to it, to the voice in your head that told you there was something wrong with you. There’s nothing wrong with what you like, Pet. It pleases me very much to know your body can respond to me, no matter what I’m doing to you.”

To emphasize my point, I slipped my hands around in front of her and cupped her breasts, catching her nipples between my fingers and squeezing harder than I usually would, but knowing now that her body would turn that pain into something more, something irresistible for her.

Her hands shot out to the wall to support herself as she squealed in response, but she didn’t try to get away.

“Very good, Pet. Now, keep going. Wash the rest of your body.”

I’d intended to just watch, but I kept my hands on her breasts as she returned to her stomach, and then her hips. I slipped down to massage her ass when her hands started soaping down one leg and then the other.

As she worked her way back up her thigh, she slowed. There was only one place left that required her attention. Her breath was already coming faster, but when I released her ass and turned her around to watch her, there were tears on her cheeks.

No, damn it. I would not feel guilty. She was still the same girl she was before I’d read that fucking journal. And my guilt did her absolutely no good. The objective trainer I’d been for years is what she needed.

“Now,” I commanded.

She knew what I meant, and she slipped a trembling hand between her thighs. Her fingers glided between her folds and her breathing sped up even more.

“Very good,” I said but persisted. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

Her body was obviously responding—but to what? Just the feel of her slippery fingers? Or was there more to it?

She shook her head vigorously, and I reached around to spank one, firm cheek. She squealed, but her hand pressed harder against her pussy.

“I’m…I’m thinking about being watched,” she spoke quietly to the shower floor as tears dripped off her chin. “…about you watching me.”

Fuck. She was just too damn much.

I brushed her hand away and replaced her fingers with my own, honing in on her clit peeking out above her lips. Her body jolted and she reached out her hands to steady herself but jerked them away fast. Because it was my shoulders she’d latched onto for support.

Oh hell, yes. This was happening, I decided as I stepped into the shower with her, still fully clothed. She gasped and took a step back, but I kept my fingers on her clit…and she didn’t look disappointed.

I kept rubbing her, watching her inhibitions slowly give way to the woman she kept locked inside. Little by little, her eyes glazed over and her hands returned to where they’d been, clutching my shoulders to keep herself up.

Her head tilted up then, and that surprised me, especially when her eyes met mine. She was confused, but on fire, and while I didn’t particularly want to stop to punish her if she lashed out, I wanted to taste her mouth. So, I did. I pulled her close slowly until my hand between us on her clit was all that separated our bodies. The fire in her eyes blazed brighter, but the confusion grew with it.

“Stop thinking. It’s not a request, Pet. Stop, or I will tie you up and whip you until you bleed,” I told her sternly. Her body would make this easy for her; life as a slave would be easier for her…if she’d just stop interfering.

“I can’t. I don’t know how…”

“You’re not a whore,” I said, coming down to the heart of what plagued her. “You’re a woman. A sexy as hell, submissive woman. Let it go,” I demanded harshly, more feeling behind my words than I would have liked.

I swooped in and claimed her lips, feeling a possessiveness I hadn’t experienced before. I knew the swift movement would throw her off-balance, making her mind reel with sensation and giving her body the chance to take over.

It wasn’t instantaneous, but with my finger keeping up my pace on her clit, I won out.

Her lips parted for me and I thrust my tongue inside, a mimic of how I desperately wanted to be fucking her pussy. She moaned into my mouth as her hands slid up the back of my neck. But I had no intentions of letting her stop there.

“Take off my shirt,” I said when I’d released her lips. Her fingers stilled. It was one thing for her to be passive and even to cling for support. What I was demanding now was a whole new level of difficulty. Too bad. She needed to learn. So, when she hesitated, I spanked her hard—hard enough to feel the sting in my own hand.

She yelped and jerked, thrusting her clit hard against my fingers. And when she moved to comply, her fingers were trembling so much that the buttons on my shirt were difficult for her. But eventually she managed and she slid the shirt off to where my hand against her prevented it from dropping to the ground. She raised her hands, but she didn’t quite touch me. Her fingers hovered less than an inch from my chest. But she wanted to touch me. It was clear in her eyes.

So, I denied her.

“Take off my pants,” I said instead and I increased my pace on her clit, just to make it a little easier on her.

She fumbled with the button and fly, eventually succeeding in her task. Her fingers lingered when she hooked them into the waist of my pants to slide them off, but whether in hesitation or as an excuse to touch me was up for debate.

Making her think she’d been given a reprieve, I stilled her hands and yanked them off myself. Her eyes went so wide that I stood still for a moment and let her look her fill. And she did look, though her cheeks flamed an even deeper shade of pink than her normal blush.

Instead of returning to her clit then, I placed my hands on her shoulders and pushed her down. My whole body was taut with anticipation.

Tears were still trickling from her eyes, but she didn’t fight me. When she was on her knees, she looked up at me—an intensely erotic sight—but nevertheless, an error I would have to correct.

“Never look at your master unless you’ve been told to. As a slave, you are to keep your eyes down—always.”

Her eyes flashed with angry fire at the reminder of her position, but still, she didn’t try to get away, even with my cock less than an inch from her hot, little mouth.

“Open,” I said, but I got impatient waiting for her to obey and I thrust forward and I grabbed hold of the back of her head to hold her still while I pressed against her lips. She parted for me and the head of my cock thrust in. She actually leaned up higher to accommodate me better and started working my cock deeper into her mouth.

Fuck, she was incredible. So easily aroused, and her dark, horny mind let her breech even the most stringent boundaries. By all rights, she shouldn’t be working me into the back of her throat. I shouldn’t be feeling the quick convulsion of her throat around the tip of my cock unless I’d forced it in there against her will.

She worked her way back to where she’d started and then took me in again. Watching her was fucking amazing—the sexy, little seductress on her knees.

She kept it up at a tortuously slow pace. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she knew exactly how to drive a man mad. After a while, I grabbed the back of her head and held her still as I started to increase the pace, thrusting deep, faster. Her hot mouth felt so fucking good. And she looked so god damned hot.

Her eyes darted up and then back down, more than once, and I should have corrected her, but I loved those eyes. I’d always loved those eyes. And they were sexy as hell now.

It was hard not to find a woman hot when my cock was filling her mouth, but this…her…I didn’t think a hotter woman could possibly exist.

And she did a damn good job keeping up, taking a breath every time I withdrew so she was ready for me when I drove into the back of her throat. She was a natural. Whether she liked it or not, she was made for sex, for submission…for me. So fucking hot.

I fucked her mouth harder, faster. Every thrust made her breasts bounce enticingly. She looked up at me with her sexy as hell green eyes, and they were clouded with her own desire. Sucking my cock had kept her aroused—it was clear in her gaze.

And it was just too fucking much. My balls drew up tight seconds before I thrust in deep one last time. Shockwaves of lightning shot through my body and I spurted my cum at the back of her throat, watching her throat swallow over and over again.

I withdrew from her mouth when she’d swallowed everything I had, and I stood there watching her for a moment, just enjoying the view.

She looked up once more, but I wasn’t caught up in fucking her mouth now, so I cocked an eyebrow and she dropped her gaze. But not before I’d seen what was in it. Arousal, hell yes. But it was something else that caught my attention. Or more precisely, there was a lack of something else. It was if she’d been stunned—by the way she’d responded so enthusiastically to sucking my cock? Maybe, but something wasn’t right.

She was too still, like the calm before the storm. I really hoped she wasn’t preparing to lash out now. I’d actually regret having to punish her after such a stellar performance. No doubt, she had conflicting feelings about what she’d just done, but as a slave, she needed to learn to subdue them, to keep them to herself. Her new master would tolerate nothing less.

I stood there for another moment, letting the showerhead massage the backs of my shoulders. Because with each passing second, the feeling grew stronger. There was a storm brewing, and it was only a matter of time before my little tempest let loose her fury.

6

Scarlett

I knelt there on the shower floor with so many emotions coursing through me that I didn’t know what to feel. Or whether to feel at all. I’d liked it. God damn it, I’d liked the feel of him in my mouth. And the sounds he’d made…knowing I was the one responsible for them…it had made me heady.

But now, I was hovering on the brink of insanity, and it was so tempting to let myself tumble over, to let it swallow me up. Whatever else it did to me, I didn’t care so long as it took my mind with it. This was too much—too much even to process how I should feel.

It wasn’t what the devil had done, or even how my traitorous body had responded to it. I would gladly go back to that now, to the depraved way my body had responded to him watching me, to him touching me. I’d happily relive him forcing me to my knees and shoving his cock in my mouth and the wicked thrill that had shot through me.

Yes, I wanted those things back. I didn’t want to remember what had happened after when he’d looked down at me with his vivid, blue eyes and they fell into place in my mind. I knew now why they’d seemed like a comfort when I’d first seen him, why he so easily fit into my depraved dreams.

The devil who had handcrafted my own personal hell wasn’t a nameless, faceless devil at all.

He was the place I had once run to in my mind, always, the last person who’d genuinely seemed to care about me. And now, he was pure evil. He was humiliation, and pain, and hopelessness.

He was Derek…though I wished with every fiber of my being that he was anyone else.

He was talking to me. I could hear his voice through a haze, but I couldn’t make out the words. I didn’t want to make them out. I didn’t want to understand what he was saying.

His voice grew louder, but still no words, and I closed my eyes, trying to block it all out. For the first time, I longed for the nothingness, but I knew it wouldn’t come. The devil wouldn’t let it.

I felt a hand on my shoulder. Its grip was firm, but not unbreakable. He wasn’t trying to haul me up. I had no idea what he was doing. I didn’t want to know.

And then his hand began to shake me, and it jarred me out of whatever stunned state had gripped my mind. But all at once, everything collided.

I didn’t curl up on the floor in abject misery. I didn’t cry. I didn’t sob. I didn’t even lash out.

A scream rose up from deep inside me. I had no idea where it came from. Some conglomeration of every bit of anger, fear, bitterness, and betrayal, it knit together and rocketed outward, and I covered my own ears in some feeble attempt to block out my own sound.

He yanked me off the ground and dragged me out into the other room.

“Don’t you touch me you son of a bitch. I hate you. I hate you,” I screamed over and over again.

He handcuffed me to the post, but I didn’t care. Finally, I opened my eyes and looked at him. It was so obvious now. How could I have missed it?

He was confused, but he was angry too. I kept screaming. I couldn’t stop. I watched him stride back into the bathroom, no doubt in search of the belt on his soaking wet pants. I didn’t care. His belt could never hurt me as much as I was hurting now.

I was still screaming when he came back into the room, but he wasn’t holding his belt. He had a plastic cup in his hand.

Acid—it was the first thought that came to my mind, but even in my crazed state, I dismissed it. He wouldn’t do that to me—though how the hell I could be so sure of that when he would do all the other things he’d done to me, I didn’t know. Again, I didn’t care.

The noise continued, my own ear-piercing scream that hadn’t lost an ounce of momentum since it had risen up and burst forth from my lips.

He stopped in front of me, his brilliant, blue eyes full of concern. Concern?—Ha! Like a monster was capable of that emotion.

He stood there, looking indecisive for a brief moment. I didn’t care. It just didn’t matter to me what he did to me. If he killed me, it would be better. To put an end to this misery—yes, it sounded like a reasonable plan to me.

But he didn’t raise a hand to me. Not exactly. He lifted the cup and splashed its contents on my face. No burn. It wasn’t acid. Icy cold water. It was just water. But it stunned me into silence.

The scream I thought would never end died abruptly on my lips and fizzled out in my throat. “I hate you,” I whispered, finding it suddenly too painful to force anything louder past my throat.

“What am I supposed to do with you, Pet?” he asked. It almost sounded like a genuine question. Almost. But I knew he didn’t give a damn what I thought.

“I don’t care what you do with me…” I answered anyways. “…Derek.” I could barely choke out his name. It was as if by forcing it out, speaking it out loud, it made it impossible to take it back, to pretend it wasn’t true.

Surprise flashed through his blue eyes—eyes I wished desperately I could claw out at that moment, to erase the proof of who he was.

“No matter whether it pleases you or not, I am master to you. Do. Not. Ever. Forget. It.”

“Fuck you. I wish it had been anyone but you. Anyone!” I croaked.

“Is that so?” he seethed as anger flashed in his eyes. A possessive anger, it seemed, though it was probably just my imagination.

Then again, it wouldn’t be terribly surprising. I was a thing to him. A possession to use and to break.

“Do you realize if I had been anyone else—like you so much wish—and you had dared use my name, you would have been whipped until your back was an irreparable, bloody mess. So, maybe you should think twice before wishing for a new master, Pet. But don’t worry, you’ll have one soon enough.”

His hands were clenched into fists so tight his knuckles had turned white. I waited for the blow, to feel him letting loose his anger on me like a human punching bag. But he just stood there, silent. Ominous. Maybe he was trying to figure out how much he could hurt me without killing me so he could keep it up until he’d vented every ounce of the anger that brewed and churned inside him.

But then he turned and strode right out of the room, leaving me shackled to the post but unharmed. Why? And then his words hit me, “But don’t worry, you’ll have one soon enough,” he’d said. A new master? He was getting rid of me. He didn’t want me anymore—the result of my crazed rant?

I should be relieved, but I wasn’t. Relief was nowhere in the mix of emotions that coursed through me. Bitter anger over what he’d done. Betrayal over who he was. And heartbreaking sadness that he didn’t want me. He was done with me. He was going to hand me over to someone else, and in no time at all, he was going to forget about me.

His face, and all the sides of it—my childhood hero, my captor—would haunt me for the rest of my life while mine faded in his mind until I was nothing more than a fuzzy memory of the pathetic girl he’d humiliated and hurt…and discarded.

Why did that even matter to me? After all, I’d been through—after all he’d done to me—why was that what stayed at the forefront of my mind?

I hated him, even more than before when he hadn’t been the boy I’d looked up to and adored. Why wasn’t I glad that he no longer wanted me?

Because he was still Derek, damn it.

Whatever else he was, whatever he’d become, he was still the face of every fantasy I’d ever had. And he was still in there, somewhere, wasn’t he? There had been something so tender about him all the times he’d caressed my face and ran his fingers through my hair. So many times, I’d actually let myself think he cared about me, that there must have been something that made him this way and it was the only way he could experience affection. I’d wondered what it was that had happened to him, what horrors he’d been exposed to, or suffered himself, to need this.

And then an image of the boy he’d been flashed through my mind—the handsome kid who had no idea what went on in his house when everyone else had gone to bed. He was an ordinary—albeit kind— the kid who’d tolerated me following him around like a lost puppy. My father had come to get me one night, and I’d never seen him again, not in person anyway. I ran to him in my mind often in my solitary life with my father. I remembered thinking a multitude of times that I wanted to go back there, that I’d gladly endure the bad things his father did to me if it meant I could have Derek back too.

But he wasn’t that boy anymore. Something had done this to him, had turned him into the devil who needed to hurt and humiliate. As pathetic as it was, a fresh batch of tears welled up and I cried. Not for me—there would be time enough for that—but for him, for the boy, I’d loved in my little girl way, and whatever atrocities he’d suffered to turn him into something else.

He returned to the room faster than I’d thought he would. Too soon. I was still too caught up, still too confused about how I should be feeling. I couldn’t handle this now. Not yet—not that what I could or could not handle mattered.

He was dressed now, his hair nearly dry, but my mind called up an image of him from not long before, naked, his cock in my mouth, his face contorted with pleasure, so much that it almost looked like pain. I hated the thrill that shot through my body, and I hated, even more, the urge to be there now, on my knees, taking in as much of him as I could, feeling the tension mounting in his body and seeing it in the expression on his face.

What the hell was wrong with me? How could I even be thinking that never mind responding to it, feeling my body revving up in anticipation—I was just as sick as he was.

He walked toward me without a word and I watched him, trying to read his expression, to figure out what he was going to do next. But when he stood in front of me, I looked away, down at the floor. Because I couldn’t look any longer? Or because he’d told me that was what was expected of me? Was I actually trying to behave? Submit to him like a good, little slave? Why the hell was I doing that?

Because I didn’t want him to get rid of me—the answer came to me out of the blue, stealing my breath with the shock of it. Before I had time to contemplate this new and completely insane discovery though, he reached up and unshackled me.

I dropped to my knees, not really because I was supposed to, but because it was the only way I’d be allowed to put distance between us. And I needed distance, now more than ever.

He chuckled as if he found my obedience humorous after my recent tirade. But he still reached down and stroked my cheek.

No part of me wanted to pull away. The sensations, the comfort—as much as I needed distance, I needed this too, after he’d ripped the only stability I’d ever known out from under my feet. I didn’t want him to move, or talk—I just wanted to feel his hand on my face. Nothing else.

But he withdrew after a moment. “You are a slave. I don’t owe you an explanation,” he said, his voice harsh, which contrasted sharply with how gentle his hand had been. “I had no choice. I still don’t,” he said, offering what sounded an awful lot like an explanation after telling me he didn’t owe me one. “Your father needs to pay for what he did. He will pay,” he said succinctly as if that somehow explained everything.

My father? What the hell did my father have to do with anything? Pay?—for what? And how the hell did that have anything to do with what Derek had done to me?

“I-I don’t understand,” I whispered, still finding my throat too sore to do much more.

He scoffed. “You don’t know that your father murdered my parents in cold blood?”

My eyes shot up to his. This had to be some sort of sick joke.

“You didn’t know?” he said, not quite disbelievingly. “You don’t remember the gunshots the night he took you?”

No. No, I really didn’t. I’d woken up to a man’s arms around me, yanking me out of bed. And I remembered what he’d said, “I promised your mother I’d take care of you, so here I am. And now, he won’t have any chance to get his hands on you,” he’d sneered, though I’d had no idea what he’d meant. I’d kicked and fought, but it had made no difference. And then we were in a car, driving away.

I shook my head. “What happened…Master?” I croaked, wanting to think it impossible of the man who’d taken me, but knowing it wasn’t.

I could feel his eyes on me for a long time, so long I’d given up on him answering me, but then he retrieved the chair, pulled it in front of me and sat down.

“Your father would never have been allowed to leave with you,” he said as he brushed his finger across my cheek. “He was a criminal. No court would have granted him custody. So, he took you and eliminated the obstacles in his way.”

My heart ached, imagining the boy he’d been, suddenly orphaned. Alone. But as horrible as that was, it didn’t explain what Derek had become. “What happened then,” I whispered, rubbing my cheek against his hand, hoping my complacency would keep him here and keep him talking.

He shrugged. “All the kids there—including me—were sent to new foster homes.” He spoke so easily it was clear he was covering something.

My fingers were trembling as I lifted them to cover his on my cheek. He could just as easily punish me for the move as accept it. But I wanted to know. I needed to understand. “And then what?” I asked when he didn’t bat my hand away.

“You are suddenly full of questions, aren’t you, Pet?” he said, obviously trying to brush it off.

“Yes, Master,” I said, hoping to keep this side of him here.

“My foster parents were…less than ideal parents,” he replied.

That’s what had happened. I remembered the scars I’d seen on his back. I’d been in the midst of my screaming fit and had thought nothing of it. They did nothing to mar the physical beauty of his body, but thinking about them now…there must have been hundreds of them—thin scars, long-healed, that crisscrossed the entire expanse of his back.

I thought of the boy he’d been, and what violence must have been done to him to leave so many scars…

I choked back a sob. It didn’t excuse what he’d become, but it did help to explain it. He’d become cold, unfeeling—at least, most of the time—but what other choice had there been for him? I knew from my own brief experience with him how much a person could be affected by circumstance.

I still hated him for what he’d done to me, but I also didn’t. It was the most conflicted I’d ever felt. But I couldn’t deny how natural it felt when I moved closer to his thighs and I stretched up higher. On my knees, I couldn’t quite reach, so I wrapped my arms around his neck and drew him down to my mouth.

And then I kissed him. My lips touched his, and I waited for him to pull away, to chastise me for my behavior.

He didn’t.

He let me kiss him, and when I glided my tongue across the seam of his lips, he parted for me, letting me in while he took possession of my mouth at the same time. It was like a first kiss—the kind that dreams and fantasies were made of—and I closed my mind to everything but the man in front of me.

But he pulled away and pressed down on my shoulders, pushing me back down. “I don’t know what you’re trying to do, Pet, but it won’t change anything. It’s out of my control now.”

I froze. What did he mean? What was out of his control?

“You’ve been sold. The transaction will take place soon. Your father will be there to see it happen. And then I will kill him.”

And then I understood why he’d taken me, why he’d humiliated and hurt me. I was his revenge.

I almost laughed out loud, thinking how poorly he’d plotted his vengeance. I should let him go through with it and watch in satisfaction as his plan failed before his eyes—what disappointment he’d feel when my father barely flinched.

But then I’d belong to someone else, some new, cruel master who thought I was nothing more than a piece of meat. And Derek would be gone—that part should have bothered me the least, but it seemed to be squeezing my heart like a vice.

“It won’t work,” I blurted out. Self-preservation, yes—of course, I wanted to convince him not to hand me over to a new master. But something else, too. I could only imagine how much he longed for the moment when he destroyed my father, and though I should want it with every fiber of my being, I didn’t want to see the hurt in him when his plan failed. I really was insane.

“There’s no point in you trying to talk me out of it, Pet. It can’t be undone,” he said, though it sounded an awful lot like regret in the undertone of his voice.

“And it won’t work,” I said with certainty, though with my croaky voice, it probably sounded less than convincing.

He sighed as if dismissing the topic and went back to caressing my face.

“Your plan won’t hurt my father, Derek,” I said, and then immediately realized my mistake. “I’m sorry,” I cried, waiting for his anger, but he let it out in a long breath and seemed to allow it to pass.

“And why not?” he said indulgently, no doubt expecting some lame excuse that he could see right through.

“He’s…he’s, not my father,” I said, and that seemed to shock him.

He eyed me as if he could assess the truth of what I’d just said in my eyes.

“He’s cared for you for a long time. It will affect him the same,” he said dismissively.

It was my turn to scoff, though I reined it in quickly. “I was an obligation, and nothing more. He’d promised my mother he would look after me, and so, when he’d learned she had died, he came for me. And he has spent every day since making sure I knew what a burden I was. I don’t even know why he did it—why he didn’t just leave me there…” It was a question I’d asked myself and my father more times than I could count, but there was never an answer. He seemed to hate my mother, so what obligation he had to her daughter was beyond my comprehension.

“God damn it, Scar,” he cursed and shot to his feet.

I scurried back, but only half-expecting his anger, and I wasn’t surprised when he didn’t lash out. It was the first time he’d used my name—the nickname that only he had ever used. Was I getting through to him?

But then he stormed out of the room, leaving me with no clear answer. And he left me there alone for hours. I paced my prison, my head too full to think clearly. He’d said it can’t be undone…but why? Because he didn’t want to undo it? He was happy to be getting rid of me, whether it served his vengeful purpose or not? If that was true, then there was absolutely nothing I could do. He would pass me onto someone else, and I’d be just as trapped, subjected to god only knew what new evils.

But maybe there was another option. Not so long ago, I would have said anyone who chose it was weak, but I wasn’t weak. At least, I wasn’t being weak now. I could plainly see the future that awaited me, and I was simply choosing not to accept it. I would not spend the rest of my life as some evil man’s lapdog.

It was different when I thought about Derek, about forever remaining his slave, his possession. I didn’t want to be just a possession to him, but I could accept it if there was no other choice. I would not die to escape it.

I shouldn’t feel that way. I shouldn’t so easily be able to differentiate between a life as his slave and a life as someone else’s. I should hate him just as much as I’d hate any other man who did what he’d done to me. But I didn’t, at least it wasn’t the only thing I felt for him. It was too complicated to put into words all that I felt, but it was suffice to say I would rather live as his slave, hoping it would one day grow to something more, than not live at all. But another man…no. No, I didn’t want that.

The scrape of the lock jarred me out of the dark place my mind had wandered. I dropped back down to my knees, noticing it wasn’t as difficult to do as it had once been. When had that happened?

The door opened, but it wasn’t Derek who walked in. The man wasn’t the least bit familiar. Older than Derek, dark eyes. Dark, sinister eyes that sent a chill down my spine. I thought of what Derek had said about handing me over to a new master—was this him? Had I already lost the chance to end this before it began? Oh god, without him saying a word, I already knew I’d rather be dead than be this man’s slave.

He walked toward me, and I wrapped my hands around my body, trying to cover myself. I’d gotten used to being this way with Derek, naked, with his eyes free to peruse every part of me. As wrong as it was, I’d come to like it, to feel my body revving up when his eyes grazed over me.

But this man…I didn’t want him looking at me.

He stopped in front of me, looking down disapprovingly at where my hands covered me. I skittered back on my knees, but he reached out and grabbed a fistful of my hair before I could get more than a few inches. He yanked me back and my hands flew out automatically to stop from falling forward.

When I moved to re-cover myself, he yanked on my hair again, so hard I was surprised it didn’t rip it out at the roots. Tears stung my eyes, but I held them there stubbornly.

“If you cover yourself again, I will break your arms to keep you from making that mistake again.”

He wasn’t joking. I didn’t think this man was capable of it. I dropped my arms to my sides while anger and fear warred inside me. Fear won out, and I knelt there unmoving. I’d thought Derek was the devil, but I was beginning to suspect I’d been wrong.

If I’d behaved better if I’d tried to please Derek, would he still have sold me to this monster? Would he still have delighted in handing the supposed-daughter of James Donovan over to the vilest creature he could find?—certainly that’s what this man was.

Or would I have mattered to him then? If I hadn’t fought him constantly, would he have felt too much guilt to do something so horrible to an innocent girl? Was he even capable of that emotion, or had the years in his own hell numbed him to it? I had no answers. And why the hell was I thinking about Derek when I should have been thinking of the fastest method to check out?

“You are very appealing, slave, but you are far from adequately trained,” he said and I started to shake with fear. Pure terror, unlike anything Derek had ever evoked.

But then, maybe Derek was worse. He’d never hurt me the way I now knew this man was going to, but he’d handed me over to him. Wasn’t that worse?

“Stand up. I want to inspect you, slave,” he demanded.

I wanted to run, and the stupid thing about it was I wanted to run to Derek. I wanted him to wrap his arms around me and protect me, to refuse to let this monster hurt me. Tears spilled over, knowing there was nowhere to run. And even if Derek was here right now, he wouldn’t save me.

I stood up, willing my knees to hold me there while the man made a tight circle around me, touching my breasts, my hips, my backside. I wanted to scream at him to get his hands off me. I was Derek’s, and he wasn’t allowed to touch me. But it wasn’t true. And screaming at this man was sure to incite him. Derek hadn’t punished me for it—when I’d screamed like a banshee and couldn’t stop—but this man would.

He stopped behind me, his hands still on my cheeks, and I could feel his eyes grazing over my back.

“No wonder you’re unruly. There isn’t a single lash mark on you. You have not been disciplined nearly enough.”

I cried harder, knowing without a doubt he was going to rectify that.

“Bend over and grab onto the backs of your calves,” he said, already pressing down on my back.

Oh god, no. No, there had to be a way out. But he kept pressing and when I didn’t comply, I felt a hot, vicious sting across my backside. It wasn’t his hand that had struck me. No hand could hurt that much. I jerked my head back as I cried out. Bile rose in my throat—the sick monster had brought his own whip.

I started to run—it was innate. I couldn’t have stopped it any more than I’d been able to stop my body’s response to Derek. Derek…I begged him silently to save me, knowing he wouldn’t.

The man grabbed my arm and yanked back so hard it nearly pulled my shoulder right out of its socket. I landed hard on his chest and he bent my arm back painfully, forcing me back down on my knees.

And then he leaned down until his lips were next to my ear. “You’ve defied me, slave, for the last time. I am going to whip you now, and I won’t stop until you’re unconscious. And then I’ll revive you by shoving my cock up your ass, and then I’ll whip you again. You will bleed, slave. And you will never defy me again.”

No. Oh god, no. Please, no. Just let me die, I begged the universe. But when I opened my mouth, it wasn’t death I cried for.

“Derek!”

7

Derek

I couldn’t get the image of her out of my head—first, the little girl she’d been, dragged from one hell to the next. First my sick father, then hers.

And then the young woman—the woman I’d ripped away from one hell only to thrust her into yet another. Had she ever known peace, or anything close to it? If she had, she never would again with the future I’d laid out for her.

But what the fuck was I supposed to do? The deal had been made. Marcos had finalized it two days ago. And selling a slave wasn’t like selling a car. There was no changing your mind at the last minute—not unless you wanted to lose all credibility, irrevocably. And it wasn’t just my reputation on the line. It was Marcos’ reputation as well. I owed the man everything. My life. I couldn’t do that to him. And even if I was selfish enough to do it, all for some ridiculous feeling for the girl, he wouldn’t allow it. Not for her, and not even for me. I had no choice but to hand her over.

I could take her and run. The idea held appeal, but how far would we get? Marcos would hunt her down to complete the transaction. And he would hunt me down for the betrayal.

There were no options. No way out. All I could do was keep with the plan and make sure she was as well-trained as possible. That way, she’d suffer less under her new master.

Anger jolted through me at the thought of another man touching her, tasting her. It surprised me. I’d never cared about a girl enough to be the jealous type. But when I thought of her body responding to another man in the same way it had responded to me…I wanted to commit murder. I wanted to rip him apart limb from limb, and I’d take pleasure in every second of it.

Fuck!—what had I gotten myself into? She was just another girl, another slave. I’d trained a multitude of them and never once cared about another man touching them. Why now? Why this one?

Because she was different. I’d known it all along. Her uniqueness, her fight, and her fire…they had appealed to me from the beginning. I’d just never imagined those things would make me want to keep her for myself. But god damn it, that’s what I wanted. What was even more fucked up was I didn’t just want the obedient slave. I wanted Scarlett.

But I couldn’t fucking have her.

Fuck it, I thought as something snapped inside and I strode back inside the house. Maybe I couldn’t keep her. Maybe for her own good, I would have to hand her over. But she was going to be mine. Mine!

I was going to make her mine. And I knew it wouldn’t be against her will. No, I didn’t want her that way. I wasn’t going to rape her. I was going to fuck her. I was going to tease and tempt her hot, little body until she was begging for it, and then I would make her mine.

It was a crazed plan born of anger and lust and possessiveness, one with ramifications I refused to even consider at the moment.

I stormed through the house as all the blood in my body drained to my cock. By the time I reached the door to her room, I was already throbbing painfully. I flung open the door…

…and then I froze.

It took a full second to compute what the fuck was going on. I’d been so caught up in what was about to happen that the scene in front of me seemed unreal, a figment of my crazed imagination. But it was real. Too fucking real.

Marcos’ whip came down across her back and she screamed. The sound was nothing like the times I’d spanked her, even with the belt. It was filled with agony, and there were none of the signs of the lust that had wound through her body when I disciplined her. Only agony. It reached inside me and squeezed hard around my heart.

I didn’t remember crossing the room, but I had, and I was grabbing the whip out of Marcos’ hand.

He had her shackled to the bedpost, and the angry red lines that crisscrossed the milky white skin of her back told me he’d only just gotten started. Five, no six of them. But he was just getting warmed up because only a few of them had broken skin. If I hadn’t gotten there, I could tell by the anger in his eyes that she’d done something to rile him, and he intended to teach her a lesson—a bloody lesson.

If I hadn’t come back…if I hadn’t foolishly decided to fuck the girl I had no business fucking…my stomach churned thinking of what he would have done to her.

I looked back and forth between them, knowing I wasn’t supposed to kill him, but fighting the urge every second.

And then my stomach did more than churn. It threatened to expel everything in it. Looking back and forth between them…it couldn’t be.

But it was. I don’t know how the fuck I’d missed it, but it was clear as day now. Her hair, her eyes, her nose…they belonged to her mother. The shape of her face, the jut of her stubborn jaw, the tiny birthmark just below her ear…they came from her father….the man standing behind her…Marcos.

“Get out,” I seethed, knowing instantly he was not unaware of the similarities between them. He knew. He knew she was his daughter, and he’d planned on whipping her, and god only knew what else.

“How dare you,” Marcos seethed back as I unshackled her wrists and pulled her against me.

It was wrong the way she clung to me. I’d hurt her, too. She should be trying to flee both the monsters in the room, but she wasn’t. She was holding onto me for dear life as if she knew I’d protect her.

I would, at least right now. I couldn’t undo what I’d done to her, but I could keep Marcos’ hands—and his whip—off her.

His own daughter. His own fucking daughter. He ‘d had me train her as a slave. He was going to sell her. What the fuck was wrong with him?

“You know, don’t you?” I asked him, already knowing the answer.

He smiled, unperturbed. “Of course I know. What I don’t know is when you started to care so much about a product? She is a means to an end, Derek, and nothing more.”

“Whose end? If you know she’s your daughter, not Donovan’s—and I presume you’ve known all along—whose vengeance were you after?”

“What difference does it make to you? Donovan will die—that’s all that matters to you, isn’t it?”

“And how do you benefit, Marcos?” I asked though I was beginning to figure it out on my own.

“She’s the product of a whore, a woman who not only fucked behind her husband’s back but dared to run off on me. Every bit of her—including her child—must be destroyed. I knew when I found you that one day you would be useful to me, that your own bitter pursuit would aid me in one way or another. And you have not disappointed me, Derek. Not until now, at least.”

All this time, it had never been for me. He’d said when he had found me, he’d seen strength in me, a strength that he admired, and for that he’d chosen to rescue me and give me a better life, to raise me as a son. But I had been nothing more than a tool, something he could groom and then use for whatever best served his purpose.

“Now, I was not finished with her, Derek. Give her back, and if you are still so inclined, you may have her when I’m done. But you have been lax with her, and if I have to punish her for your shortcomings, then so be it.”

He reached out to grab Scarlett, and I let out a growl that didn’t sound human even to me. He eyed me warily, but seemed to retreat, dropping his hand to his side. But still reeling in shock, I must have been off my game because I didn’t respond fast enough when he raised the whip and started to bring it down, aiming at Scarlett’s exposed flesh.

I spun around just in time to take the blow. It should have stung, but I didn’t feel it. When he’d raised the whip to hit her, suddenly I was angrier than I’d ever been in my life—and I’d spent a lot of time angry.

I pushed her down on the bed and spun around to face him. “You will let her go, Marcos. I don’t give a fuck what you had planned, you will find a way to undo it.” He wasn’t going to. I knew it before the words were out, but I had to give him the chance. Whatever his reasons, he’d rescued me from hell. He might have helped turn me into a bigger monster than the ones I’d known, but I’d let him. I owed him this, even if I knew there was no way in hell he was going to take it.

“You’re upset, I understand that, Derek. And I will forgive you for it. But you will give me back my merchandise. Like you, I’ve waited a long time for my revenge.”

Listening to him now, I realized how foolish I had been. I’d agreed to this plan, thinking that it would appease my soul, that it would somehow make up for what had been done to me. Both of us thinking we could use this girl, destroy her, to make up for wrongs that she never committed. We both deserved to die for what we’d done.

Unfortunately, today, only one of us would pay that debt.

“Let her go, Marcos,” I warned him one last time.

He raised the whip again, and I knew in that split second, no matter what I said or what I did, he would never relent. If I left with her now, he would hunt us down. He’d never stop, not until I was dead and she was in hell. I deserved it…Scarlett didn’t.

I lunged at him and reached up at the same time. I had his head between my hands, and without a moment’s hesitation, I jerked, hard and fast, and his neck snapped with a stomach-turning crack. Such a small sound for what it signified.

I released him, the man who had been a friend, almost a father, for more than a decade, and he fell to the ground. His lifeless eyes stared up at me and my breath lodged in my throat. He was dead.

But I’d had no choice. Or, I’d had a choice, and the decision had been clear. Protect Scarlett. It was all that had mattered at that moment, and I would not regret it.

It didn’t make up for what I’d done to her—I’d never be able to do that—but I would protect her.

I turned away from him to look at her. She was still on her side on the bed, right where she’d landed. She hadn’t moved an inch since I’d pushed her down there, and her face seemed frozen in an expression that worried me—terror, pain, stunned disbelief.

Even when I approached her, she didn’t move. Even her eyes remained fixed where they’d been, staring at Marcos’ dead body. Her father’s dead body. The conversation between him and I from just moments before replayed in my head and a tiny bit of guilt crept in. I’d killed her father right in front of her, not even minutes after she’d found out he was her father.

But in that way, I’d had no choice. If I hadn’t done what I did right then, there was no telling when, or even if, the opportunity would present itself again. It didn’t matter that she was his daughter. He didn’t care. He would have tortured her just the same, maybe more so.

“I’m sorry, Scar,” I said, the first apology I’d made my entire adult life feeling strange on my tongue.

My voice seemed to jar her into the moment and she looked up at me warily.

“Why did you do that?” she asked.

“He wouldn’t have stopped,” I explained, hoping she’d understand without me having to spell it out for her.

“But why? I’m just…a thing to you,” she said as fresh tears cascaded down her cheeks.

It wasn’t Marcos that had her so distraught, and that shouldn’t have surprised me. Every father figure she’d ever known had been a monster. The connection meant nothing to her. But what she was asking wasn’t any easier. I had no idea how to explain why I’d done what I did; why I’d been happy to view her as a thing no so long ago but now, she was the furthest thing from it. I had words for it because it was something I’d never experienced before.

So I did the only thing I could do—I ignored it. There was no sense in trying to explain something to her when I didn’t understand it myself.

“Lay down on your stomach,” I told her gently.

She looked up at me, confused, her eyes still filled with tears.

“We have to leave, and when we do, it will be a long time before we can stop. You’re going to be…the welts…” Why the hell was I suddenly having such a difficult time communicating? It irritated me. “Lay down,” I said, more harshly than I’d intended, but this time she scrambled to comply.

I retrieved the cold cream from the bathroom—the one that few slaves ever got, medicated as it was to numb the pain. And I tried not to look at the angry welts on her back when I returned. Why they bothered me so much, I didn’t know. I’d left marks on her skin, and handprints, and seeing them had turned me on. They still did when I thought about it. But the long, thin, bloody lashes across her back now, they made me angry. I wished I could revive Marcos just to kill him again for hurting her.

Ignoring my own hypocrisy, I sat down at the edge of the bed and rubbed the cream into her skin. She sucked in her breath and more tears tumbled down her when I started to rub, but the cream began to do its work quickly. She let out the breath she’d been holding and the tears began to subside. Her body began to relax beneath my fingers.

I lingered for a moment longer than I should have, massaging in small circles on her back. I wasn’t ready to stop touching her, and besides, I needed that minute to solidify the plan that had begun to take shape the moment I’d opened the door and found Marcos whipping her.

It wasn’t a good plan, at least not on the scale of anything that worked out for me, but it was the right thing to do. I couldn’t let her go back to the life she’d known before I’d interfered. There was too much risk that she would be taken again. It wasn’t like she had much of a life to go back to, even if I could offer her that.

Since I couldn’t though, the only option was to take her someplace she’d be safe. A new identity, far away from her previous life—I could give her that. I’d have to hope neither her absence nor Marcos’, was noticed until I returned. But assuming my luck held out, it wouldn’t be difficult to stage their deaths, making it look like his car had been rigged to explode by an enemy while he was transporting his most recent slave. It would work, but I had to move fast. The moment their absences were noticed, the plan was fucked.

Now all I had to do was get her out of the house without raising suspicions. There was only one way to do it—and she wasn’t going to like it one bit.

“I need you to do something you’re not going to want to do,” I told her.

She scoffed. OK, so making her do things she didn’t want to do wasn’t exactly new, but it was different now. I helped her to sit up as I tried to choose my words. She moved easily, meaning the cream had done its job.

“The only way to get you out of here is to take you right out the front door.” So far the plan didn’t sound too bad, right? “But you will have to be the perfect slave.” Yeah—that was the catch. “There is no other way you would have been allowed to leave this room.”

She nodded, but I could tell she didn’t have the slightest clue what it meant.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked again.

I still didn’t have a clear answer for her. “Because…because the other option isn’t an option anymore.”

Again she nodded, but it seemed to settle nothing in her mind. But it would have to wait. There wasn’t time.

“All right, we have to go,” I said and stood, moving to a section of the wall and pressing down on the wainscoting. A panel opened up in the wall and I reached inside. She was trying to look past me to see what was in there, but I blocked her view. It was just better if she didn’t.

As I approached her though, her eyes widened—not that I could blame her. I hadn’t gotten to preparing her for this part.

“There’s no other way, Pet,” I said, brushing across her cheek with my free hand, hoping it would somehow do something to calm her.

She didn’t look calm, but she did look resigned. So, I went to work, fastening the collar I’d retrieved around her throat and fastening it to a leash.

“Stand up,” I told her and she complied, though she kept her eyes on the other items I’d placed on the bed.

When she was standing in front of me, I picked them up and attached a small, metal clamp to each of her nipples. She squeaked in response, but she remained still. There was a long, thin chain that ran between the clamps, and one more that ran straight down to one final clamp. I knelt down in front of her and she gasped when I fastened it onto her clit.

Necessary or not, she looked so fucking hot. The last thing I wanted to do was walk her out through the house for every patron there to see. Mine!—a voice growled in my head, but I ignored it. She wasn’t mine, and if all things went as planned, she never would be.

So, instead of doing what I wanted to be doing to her, I blocked it out. “Kneel, Pet,” I instructed, and she went down on her knees, making it even more difficult to keep my thoughts in check. “You will remain on your knees. You will crawl, and keep your head down at all times.”

She looked panicked, ready to bolt.

“You can do this, Scar. You have to do this.”

It took her a moment, but she nodded. She mouthed the word ‘OK’ but no sound came out. Unfortunately, I wasn’t quite done.

“No matter what you see, and no matter what happens, you must behave. Eyes down, and no emotion. No lashing out.”

Now her whole body was trembling. This wasn’t going to work if she couldn’t rein it in. I reached down, running my fingers through her hair. It helped, but it wasn’t enough. I crouched down in front of her and leaned in. “You can do this. I will protect you. I won’t let anyone hurt you,” I whispered before I leaned in further and covered her lips with mine.

By the time I pulled away, she wasn’t trembling anymore. She was definitely calmer, and it was almost baffling to think that after all I’d done to her, she believed me. She trusted that I would protect her.

I stood back up and gathered the end of her leash in my hand. “Stay beside me or behind me. Never in front.” And then I started forward, not giving her mind a chance to work her back up into a nervous frenzy.

At the door, she hesitated just before crossing the threshold, nearly back-stepping into the room, but she got herself under control this time and followed me out. I locked the door behind me, comforted to know the only other key to the room was in the room with Marcos’ body.

The walk down the hall was quiet and she did well, keeping up despite the noises up ahead. But there was no show in the grand room this evening, which was a good thing. Seeing some of the things that Marcos arranged as entertainment—whippings, triple-hole assaults, and even bestiality if it appealed to the crowd—might send her over the edge.

Tonight though, there were only private groups scattered around the room. A slave on her knees, going down on her master; a pair of men going at another slave from both ends—all relatively mundane for this house.

She paused as we entered the room nevertheless, and I could see her taking in the various scenes, though she did well, remembering to keep her head down. I had to yank discreetly on her chain to get her moving, while the sick fuck I wished I’d attached the leash directly to the clamps instead of the collar. It made me jerk with arousal to think of tugging on those chains and watching her body with its unique response to pleasure and pain.

Once moving, it wasn’t long before we had to stop again.

“Good evening, Derek,” one of Marcos’ patrons greeted me and I shook his hand, keeping my body loose, feigning an ease I didn’t feel.

“Hello, Vincent. Are you enjoying yourself this evening?”

“I was until I saw this beauty,” He motioned to Scarlett and then leaned into stroke her back and along the curve of her ass. One more second, and I feared I wasn’t going to be able to stop myself from breaking the man’s hand. Fortunately, he had the sense to remove the offending hand before I had the chance.

“She really is something. I’d like to have her for a while,” he said, fully expecting me to hand her over.

It was going to seem strange when I didn’t, but Vincent wasn’t interested in just touching the merchandise. He had an anal fetish, and he preferred the slaves dry so he could make them bleed. And there was no fucking way I was letting him do that to her. If anyone got to fuck her tight, little ass hole, it was going to be me. And I had no interest in making her bleed. Scream—yes, in pleasure, not the kind of pain Vincent liked to subject the slaves too.

“I’m afraid Scarlett isn’t available this evening, but Marcos always has an abundance of slaves who would be happy to accommodate you.”

He looked displeased, irritated over being deprived of what he wanted, and his hand returned to her ass, skimming between her cheeks this time, no doubt seeking out the hole he’d been planning to use.

It was either time to leave or kill him. And I could tell by the way Scar’s body had stiffened, I had seconds to go out of there or else I might as well kill him. It would draw no less attention than the scene she was about to cause.

“Tomorrow night. I’ll let Marcos know you’ve reserved her,” I said and then yanked on her chain and walked away without giving Vincent a chance to reply.

She followed eagerly, but I could feel the tension in her and the tiny sniffling noises she made that meant she was trying desperately to hold back tears. Just one more minute—assuming we didn’t run into anyone else.

I actually breathed a sigh of relief when we reached the door to the yard. It was less conspicuous than going out the front door. It wasn’t uncommon for some of the patrons to take the slaves out in the yard to make them defecate on the lawn. Where that got fun, I had no idea, but then again, one might say my fetishes wandered outside the realm of normal, too.

Once outside, I was pleased to find there was no one else around. I led her around the yard to the garage, used my key to get in, and then hurried her over to my car. I opened the trunk and then helped her to her feet. She looked at the open trunk warily.

“No one can see me leaving with you. Once we’re past the guards, I’ll let you out.”

She nodded and even went climbing in, but the movement tugged on the chains between her clamps. She froze and squealed in response, making my cock jerk in my pants.

I leaned down to release the clamp on her clit and couldn’t help but watch the expression on her face as blood rushed back into the sensitive nub all at once. And I also couldn’t resist the urge to rub her, just for a minute, just until her hips started to writhe and a tiny moan escaped her lips.

I released her then and helped her to climb in the trunk, though I left the nipple clamps on her—because that was just the kind of twisted man I was. Besides, they looked so fucking sexy on her. What guy would have been quick to take them off?

I closed the trunk after one last look and then slid behind the wheel. I made it past the guards without a hitch and drove for a few miles just to be safe. When I pulled over on the side of the road and opened the trunk to let her out, I’d expected to find she’d taken the clamps off on her own.

She hadn’t.

I swallowed hard and helped her out. I took the clamps off then, but as I released one and then the other, I sucked her nipple into my mouth, feeling the arousal coursing through her body in response to both sensations.

As tempted as I was to linger, we were nowhere near out of the woods yet. I grabbed the spare shirt I kept in the trunk and handed it to her. She clasped it awkwardly but made no move to put it on. I’d kept her naked for so long, apparently, she didn’t quite believe I was telling her to cover up now. It really was a shame to cover up that body—and if we ended up getting pulled over, no doubt that body could get us out of any speeding ticket. Still, I didn’t relish the idea of sharing it—even the sight of her sexy curves—with anyone.

So, I took the shirt from her and held it out, nodding for her to slip her arms into the sleeves. She remained still while I fastened the buttons. I was already anxiously awaiting the moment I could rip the shirt off her.

But then it hit me. There was no moment. If I went through with my plan—which I had every intention of doing—the glimpse I’d gotten of her before I’d buttoned up the shirt was the last glimpse I was going to get. When we got where we were going, I’d be leaving her there. Alone. And I wasn’t going to see her, or her hot body, ever again.

Damn, I really didn’t care for the strange way the thought made my chest ache and my eyes sting. It was unfamiliar and unwelcome.

And I had a job to do. That’s what this was now. Not the job I was used to, but a job nonetheless. I was going to make sure she was safe. It was all that mattered. Somehow, at some point, making sure no one could ever hurt her again—the way both her father and I had—it became the most important thing in the world. All I had to do was get her to where we were going and leave her there. Just walk away. It was easy.

So why the hell did it feel like the hardest thing I’d ever done?

8

Scarlett

We drove for several hours—four hours, which I could tell because there was a clock. A real clock. The first one I’d seen since he’d taken me. But I had no idea where we were going, or how much longer it would be before we got there.

Derek had been quiet the whole time. And I hadn’t tried to engage him in conversation. What was I supposed to say? So much had happened since he’d walked into my prison and found that man whipping me. That man…my father. My real father. And now he was dead. I didn’t know how I was supposed to feel about that.

I didn’t know how I was supposed to feel about anything—least of all the man sitting next to me, driving me further and further away from my prison. Why was he doing it? Why had he done any of it?

I wanted to blame it on his temper—that was the reason he’d taken hold of the man and snapped the life right out of him. But I’d made Derek mad countless times, and not once had it seemed like he’d responded in anger. He’d hurt me, yes, but it had always seemed like he’d done it with a completely level head. I wasn’t sure that made it better, but it did tell me he didn’t act on impulse, not that kind.

And so as much as I wanted to deny it, I knew he’d done it for me. He’d killed a man…for me. I didn’t know how to feel about that either. People seldom did anything for me, never mind taking a person’s life to keep me safe!

And then he’d helped me escape—at least, I thought that was what he was doing. It hadn’t felt like much on an escape when he’d trussed me up in collar and clamps and paraded me through that wretched house. When that man had approached us, when he’d touched me where nobody but Derek ever had, it had taken everything I’d had to keep from lunging at him with teeth and claws drawn.

But Derek said he would keep me safe. He wouldn’t let any of them hurt me. And he’d kept his promise. Though my skin crawled to think about that man’s hands on me, he hadn’t hurt me, and Derek had hurried us out of there before he could. Though I wondered if it was more for his benefit than mine. The rage that had coursed through him when the man touched me had been palpable in the air.

I should care. I was still painfully aware that this was insane. But it had sent an odd thrill through me to see him responding so possessively. I was his. Only his. That man had no business touching me because I belonged to Derek. And God help me, that was exactly what I wanted.

And it was beginning to seem like he wanted it too. Why else would he have done all that he did? Why else would he have taken me away from there when just hours before he’d been determined to sell me?

The same thrill that coursed through me earlier, pulsed through my veins now. He wasn’t going to sell me. He was going to keep me. I would be his, and maybe the emotion I’d seen in him when the man who was my father had been hurting me would grow. And then I would be more than just a possession to him. I would be a woman. His woman.

My stomach growled, not for the first time in the past hour. But I kept my mouth shut. Derek had been the one to feed me, to bring my meals regularly. He must know I was hungry. If he wasn’t stopping to feed me, then there had to be a good reason for it.

So, I wasn’t surprised when we pulled off the highway a short while later and he pulled up to a motel with an all-night diner out in front of it.

“Stay here,” he said, and he eyed me for a moment.

“I won’t leave. I promise,” I said, and I meant it. I didn’t want to leave. I never wanted to leave him.

And I must have been convincing because he nodded and hopped out, striding across the lot to the motel office. I watched the door once he’d gone inside, waiting for him to return.

I’d expected him to go to the diner, not the motel. Were we stopping for the night then? I suppose it made sense. He’d somehow become something more than human in my head, but he was human—flawed and beautiful—and probably tired.

I watched him walk toward me a few moments later, and like before, he struck me as some graceful predator. But this time, though my breath came quicker and my heart sped up, it wasn’t fear I felt as he came closer.

He opened the door to my side. “Come on, Pet,” he said as he extended his hand. I took it, thinking that no one had ever opened a car door for me before. It was strange how special such a simple gesture could make a person feel.

Once out though, I was immediately aware of my state of dress. The shirt came down to cover the tops of my thighs, but little more. It had been fine in the car, with only Derek to see me. Now though, with people coming and going, it was uncomfortable. But he kept my hand in his and pulled me along with him to a motel room ten yards from the car. It was the first time he’d let me walk beside him. It felt…human—a man and a woman, holding hands and walking toward a motel room.

That thought made my step stutter. There was a very well known reason for a couple to get a motel room in the middle of the night. Is that what we were going to do?

Tremors of fear and excitement shot through me together, but the excitement, the anticipation, quickly outdid the fear. Heat settled low in my abdomen and set my nether region on fire.

Once inside the room, he released my hand and I dropped to my knees—because that was what he’d expect from me, wasn’t it?

“No, Pet. Stand up,” he said, not unkindly.

Apparently, that hadn’t been what he wanted, but then, I was at a complete loss as to what to do. I got up and stood there awkwardly. I wanted to touch him. I wanted him to know I wasn’t going to fight him on this. That I wanted this. But before I could work up the nerve, he spoke.

“I’m going to get food. Don’t leave the room.”

I nodded right away and he didn’t eye me this time. He turned the door handle and strode out. But what was I supposed to do? I thought ahead to what was coming…I’d shower quickly—that’s what I would do.

I hopped in fast, wanting to be out long before he returned. And I scrubbed my body quickly. But when my hands scrubbed over the welts on my back, they flared to life. I sucked in my breath, but kept going, listening for the door.

I was out before he returned, so I dried in a hurry, moving gingerly over my back. It was too late though. Whether it had been my hands, or the water had washed away the cream that had been taking out the sting, I didn’t know, but they hurt now and it irritated me. I didn’t want to be distracted, not by the wounds that man had left on my body.

Trying my best to block it out, I returned to the main room. Since he still hadn’t returned, I sank to my knees to wait for him, but I squeezed my thighs tight like I’d learned to do before to keep my heels from digging into the angry welts.

Moments passed, but I wasn’t concerned. My master…Derek wouldn’t leave me here.

My thighs started to ache, but when I sank down lower onto my heels, I shot right back up. The ache wasn’t nearly as bad as the welts.

He returned then, but he stopped when he saw me. There was a fire in his eyes and it rekindled the fire inside me, but there was something else, too. Frustration? Disappointment? What had I done? Thinking that my awkward position was the only possibility, I sank down onto my heels, biting my lip against the gasp that tried to rush out.

He placed the bag and tray he’d brought back with him on the bed and came to stand in front of me. He brushed my cheek like I’d grown accustomed to him doing, and I nestled against his hand. Still, something wasn’t right.

“Stand up, Pet. You don’t have to kneel anymore.”

Why not? What was going on? I stood though, breathing a brief sigh of relief when my heels were no longer digging into the welts.

“I’ve gotten you enough food to last you until morning,” he said, “And I’m going to leave you with enough money to take the train that leaves here at eleven-o-clock tomorrow morning. When you arrive at your destination, there will be a P.O. box with documents you’ll need. I’ll have them sent there before you arrive. You’ll have a new ID. I’m sorry, but your last name will be different. You won’t be able to use ‘Donovan’ anymore. Once you have the documents, you’ll find a bank account in your new name. There will be more than enough money to get you started.”

He’d lost me at the word ‘leave’. He was leaving? No. I didn’t want him to leave. “What?” was all I could manage to get out as the world began to spin.

“Scar, it’s OK. There will be nobody to hurt your anymore…I won’t be there to hurt you,” he said.

“No, please, M-Master. I’ll be good. Don’t go,” I cried when what he’d said had begun to sink in.

“You don’t really want that. I’ve trained you to think that’s what you want, but it isn’t. Soon, you’ll see that,” he said, brushing away a tear that trickled down my cheek.

He turned away fast, and I realized he wasn’t just leaving. He was leaving now.

“No!” I cried and lunged for him before he’d even taken a step.

My naked body, pressed against his, was having an effect. I could feel it in him. So, I held on tight, pressing my body intimately against his.

“I don’t want you to go. I’m not crazy. And I’m not brainwashed. I can’t explain why or how it happened. And I know I should feel this way, but I do.” I loosened my grip enough to move around until I was standing in front of him. “I want you, Master, in…in all the ways a woman can want a man.”

“Oh fuck, Scar,” he cursed, but then his lips were hard against mine and his arms were around me.

He pulled me closer, but as his hands dug into my back, I couldn’t stop the cry that slipped out. He froze, and then he dropped his hands. No. No.

But instead of leaving, he pulled out the cream he’d apparently tucked into his pocket.

“Lay down, Pet,” he said, and I immediately complied.

Like before, the cream stung at first, but then, as his hands continued to work it into my flesh, the pain began to fade. He kept it up, rubbing in small circles from my backside to the middle of my back, and different sensations rippled through my body. For the first time, I had no desire to resist. I sighed and a tiny moan escaped my lips when his fingers kneaded my cheeks. It felt so good like he knew the perfect combination to soothe and arouse at the same time.

His hands started to branch out further, down the backs of my thighs and up to my shoulders. Without being told to do it, I rolled over, and I boldly pulled his hands back when he went to drop them by his side. I placed them on my breasts and thrust my chest harder against his hands.

He didn’t move at first, and I thought there might be no way to persuade him, but then he yanked one hand out of my grasp and caught both my wrists in his. And then he yanked my arms over my head, pinned against the mattress. His other hand palmed my breast, kneading, and then teasing my nipple before moving onto the other. He kept me pinned there while he lowered his mouth to one nipple. I moaned as he sucked it into his mouth, and then I squealed when his teeth bit into me, that exquisite combination of pain and pleasure that drove me wild.

“You don’t understand what you’re asking, Pet,” he said when he’d released my nipple, leaving it bereft of sensation until his fingers took over. “What I am, what I want, what I like to do to you…that hasn’t changed,” he said, and a blaze of heat shot through me, thinking of the things I knew he liked to do to me.

He must have seen the heat because he cringed and he let out a long breath. “Fuck, Scar, you’ve got to stop,” he said between gritted teeth.

“I-I didn’t do anything,” I said, but I didn’t bother resisting the urge to press my breast against his hand. It was intoxicating to see the way he was responding to me.

Something changed in him, and his resistance gave way. All of a sudden, he wasn’t fighting me anymore.

But that didn’t mean he was going to make it easy for me.

“Open your legs and tell me you want me to touch you,” he demanded.

I parted my legs easily, but the words hovered on my lips while my cheeks flamed. “Please touch me,” I said finally.

He grinned slyly. “Where, Pet? Where do you want me to touch you?”

My flesh tingled in anticipation and that seemed enough to make me bolder. “I want you to touch my pussy. I want to feel your fingers on me.”

His hand slipped between my parted thighs and his fingers glided across my wet lips. I was so primed, so on fire, that the glide made my whole body jerk. He kept it up, lightly, teasing. He was trying to drive me insane!

“My clit. Please,” I whispered, trying to direct him to where I needed him, but he chuckled and kept up with the light glide.

“Show me,” he said.

“What do you mean?”—not that it was difficult to guess.

“You know what I mean. Put your fingers on your clit and show me how you like it.”

He’d touched me expertly before, so I knew he didn’t need my guidance. This was part of the things he liked to make me do. And I was aroused enough that I didn’t hesitate. My cheeks burned hotter, but I slipped the hand he’d released down, covering my clit and rubbing fast, trying to quench the fire that was blazing hotter than ever.

His eyes were focused on what I was doing, and it made me even hotter to know he was watching me. I writhed against my own fingers, while my moans grew louder.

Then he put his hand over mine, slowing my fingers. “Don’t rush it,” he said.

I obeyed, but it was different, moving slowly, languidly on my clit while he watched. It was an entirely new kind of erotic.

And then he released my other hand and stood up. He moved to the end of the bed and leaned down until his mouth was just inches from me. I could feel his breath on my wet lips while his eyes stayed fixed on my fingers. And then it wasn’t only his breath I felt.

His tongue glided across my lips, parting them, and I felt his tongue at my opening. He pressed inside and I couldn’t slow it down. I rocketed high no matter how slowly my fingers moved. His tongue penetrated me, stroking inside me, and I tumbled over the brink.

“You’re so fucking responsive,” he said, not displeased. And then he stood up and his fingers moved to the buttons of his shirt.

“Wait,” I said and shot straight up.

He chuckled. “What is it?” he asked indulgently—as if he didn’t know.

“I want to…May I please undress you?” I said, only mildly surprised by my own boldness.

He nodded and I crawled to the edge of the bed. On my knees, I unbuttoned his shirt. My hands still trembled, but not like before. I slipped the shirt off his shoulders and let it fall to the floor while I took in the sight in front of me. Broad shoulders, chiseled chest, his arms covered with sinewy muscle. My mouth watered just looking at him.

I glided over his hard flesh and he let me. And he didn’t stop me when I leaned forward further to sample his skin with my lips. I’d only intended to see what it was like—to kiss a man like that—but one press of my lips against his throat, and I was addicted.

I covered every inch of his neck, and then his shoulders, and then I moved lower, kissing a trail down his chest. When my lips brushed across one nipple, he sucked in his breath. So, I tested the other nipple, and the response was the same.

A powerful tremor rippled through my body, realizing there were multiple things I could do to make him respond. But before I could test the waters any further, he yanked me upright.

“You have a very talented mouth, Pet, but unless you want me to put it to better use, I suggest you rest those lips.”

I knew what he meant, and yes, I did want to do that. But I also wanted something else. And it was going to happen. He wouldn’t change his mind now, would he?

Just in case, I reached for the fly of his jeans before he could stop me. And he didn’t brush my hands away when I unzipped it. I gasped though when his cock sprung free—I’d almost forgotten the massive size of him.

He chuckled, though whether at my boldness or my response to the sight of him, I didn’t know.

“Eager, are you?” he asked, but he didn’t seem the least bit bothered by it.

“Yes.” And just in case there were any misunderstandings about what it was I so eagerly wanted, “I want you,” I said, my voice stronger than I would have expected.

He eyed me for a moment, again contemplating something. I hoped he wasn’t debating whether to deny me. I didn’t want to be denied. Not of this.

“Please,” I whispered, hoping to persuade him.

He shucked his pants without taking his eyes off me, and I was fairly certain that meant I’d won.

And then, instead of telling me what to do, he climbed on the bed and took me with him, laying me back while he hovered over top of me. I reached for him again. I wanted to feel him beneath my fingers, but I’d barely made contact when he captured both my hands in one of his and yanked my arms high up over my head.

“Tell me what you want.” The sly light was shining brightly in his eyes, but I also got the feeling he needed to hear me say it. He needed to know this was what I wanted.

“I want you to fuck me,” I told him, blushing only a bit more than I already was.

He looked at me. He wasn’t deciding anything—he’d already made this decision. He was just looking at me. He was making me wait—we both knew it. And while I was probably supposed to lie there complacently, I couldn’t. I thrust my hips up toward him, imploring him. I tried to lean up enough to reach his lips, but the way he had me pinned kept him out of my limited reach.

“Please, Master. Fuck me.” I felt empty even though I had no idea what it was like to be filled. I wanted to know. Now.

And he was done tormenting me. He positioned himself between my thighs and I could feel the head of his cock at my opening. Yes, this is what I wanted. I writhed, trying to draw him in, but he held still, refusing to give in. When I stopped, he nodded, as if to tell me that’s what he’d been waiting for—for me to stop trying to take charge.

And then he was inside me, stretching me. He moved slowly, filling me one overwhelming inch at a time. So stretched, it felt like I was burning around him, but the sensation began to fade, and in its place arose a sense of fullness, completeness. Thousands of nerve endings fired, making me want to move…writhe…thrust…fuck.

But he kept up the exquisitely slow plunge. And then I could feel him pressing up against the barrier inside me. He seemed to hesitate, though his body thrummed with tightly strung energy.

“Please,” I begged shamelessly. I didn’t care about the stupid barrier. I wanted him inside me, filling me completely.

Reluctant acquiescence—for once, he didn’t want to hurt me. At least, not like this. But he got it over with quickly. One, hard thrust and he was through.

The pain of my tearing hymen seared through me, but it fizzled quickly. He was inside me, every bit of me filled with his cock.

He remained still for a moment—I think he was giving me time to adjust to him. But when I wriggled against him, letting him know I was ready, he withdrew, only to plunge back in. Thousands upon thousands of nerve endings. Sensations. A fire that burned bright, and brighter still every time he thrust inside me.

I needed to move with him, so I wrapped my legs around his hips, drawing him in deep and thrusting my hips up to meet him. I needed to touch him, but my hands were still pinned above my head. I tried to tug them free, but he held tight.

“What is it you want, Pet?” he gritted out between clenched teeth.

“I want to touch you. I want my hands on every part of you.” I was too caught up in the fast climb for embarrassment or modesty.

He released my hands and I reached out, running my fingers greedily over every inch of him I could.

His pace increased, and his sounds began to mingle with mine. Loud. Too loud, I thought vaguely, thinking of all the people passing by outside. But I didn’t care. I didn’t care if the whole world could hear us, or see us, just so long as Derek kept fucking me.

At some point, his pace had begun to lose its rhythm. Every thrust was frantic. Hard. Pounding into me and bringing me so close to the brink, I wasn’t going to be able to fight it back much longer.

And when he looked down at me, there was a wildfire blazing in his eyes, and something else too – something that was both fierce and tender. I couldn’t hold back any longer. My hips thrust up to meet him one last time and I screamed out his name as tsunami-size waves of the most exquisite pleasure surged through my body.

“Oh fuck, Scar. Your pussy feels so fucking good,” he groaned then and I could feel him swelling deep inside me as pulse after pulse of his liquid heat began to fill me.

He stayed there inside me for a long time while the aftershocks of my orgasm continued to ripple through me. Eventually, he withdrew though, and I couldn’t believe how empty I felt. It was as if I’d been incomplete my whole life and finally, with him inside me, I’d been whole.

He laid down next to me and pulled me against his chest. I could hear his heart beating, and I knew it was a sound I would never tire of hearing. He was silent for so long that I began to think he’d fallen asleep, but then he spoke. And I wished he hadn’t.

“I have to go, Scar. And you need to be on that train tomorrow,” he said, and my world started to crumble.

“Don’t go.” It was all I could force out, but in those two words was every reason, every bit of feeling I had, every ounce of love that I felt for him. Yes—love. I was done denying it. It was what I felt, right or wrong.

“I have to go back there. I have to get rid of the body before anyone realizes he’s missing. If I don’t…”

“Then I’ll go with you. And I’ll help. And then we can leave—together.”

“No, we can’t.”

Suddenly I was tired of being told what I could and could not do. Maybe what we’d just done had banished the fear of him I’d still felt. Or maybe, in my post-orgasmic stupor, I wasn’t thinking straight. Whatever the reason, I refused to listen to him. Not in this. He could tell me to kneel, to crawl, to hand over my body and soul, and I’d do it. But he could not tell me we couldn’t be together.

The thought occurred to me that perhaps Derek didn’t want us to be together. That, while he couldn’t bring himself to sell me, he was otherwise happy in his life without me. But no, if I was being honest, and not letting doubt and worry reign supreme, I could clearly see that he did want me. Something had changed in him since that first day, and he wanted what I could offer more than anything he’d ever had before.

And if I was wrong, too fucking bad.

“Yes. We. Can,” I said as I pushed off him and sat up. “You put me through hell, and I’ve come out of it stronger. I know myself better than I ever did before and I’ve accepted parts of myself that I never thought I could. And you, you’re not the same person you were when you first walked in that room—and you know it. Maybe it’s crazy—the circumstances that brought us to where we are—but we’re here. I’m not going anywhere without you. And you’re not leaving here without me.”

It was true. It was all true. What he’d done may have been wrong, but would I have gotten to this point without him? And if what he’d put me through meant he could cast off his dark past and live as a whole person again…well, I’d do it all over again if I had to. Because that’s what you did for someone you loved. For the man who had all your heart, you were willing to go to hell and back.

We’d been there, in hell, in the years we’d been apart and in the weeks or months since being thrust together—I really had no idea how much time had passed, now that I thought of it. But we’d been in hell, and now we were walking out of its flames together. Together—whether he was ready to admit he wanted it or not.

He was silent, eyeing me, assessing me. But I wasn’t backing down. Not this time.

Eventually, he leaned up. He didn’t say a word. He held me tight against him and he kissed me. A kiss that was filled with all the things he wasn’t ready to say—maybe he didn’t even know how to say. But he meant them, the emotions he conveyed with his mouth instead of his words.

And that was fine with me because we had more than enough time now—all the time in the world, actually—to learn to say all the things we wanted to say. His kiss told me he was staying, and that was all that mattered.

We would have to go back to hell together, but just for a little while. Just long enough to cover our tracks so that no demons could ever follow us out.

And that’s just what we did. Twenty-four hours later, we stood in front of the blazing wreckage, the funeral pyre of a man who had been a friend, and a father—though he was worthy of neither title.

I still didn’t know how to feel. Neither did Derek, I think. But we would sort it out together. Together—that was all that mattered.

We walked away without a backward glance. I held two thick envelopes tight in my arms. One contained our future—all the documents we would need for our new life. The other held the past—the documents, the list of patrons, pictures—the proof we would mail to the state’s FBI branch. Marcos was dead, and soon, his empire would be too.

And our new life had only just begun.

II - Her Savior

Prologue

Scarlett

March 31

The stone walls had been closing in all around me, a little more each day. The room was so god damned small. And now the metallic scent of blood hung heavy in the stale and musky air. It was so thick, I could almost taste it.

I’d never killed anyone before. I’d never even held a gun before, but now he’d left me no choice. He wasn’t going to take anything else from me. No more!

I stood on shaky legs and my finger was poised against the trigger. I’d locked my elbows to keep my arms from trembling as much as my legs were. I was ready. As ready as a person could be for a moment they’d never imagined would come to pass.

“I loved you,” I said, and despite the hoarseness of my voice, it was stronger than it had been in days.

“After the horrible way you treated me, the hell you put me through, I still loved you,” I continued.

I wanted him to know that this was for all of it. That while he’d forced me into this corner, he was going to die for every one of his sins.

And then it was time. I’d wasted enough seconds.

“I love you,” I whispered as I pulled the trigger.

It was true. It was pathetic, but it was also true. Despite what he’d done to me, I still loved him. I suspected part of me, somewhere down deep inside, always would.

The look of surprise that marred his handsome features remained etched on his face as he fell to the ground. And as if I’d taken the bullet, too, I dropped, landing hard on my knees. It should have hurt, but I didn’t feel it.

I curled over and gripped my arms tight around myself as if that could somehow hold me together. Oh god, it couldn’t. It wasn’t enough. I was unraveling at the seams. Coming undone, and flying apart.

It would never be enough.

1

Scarlett

March 14

I’d been watching Derek’s face for the past four and a half hours. It was a strange thing, terribly intimate to watch a person sleep. His features were smooth, relaxed as if the worries that plagued him had given him a brief reprieve. Every once in a while, his brow had furrowed and I wondered what was going on his mind. Had the stresses of our escape tried to seep back in and tarnish the few hours of rest he’d allotted himself?

I felt the fierce need to chase them off, though I could do nothing more than lie here and make evil faces at the invisible demons that disturbed his sleep. Derek needed this rest. Desperately. Aside from the occasional hour-long nap he’d given into, pulled off in the brush by the side of the road, he’d been awake for three days straight. His weariness had been evident in the rings that underscored his eyes, but he’d refused to relent. He’d driven through one city and town after another as if the hounds of hell were nipping at our heels.

I had to believe they weren’t. That we were safe. He’d killed the man who had posed the biggest threat and we were miles away before anyone could possibly have noticed we were missing. He was taking no chances though, and it was only after I’d worked up the nerve to start nagging him incessantly that he’d finally agreed to a brief stop at the motel we now occupied.

His brow furrowed again, and I reached out to smooth the lines as if I could infuse peace through my fingertips. But my fingers hovered a hair’s breadth away—just like each time before. It was ridiculous, of course, but I was having difficulty finding my place in this thing that we’d become.

It had all seemed so simple when he’d been inside me and I’d realized the depth of my feelings for him, but leaving behind the weeks spent in my prison had proven difficult. I had no idea what Derek expected from me now, and admittedly, I was more than a little afraid to ask.

I’d been so certain then—certain that he felt the same intense feelings for me—but with every mile, my doubts and uncertainties grew. Could I touch him? Without permission? Or did he still expect the obedient girl in her prison who did what she was told and didn’t make decisions for herself? I wanted to be more to him than a mindless slave, but if I pushed too hard, would he drop me off on the side of the road and drive away?

I couldn’t deny that it wasn’t only Derek I was having a difficult time figuring out. An equally difficult question—what was it I wanted? I liked the confidence, the dominant authority that seemed to seep from his veins. It made my heart beat harder and ignited a fire between my thighs. Did that mean I wanted him to treat me like a slave? That didn’t sit quite right, but nothing did.

His brow unfurrowed, and I laid on my back beside him. He would be awake soon. Five hours, he’d said, and then we needed to be on our way. I thought he could do with a full night’s sleep, but he’d been adamant. Five hours.

I closed my eyes, lulled by the quiet inhale and exhale of his breathing. I’d slept so much in the car, but after four and a half hours of lying in the dark, tiredness was beginning to creep up on me. Just a short nap. A few minutes to take the edge off.

But when I woke up, Derek was no longer lying next to me. I caught sight of the note he’d left on his pillow though, and knew he’d be back shortly. But now what? Alone in the motel room, I didn’t know what to do. For so long, I’d both dreaded and longed for the moment he’d walk into my room—my prison. But I wasn’t his captive anymore. I had no idea what he expected from me! Stay in bed? Kneel beside it? Tidy the room?

Finding no clear answer, I opted for a shower. It could be days before he stopped again, and I wanted to be clean in case…

My cheeks flamed at the thoughts that came to mind. I pushed them away, stepping beneath the showerhead and trying not to think about how my skin seemed ultra-sensitive, waiting, longing for his touch. Or the way my nipples pebbled beneath my own fingertips, and sent tiny shivers of arousal to the pulsing heat between my thighs.

When I stepped out of the shower, I dried briskly and wrapped the towel around me. I was just tucking it between my breasts, my thoughts lost in the memory of the feel of his hands on me when I stepped out of the bathroom and found Derek coming in the door to our room.

I dropped to my knees automatically and watched his shoes as he approached. He leaned down and took my hand without saying a word. He lifted me up onto my feet and then stroked my face. I leaned into the palm of his hand. His touch had the power to soothe and ignite at the same time.

“You don’t have to do that anymore, Scar. You’re not my slave. I should never have…”

I suppose I knew that, at least on a theoretical level. I knew he no longer wanted me to be his slave, didn’t I? But I also had no idea how else to act. It was the only thing I knew how to do when he walked in the room.

I nodded, though, in truth, I hoped it would be a long time before he left me alone again so I wouldn’t have to figure it out anytime soon. Maybe by then, this would seem normal.

“I brought back breakfast,” he said, though I could already see the paper bag he’d left on the table and smell something that must have bacon and eggs thrown into the mix. “Are you hungry?”

I was, at least I had been before he’d returned to our room. But with him here now, still touching my face, it was no longer food I wanted. I wanted to feel his hands move lower, to caress my neck, cup my breasts…

“Scar?” he queried, though I could tell by the heated look in his eyes his thoughts had run in a similar direction.

“It’s not food I want. I want you, M…” I caught myself at the last moment, but not quickly enough.

His eyes closed and he exhaled heavily as if he were trying to blow away his frustration, or agitation, or whatever it was he felt. It was still just as impossible to read his expression.

All at once, his hands reached for the towel where it was secured between my breasts and his lips came down on mine, hard. Three days of sitting next to him in the car. Three days of remembering the feel of his hands on my body, and finally I felt him.

His hands made a grand sweep down my body, but on his way back up, he slowed, squeezing my backside and pressing me hard against him as he backed me up against the wall. I could feel the massive size of his erection through his pants against my bare abdomen, and it made my thighs squeeze in response to the rush of arousal that shot through me.

Keeping as close to him as I could, I reached between us for the hem of his shirt and yanked it upward. He didn’t stop me; he pulled away just long enough for me to get his shirt off, but then he was back. See—progress. I didn’t even ask his permission.

His lips covered mine, but only briefly this time. Then he was kissing lower, along my jaw and down my neck.

It was innate; the thrust of my chest against his hands as he cupped my breasts and his mouth closed over one nipple. He sucked hard, making me squeal, but at the same time, a rush of heat heaped upon the fire burning low in my abdomen.

He didn’t stop there. He continued lower, leaving a hot trail of kisses and nips down my ribs and stomach. He did stop though when he reached the smooth mound above my sex, and I nearly shrieked in frustration. I could feel his breath, a warm breeze against my engorged flesh, but he stayed there, breathing me in.

“Please,” I whispered, already desperate to feel his mouth there.

“Please, what?” he prodded. His voice was thick with his own arousal.

“Please, Master,” the words fell from my lips, easy as breathing now.

“No, Scar. I’m not your master. Right now, I’m your lover, and I want you to tell me what you want me to do to this sexy, little pussy.”

His words added more fuel to the fire, and I was too aroused for the confusion I’d felt moments before. “I want you to lick me.”

“Mmmm. I like the sound of that. Is there anything else you want me to do?”

I didn’t know if he was trying to draw out my anticipation, or if he was enjoying making me say the words—probably both—but too many thoughts tumbled through my mind all at once.

“I want to feel your tongue inside me,” I said, picking the thought that seemed most relevant to his current position.

He smiled, but his eyes never left my sex. “Put your foot on my shoulder,” he instructed, and I complied—of course.

Still, he lingered there, a little closer now, but not close enough. I twined my fingers in the hair at the back of his head and though I’d just wanted to feel some part of him, I couldn’t resist exerting the tiniest amount of pressure, trying to draw him toward me.

“Hands over your head,” he said, and I obeyed.

Then his mouth was on my clit. He’d closed the distance and his tongue flicked back and forth across the sensitive nub, making my body jerk at the sudden contact. He grabbed hold of my hips. At first, I thought it was to help steady me, but the firm grip of his hands held me immobile. I couldn’t writhe, or even pull away—not that I wanted to. His teeth nipped at my clit, making me squeal, but then he soothed me with his tongue before sucking my clit into his mouth.

The fire burned hotter, brighter. Every second, it engulfed more of me until I’d swear I could feel it burning in my fingertips.

He looked up, his mouth still on me, and I knew what he wanted. He knew I was close, and he wanted to watch as he made my body come apart. I held his gaze, resisting the innate urge to close my eyes. And when my body shattered into a thousand shards of bliss, I could feel him groan against my wet flesh.

I’d only just begun to come back down from whatever heavenly plane the body seems to exist in after a mind-blowing orgasm when he stood up. I expected him to touch me, or to strip off his pants, or even to kiss me. I could see my own wetness glistening on his lips and run my tongue across the seam of his lips. I wanted to taste what he’d tasted.

He didn’t do any of the things I’d expected. With what seemed like no effort, he picked me up and flung me over his shoulder and strode across the room to the bed. He didn’t lay me down though like I’d been expecting.

He lowered me to the ground and spun me around to face the bed. His hand against the middle of my back, he pressed me down until I was bent right over.

A shiver of fear ran through me. Had I done something to anger him? Was he going to punish me? Tears sprung to my eyes, but I fought hard to hold them there. I wouldn’t cry. I even resisted the urge to beg, to plead with him not to punish me.

I could hear him moving behind me, but I didn’t dare turn around. I’d lose my resolve if I saw what he was about to do and start sobbing like a child. I couldn’t do that.

I felt his hand on my back, but he wasn’t holding me down. He was stroking me gently. More confusion. Heat and fear in equal measures.

“Scar, calm down,” he whispered.

Apparently, I was not doing a very good job hiding my discomfiture.

“I’m not going to hurt you, not like that, not ever again.”

There was relief in response to his words—he wasn’t angry with me. But there was also something else. Disappointment? I imagined him never spanking me again, and I felt a loss. It made no sense. Hadn’t I just been afraid of what he was going to do a moment ago?

“I don’t know how I feel about that,” I confessed, needing him to explain it to me. He’d been the one to do those things to me, so he had to know why I was disappointed to learn he never intended to do them again.

“Oh fuck, Scar, don’t say that,” he groaned while his hand stroked more firmly from my neck to midway down my back.

“Why not?” I whispered.

“Because you don’t want me to do those things. You just think you do because of what I did to you.”

He was leaning back, pulling away. I knew I didn’t want that. “Fuck me,” I begged before he could pull away completely.

He groaned, but then he was coming back, moving closer until I heard the zip of his fly and felt the thick head of his cock press against my sex. Yes, I wanted this. Plenty of other things were confusing, but this wasn’t. I wanted Derek inside me.

He pressed forward, entering me one slow inch at a time. I tried to press back against him, but he just went with me, making my efforts to draw him deeper futile. When he was finally inside, filling me, I experienced the same odd sensation I had the last time. Complete. Whole. Nothing had ever felt so right.

Then he started to move, and I was cognizant of nothing but the thousands of nerves firing in a symphony of pleasure. He cupped my breasts and teased my nipples while he rammed into me from behind. His balls slapped against me with every thrust, and when I threw my head back, I understood why he’d done it—why he’d carried me here and bent me over the bed like this.

We were at the foot of the bed, and looking forward, I could see the reflection of us in the headboard mirror. I barely recognized the girl in the mirror—her eyes were darkened with arousal, her lips were parted, her skin flushed, and her breasts bounced with every thrust of the man behind her.

Him, I recognized. His vivid blue gaze alternated between the view in front of him and our reflection in the mirror. It was the most erotic sight I’d ever seen. I watched, mesmerized, as he drove me higher.

And higher.

And at the top of the climb, when his hand slipped beneath me and his fingers found my clit, I knew I was done for. I watched the girl in the mirror being fucked from behind while an earth-shattering orgasm tore through her body.

I’d seen Derek’s face in the throes of pleasure before, but it was different to watch him like this—feeling him from behind but seeing him far in front of me.

His pace was already frantic. He gripped my hips and slammed into me one last time, as my aftershocks contracted my flesh around him. He swelled even bigger inside me and his liquid heat filled my body.

I remained there even after he’d withdrawn, the confused and tumultuous way this had started making it difficult to accept that I could just stand up if I wanted to. Seeing that I wasn’t moving on my own though, he returned once he’d zipped up his pants and leaned down to stand me up.

He didn’t say anything. He just gathered me against his chest and I closed my eyes to focus on the hardness of his flesh and the warmth that radiated from him. Capable of coherent thought once again, I debated bringing up the question. It seemed though, that while I’d regained the ability to think, I’d also gained back my ability to be embarrassed.

Did I want to tell him that I wanted him to spank me? To hurt me? Was it even true? Or perhaps what he’d said offered a better explanation—I’d only come to think I wanted it because of what he’d done to me? Still undecided, the question slipped from my lips nevertheless.

“I don’t understand why I want you to…”

“Scar, stop talking,” he cut me off. “You can’t talk like that. It isn’t real. It will fade. I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to like…”

“But you do,” I finished his thought when it didn’t seem like he was going to. “I know that. All the times when you’d…you know…well, I could feel the way it made you respond.”

He breathed a heavy sigh, but then released me. “Eat your breakfast. I’m going to grab a quick shower before we leave.”

He left the room, and I resisted the urge to follow him into the bathroom. Given that I was the one who’d been spanked and whipped with his belt, you’d think it would make sense that I’d be the one in need of a shower to collect my thoughts. But Derek seemed almost plagued by the things he’d done to me, and even more so by the way they might have shaped some of the things I wanted now.

I couldn’t quite bring myself to empathize with him. After all, I was the one who’d been spanked, whipped and forced to do a whole lot of things against my will. Where did he get off being plagued by what he’d done?

I gasped aloud at my own thoughts. I’d been so caught up in keeping him that I hadn’t taken the time to acknowledge how angry I still was with him. I’d known it was there, deep down somewhere. No one could go through what I’d been through and feel no anger or hurt over it, but I hadn’t realized the depth of that feeling. Aware of it now, I deliberately forced it back down—not forever, just for now. Once Derek and I were somewhere safe and I felt more certain he wouldn’t be so easily driven away when confronted with some of the things I was feeling, then I would let it back out again to find some way to deal with it in a calm, rational manner.

Right now, all that mattered was he was still here. Everything else could wait. I was angry, yes, but I loved him, too. I wasn’t a delusional victim of Stockholm syndrome. It’s why I could admit that what he did was wrong and that I had very real and vivid feelings about it. And I was even able to admit that perhaps the things he’d done had influenced me in some ways, but they held no sway over my heart. My body maybe, but not my heart. Derek the man, not the captor, had my heart.

I retrieved the clothes he’d gotten for me the day before and put them on. Clothing still felt odd, uncomfortable even, after being naked for so long, but I had no intention of walking out of the motel in my birthday suit.

Then I turned to the paper bag on the table. Food was another issue I was still dealing with. It seemed ridiculous. I’d fed myself for most of my life, but after five weeks of not being allowed to, it felt strange. I even missed it a little—kneeling between Derek’s legs while he fed me from his fingers and stroked my face. Yes, I was well aware how messed up that was.

It was easier now, with Derek out of the room, so I took advantage of the time I’d been given and forced myself to dig in before he was finished with the shower.

And I was just finishing off the last bite of the bacon and egg biscuit he’d brought back when the shower shut off—I don’t think I’d ever scarfed food down so quickly! I was done, nevertheless, when he emerged from the bathroom, dressed in a towel that was slung low around the sexy taper of his hips. I wanted to tear the damn towel off.

I didn’t move, I just watched as he crossed to the bed and retrieved fresh clothes from his bag. I don’t think I even breathed. Not until he dropped the towel and my breath came out with a whoosh. Derek seemed to have none of the modesty issues that I had once thought were common amongst the human race. Then again, just look at him. With a body like that, it was no wonder he was comfortable in his skin.

“If you keep looking at me like that, Scar, we’re not going to be leaving anytime soon,” he said while he zipped up his fly.

I hadn’t even realized he’d noticed me staring, but I didn’t stop. I knew we needed to leave. He’d stressed the importance of staying on the move, but it had been days and there’d been no sign of any trouble. Another hour couldn’t hurt, could it?

I stood up without looking away. It felt strange to be so bold. I could feel my knees trying to bend, trying to make me kneel like I was used to doing, but I stiffened them and walked straight to him.

He was reaching for his shirt, but I put my hand over his to stop him, resisting the urge to pull back and cower away. When I looked up, he cocked an eyebrow questioningly. He was amused, not angry—at least that was my best assessment.

“I want to…” I couldn’t quite get the words out. I was aroused, but not so far gone that it overwhelmed all my inhibitions. I wanted to tell him that the moment he’d dropped the towel, my mouth had begun to water in anticipation. That I wanted to feel the hard length of him between my lips.

Instead, I did what seemed to come too naturally. I dropped to my knees, but I didn’t wait there patiently. I reached for the fly of his pants and unzipped it. He was already hard, already so much more than I could fit in my mouth, but it didn’t stop me from trying. I circled the tip of him with my tongue first, and then ran down the underside of him and then back. His cock jerked against me, sending a corresponding jolt of arousal through my body.

His hand gripped the back of my head, but he didn’t try to rush me. He was letting me set the pace, but I was in a hurry, too. I wanted to feel him in my mouth and watch him respond. I parted my lips and took him in, inch after inch until I could go no further, and then worked my way back to the tip of him while he groaned and his hands made fists in my hair.

Again and again, I took him in. I wrapped my hand around the base of him as best I could, and worked it in tandem with my mouth. His groans grew louder and despite the restraint, I could feel he was using, his hips started to thrust, forcing his cock deeper for brief seconds at a time.

All of a sudden, his hands left my hair and gripped me in my arms. He yanked me to my feet and before I’d even righted myself, he grabbed hold of my shirt and tore it right down the middle. I probably should have worried that I only had one other shirt, but I didn’t care. My pants went next—I had no idea they could tear so easily. I was naked, and heady with desire, and I pressed my body against him, feeling the slick glide of his cock against my abdomen.

Then I was on my back on the bed, and Derek was hovering on top of me. I reached for him, but he grabbed my wrists fast, slamming them down against the mattress over my head.

“Just stay still, Scar,” he ground out between gritted teeth, and then he leaned in and sucked my nipple into his mouth hard. Pain, pleasure—it was such a heady mix.

His breathing came hard and I could feel every exhale against my breast like a gentle caress. The double sensation sent waves of arousal through me, settling between my thighs and making my aching flesh throb with need.

I didn’t remember moving, but my legs were around his waist, trying to draw him closer, to direct his massive erection to where I needed him to be. Little more than half an hour had passed since he was last inside me, but it felt like it had been days. Days of longing, waiting for him to fill me again.

He was right there, so close, but he hovered there. Why wouldn’t he just fuck me already? “Please,” I moaned as he rocked against me, making his cock slide against my clit.

“You’re new at this, and you’re going to be sore if we keep this up.”

“I don’t care,” I told him, and I writhed against him, trying to sway him.

He groaned as he leaned down and rested his forehead against mine. He was so close. Every breath I took was filtered by his lungs, and every movement rubbed my body against his.

Then his hand was between us. I felt him lining himself up against my sex. He was right there, the engorged head of his cock penetrated me, stretching my opening to accommodate his girth. “Oh god, yes. Please. More,” I whispered breathlessly.

He didn’t pull away when I tilted my hips to drive more of him inside me. Thousands of nerve endings fired. I tightened my legs around his waist to draw more of him inside. I was shameless, trying to work him into my sex, writhing, rocking.

“You seem to have developed quite an appetite, Pet,” he smirked, but his teeth were clenched so tight and his expression so intense, there was no way he wasn’t just as hungry for this as I was. “Tell me what you want. Be explicit.”

“I want you to fuck my pussy. I want you to ram every inch of your incredible cock deep inside me.” Absolutely shameless.

I must have said the magic words because he did just that. Over and over again.

When his lips came down on mine, he took what he wanted, his teeth, lips, and tongue feeding on my mouth. I licked and nipped back, trying to get my fill.

Higher and higher. Frantic. By the time I reached the top, I was consumed. Nothing existed but the man between my thighs. He took me with him as he rocketed over the edge, and for one glorious moment, our bodies froze, joined as one, as our release pulsed like shockwaves through our bodies.

Minutes passed before we began to untangle our limbs, and I bit back the whine that threatened to slip out when he withdrew from my body. It was some comfort though to see the reluctance in his movements as he slid off the bed.

“Go take a shower, Scar. We’ve stayed here too long and I don’t know when we’ll be able to stop again.” Already the look of idyllic satisfaction was being replaced by the tension that had lived inside him since we ran.

I nodded and forced myself off the bed. My limbs felt almost fluid, certainly not solid enough to hold me up, but they managed. I crossed the room to the bathroom, but I didn’t close the door. I just turned on the faucet and stepped beneath the spray. I’d attributed most of his tension to me this morning, but I was beginning to see he was more on edge than I’d thought, increasingly so every day.

2

Scarlett

With Marcos dead, I didn’t understand why he seemed so worried, but it was clear he didn’t think the entire threat had been neutralized. Had Marcos merely been one of several? Did other sick and powerful men know about me? I’d learned I was supposed to have been Derek’s revenge but was there more to it?—others who wanted to see my father pay for his sins? The thought sent a shiver down my spine and made my hands fly faster across my skin. I was suddenly anxious to be on our way, too, putting as much distance between me and whatever men still might be hoping to use me in their vengeful plans.

As soon as I was done, I shut off the water and toweled off as quickly as I could. My clothes were in the other room though. I thought about wrapping the towel around me, but it almost seemed silly to cover up in front of Derek. He’d seen every part of me—what did I have left to hide?

Leaving the towel, I walked out intending to retrieve my clothes from the bag he’d stored them in, but the bag was gone. The room was spotless, and Derek was nowhere to be seen. No note on the table. He was just gone. Had he let me after all?

A pain shot through my heart at the thought, and I stood there, staring at the table as if I could make a note materialize out of sheer will. A note to say he’d gone on a coffee run or went to get gas for the car, or snacks for the road. Anything.

No note appeared on the table. The pain in my chest increased as if someone was squeezing my heart.

I wasn’t prepared for it when the door swung open. Derek walked in, and the sob I’d been holding back came out like a strangled cry. I wanted to drop to my knees, rush into his arms and collapse in a big ball of crazy, all at the same time. I settled for standing there as he approached while my bottom lip trembled like a child.

“What’s wrong, Pet?” he asked, running his hands over me, not seductively, but like he was searching for some physical injury to explain what was going on.

“Nothing’s wrong. I came out and you weren’t here, and there was no note, so I thought you’d left.” I rushed, and then finished with a ridiculous sniffle. Great. I sounded like an overgrown child with some serious separation issues.

He smiled, though his eyes looked sad, and he pulled me against him and rubbed my upper back soothingly. The wounds across my lower back had already begun to heal, but still, he seemed careful of them.

“I just went to put our things in the car. I would never…” He let his words trail off because we both knew they weren’t true. In reality, if he knew without a doubt I’d be safe, I think he would have left. Not because he didn’t care about me—I had to believe he did—but because he believed what I felt for him was all a result of my time in captivity.

That’s why I looked for a note any time he went out, and that was why I was quick to assume he’d left when there was none. I had a feeling if I didn’t change his mind about the source of my feelings for him, one of these days when I no longer needed to be protected, he would be gone.

I clung to him now, as if by doing so I could keep him here forever, but reason returned quickly. I knew we couldn’t linger any longer. I had delayed him by hours already. I could only hope he was wrong about the need to keep running.

“I’m all right,” I said in the most ‘all right’ voice I could muster.

“Good,” he replied as he dropped his arms to his sides. “Because if you don’t get dressed right now, we’re going to have another delay we can’t afford.”

I glanced down automatically to discover he wasn’t joking. His growing erection was already visible against his pants. Man, the Energizer Bunny had nothing on him. And as much as I wanted to pursue that line of thought, I couldn’t. We needed to leave.

I stepped back and saw the clothes he’d brought back with him from the car. He’d dropped them on the floor when he saw me standing there, sobbing like a fool.

I retrieved them from the floor and held them awkwardly for a moment before I slipped them on. It was still strange—maybe it always would be—but I felt the compulsion to drop to my knees more than usual as if I had to atone for covering myself up.

That was ridiculous, of course. Derek was the one who wanted me to put the clothes on, needed me to, in fact, so we could get the hell out of here.

I stood there waiting while he did a quick sweep of the room. Satisfied we were leaving no traces of our stay behind, he took my hand in his and led me out the door and into the car he’d pulled up to the curb of the motel room’s front walk. He was tense. Even if I hadn’t been able to see the way he was scanning our surroundings, I’d know it by the way it radiated from his body.

I didn’t want to know what threats were still out there, but maybe it was time to stop being such a coward and find out. If I knew what—or who—he was looking for, maybe I could even help. Something to focus on other than the batshit craziness that swirled around in my head constantly—oh, what sweet relief.

He slipped into the driver’s seat and pulled out of the parking lot. I took a deep breath and tried to steel myself against the desire to scrunch down in the seat and pretend nothing was out there. Nothing was hunting us. Nothing was waiting around the corner to take me away from him, or to take him away from me. It was foolish to think we were safe. Just days ago, he’d killed a man—for me. A man who was obviously very powerful. How many loyal followers did Marcos have who would seek to avenge his death?

“Derek…” I flinched at using his name. Would he be angry? Pleased? Oh hell, the craziness was tiring! Time to pull it together and keep talking. “Who’s following us?”

“Hopefully no one,” he said as he reached for my hand without taking his eyes off the road.

“But if we weren’t being so hopeful…Who?”

He heaved a heavy sigh but didn’t respond. He was silent for so long I figured he wasn’t going to, but then he did.

“A lot of people worked for Marcos, some of them very devoted. It’s unlikely they’d connect his death with me, but it will be suspicious that I’ve disappeared. And the transaction…he’d already finished negotiating the agreement. The buyer was…quite eager.”

“…to buy me,” I finished the thought he’d likely had no intention of finishing.

It was true though. There was a man out there somewhere who’d seen pictures of me—or videos, or however it worked—and purchased me like a piece of furniture. I might still have been angry at Derek, but I was also well aware that he could have just as easily let it happen. He could have let that man come and take me away. Hell, he could have gift wrapped me with a giant fucking bow on my head. If he had, he wouldn’t have to be on the run now, keeping watch for men who might very well be hunting him down to kill him.

Should I demand he takes me back? Demand he tells Marcos’ loyal followers that he caught me trying to escape after killing the man? It was possible that might eliminate the threat to his life, but it wasn’t possible I could make him do it. I knew he wouldn’t. Whatever it was that had changed him, there was no going back.

How long would we be on the run though? Once we reached a certain distance, would we be safe then? Or would they stop looking for us after so much time had passed? The dark scowl on Derek’s face made me think I didn’t want to pry for more answers right now. We were together. That’s all that mattered.

I turned to stare out the window, watching the landscape on the side of the highway zip by in a blur. Just a few, short days ago, I’d thought I might never see outside again. Now, I’d be quite content to find a tiny place somewhere that would swallow us up and keep us hidden from any threat out there.

I started to watch every car behind us in the side mirror, looking for telltale signs that we were being followed, but I had no idea what I was looking for. Black cars?—the bad guy always drove sleek, black cars in the movies, didn’t they? Or what about cars that stayed too close, tailing us? Was that a sign of imminent danger? Because I counted three black cars at various distances behind us, and the old lady in the car behind us seemed dangerously close to riding on our bumper. Somehow I couldn’t envision her as one of Marcos’ loyal disciples, but could she be?

I stopped looking out the window.

I needed some kind of distraction. I glanced at the radio console in front of me, but I couldn’t quite bring my hand to turn it on without permission.

“Did you want some music?”

“Yes, please.” How did he do that? Was it some sort of extra-sensory, mind-reading ability? What else could explain the way he seemed to know everything I was thinking?

Instead of turning on the radio though, he waved his hand in front of the console, motioning for me to put something on. My anxiety level soared through the roof. I had no idea what kind of music he liked now. I’d grown accustomed to having no choices, to having every decision made for me. Picking a radio station felt like a monumental task. Would he punish me if chose wrong?

Stop it, I chastised myself. He wasn’t going to punish me. In the motel room, he’d made it quite clear he was never going to do anything like that again. The same disappointment I’d felt then washed over me again, and chaos reigned supreme. I was terrified of his punishments one second, and longing for them the next. Perfect. I really was going batshit crazy. Someday soon, I was going to need a whole lot of therapy.

When I made no move to turn on the radio, he did it for me and then flipped through the stations.

“Wait,” I blurted out when he pressed the button to skip past a song I remembered him listening to often in his room a long time ago. I covered my mouth, but instead of getting angry, he pressed the button to go back to the previous station. The notes of ‘In the End’ filled the car. I couldn’t help but smile sadly, remembering him sprawled out on the floor in his room, homework in front of him and singing along with Lincoln Park.

“You remember this?” he asked, a new kind of tension in his voice, though I had no idea what had sparked it. Anger? Memories?

“Yes,” I whispered, trying to make myself as unobtrusive as possible. He said nothing else. He cranked up the volume and turned his attention back to the road. He didn’t change the station when the next song came on or the next. We listened to the music in what passed for contented silence.

Three hours passed that way, and by the time he pulled off the highway and into a gas station, it was taking all my concentration not to fidget in the seat. My bladder was ready to explode.

Instead of pulling up to the gas bar though, he passed it and parked in front of the small store where the attendant was.

“Wait here,” he said and left before I could respond.

Oh god, I should have told him I needed to use the bathroom because there might just be a puddle on my seat by the time he returned.

Fortunately, I was still hanging on when he came back a moment later and opened my door. He reached for my hand expectantly and I went with him when he pulled me out.

“Sorry, I should have stopped sooner,” he said with an apologetic grin while he guided me to the door marked “Ladies” behind the store.

One of these days, I was going to find a way to keep something from him, but right then I was grateful for his intuition. He unlocked the door but stepped ahead of me when I went to walk in. I followed behind him, more than accustomed to this lack of privacy.

As I moved to the toilet though, he slipped back toward the door and opened it. A new punishment? A new humiliation? I tried to swallow back a sob while my fingers lingered in the waist of my pants.

“I just wanted to make sure it was safe. I’m going to get some gas and I’ll be right outside when you’re finished.” He kissed the top of my head and left, closing the door behind him.

I followed him out a couple minutes later after taking an extra minute to splash some water on my face. True to his word, the car was right outside the bathroom and he was leaning against the passenger side door. God, he looked sexy as hell.

It didn’t escape my notice that I wasn’t the only one thinking that. I caught a young woman gawking at him from inside the store out the corner of my eye, and another one was standing at her car, gas pump in hand, just staring at him.

A tiny thrill shivered down my spine knowing he was mine—this man who no doubt drew appreciative glances from women everywhere he went.

How long would I be able to keep his attention though? Was I just a toy he would one day grow tired of and move on? Even if I was more than that to him, I had no illusions that Derek had a wealth of sexual experience. He hadn’t gotten that from a monogamous relationship.

And then he crossed the distance between us and kissed me so deeply, so thoroughly, I felt it all the way to the tips of my toes. By the time he let me up for air, the looks on the women’s faces had turned to jealous glares. I couldn’t help but smile smugly.

“Satisfied?” he asked with a cocked brow and a smirk.

Damn him! He knew exactly what I’d been thinking. I was tempted to glare at him, but I smiled sweetly instead while he opened the door for me. I turned to slide in and felt the stinging slap of his hand against my backside a second later. I let out a squeak—yes, I admit I sounded just like a mouse—while ripples of desire surged between my thighs. God, I didn’t want to like it when he spanked me, but I really fucking did.

“What was that for?” I asked breathlessly.

“For thinking, you had any reason to worry about those women or any others,” he whispered against my ear, presumably to keep ‘those women’ from overhearing him.

A delicious shiver raced down my spine in response to his nearness and his breath against my heated skin.

“Now, get your hot little ass in the car and take your pants off,” he demanded in the same whisper.

Right here? In the parking lot with people all around?

I slipped into my seat obediently, taking this one step at a time. He looked at me, cocking an eyebrow expectantly. My breathing was coming faster, but I could tell it wasn’t entirely a result of fear or embarrassment. The idea of him taking me right here, with those women watching and seeing how thoroughly he belonged to me…

With conflicting emotions, I slipped my fingers into the waist of my pants and arched my body up to slide them down.

He closed the door and it was only then I remembered the windows were tinted. The only one that wasn’t was the windshield and the position of the people around meant they would have a very limited view. Once again, relief and disappointment surged through me in equal measures. Would anything ever be simple again?

I kicked off my shoes and slid off the pants, leaving them bunched on the floor. He opened the driver’s side door and got in so fast he had the door closed before anyone could have seen my state of semi-undress.

Instead of touching me though, he revved the engine and shot out of the parking lot. We were back on the highway two minutes later, and I was just as confused as ever.

“Touch your pussy, Pet,” he said.

My mouth gaped open even as my obedient fingers moved to comply.

“I really want to touch you and taste you right now, but I have to drive, so I want you to finger yourself until you come and then give me your wet fingers.”

I should have been flaming with embarrassment, not sliding my fingers between my lips and delving into my center. But that was precisely what I was doing, and I was already wet with arousal. I slid a finger into my sex over and over again slowly while I watched him. His eyes moved back and forth between the road and the apex of my thighs.

“Open your legs wider and put your feet on the console,” he said, his voice already huskier.

I complied and the exposed position granted me better access. I picked up my pace, pressing the ball of my hand against my clit with every thrust. We went over a bump that slammed my hand hard against my clit, and a loud moan filled the car.

It wasn’t long before my pace was frantic, slamming instead of plunging inside me. Sweat trickled down the back of my neck. I was gripping the seat with my free hand while my feet tried to dig grooves into the console. It shook me hard and fast when my orgasm tore through my body and blazed a trail from my core to the top of my head and the tips of my toes.

I was just leaving the tight sheath of my sex when his hand shot out and grabbed mine. He pulled it to his lips and sucked my finger into his mouth, lapping with his tongue to clean off every drop of me there.

I started to lower my legs back to the floor of the car, but he stopped me with a shake of his head. I didn’t understand why until one of his hands left the wheel and replaced where my finger had been. He groaned with the first stroke inside me, and then slid out until only his fingertip remained inside. Back in, and then out, while the aftershocks of my orgasm continued to grip him rhythmically.

“Do you have any idea how sexy you look when you come?”

“Yes, Master.” I couldn’t deny that the girl in the headboard mirror earlier had been a sight to behold.

His finger stilled inside me and he closed his eyes before I realized my mistake. Of course, his expression was impossible to read, though it didn’t look like his arousal had diminished any. Feeling bolder and not wanting him to stop I wriggled further down to impale myself on his finger.

He groaned, but his finger withdrew from me. He placed his hand on his thigh and kept his attention on the road. I wished I could disappear into the seat, but I remained there, unmoving. I wanted to at least close my thighs and put my legs down, but he hadn’t said I could. So, could I? Was this a punishment for slipping up and calling him ‘master’? Had he simply forgotten the position he’d had me assume? Or was he expecting that I’d figure out on my own I could put my legs down? If that was it, obviously he’d never been on the receiving end of his belt before.

So, I sat there in the obscene position, staring out unseeing at the scenery that whizzed by. My eyes were blurry with tears, but I held them there.

“You can put your legs down, Scar. You don’t need my permission,” he said gently. He didn’t sound angry with me—that was good.

I did as he said, realizing it was exactly that—I was doing what he said to do, not making the decision for myself. But since what he was telling me to do aligned with my own wishes at the moment, I wasn’t going to quibble over the details.

I went back to staring out the window, still glancing occasionally in the side mirror for signs of followers. I figured though until I saw a guy leaning out his car window with a gun aimed at us, I probably wasn’t going to be of much use as a lookout.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Scar, put your pants back on before I drag you over here and fuck you senseless,” his voice boomed in the otherwise silent vehicle and I jolted in my seat. Thank god we’d stopped for a bathroom break already.

A ripple of arousal coursed through me at his words, but I did as he said because I didn’t imagine it would be terribly safe to drive and fuck at the same time.

I fidgeted in the seat once dressed, still finding clothes uncomfortable. I couldn’t wait for the next time we stopped for the night and I could take them off again.

“Tell me about you,” he said in a tone that was moderately more controlled than it had been a moment before.

“What is it you want to know?” I asked, not certain how to respond. There really wasn’t much to tell.

“Fuck, I don’t know. What’s your favorite movie?”

My favorite movie? It was such a normal question it caught me off-guard. “Lord of the Rings,” I blurted out without having to think about it. The movie was good, but it was the characters that made the film. Each one of them, no matter how small their role, could warrant a featurette of their own.

Then I ventured to return the question. “What about you? What’s yours?”

“I haven’t watched a movie since I was barely thirteen years old. I do recall my favorite at the time was any movie with breasts.” He grinned devilishly.

I giggled—yes, just like a schoolgirl. But what he said brought my thoughts back to that time, to the reason he’d stopped being a normal kid who watched movies on Friday nights. He was an adult now though, not subservient to anyone. And yet, he hadn’t watched a single movie?

Right. The reason hit me hard. He’d had far more entertaining pastimes to bother with mundane things like movies—such as turning girls like me into pleasure slaves. I couldn’t help but imagine him with them—hurting them, kissing them, touching…fucking them.

My head filled with doubts, not only because I couldn’t possibly keep his attention for long, but because of what it was that might draw it elsewhere. What if that life had been a part of him for so long that he couldn’t just walk away from it?

“Help keep me focused here, Pet,” his voice broke through the panic, but the words were fuzzy.

“What?”

He chuckled. “Favorite book?”

OK. Books. Oh, but how could I possibly answer that? “I don’t have a favorite, or, they’re all my favorites, I suppose.”

“You really like to read.” His eyes were slightly unfocused as if he was remembering back to something, but I had no idea what.

“Yes,” I admitted, feeling like I was opening up some part of me to him. I hadn’t realized there was anything about me left to open up. He’d controlled everything, even making my body respond when I hadn’t wanted it to. It felt like he’d taken every part of me, but it turned out I’d been wrong. There were still pieces of me he’d never seen, most of them small and meaningless on their own, but significant when all put together.

Did I want to show those things?—hand over the private parts of me, he’d never accessed? “They were like best friends.” I felt my mouth form the words and heard my voice speak them before I’d made a conscious decision. No point in holding back now. “They would tell me their stories, and I’d live every high and low with them.” I shrugged, trying to downplay the significance of those—my only—friends.

“I read your journal,” he blurted out as if the words had escaped unbidden just like mine had. “I shouldn’t have done it, and I’m sorry. And I know it’s completely fucked up to be apologizing for that after everything else I’ve done to you…”

My cheeks flamed, remembering all too clearly the things I’d written in that book. Still, nothing had forced him to tell me. Nothing could force Derek to do anything he didn’t want to do. “Thank you.”

“What?” It was his turn to look dumbfounded for a change, though he had it covered up in three seconds flat. Still, it was a victory. More than worth the cost of the privacy he’d invaded. And a victory I was damn well going to savor. I didn’t even try to fight the Cheshire cat grin.

“You didn’t have to tell me, but you did. It mattered to you that you felt you’d invaded my privacy.”

“It was all true, wasn’t it?” he asked, his voice quiet again, almost as if he hoped I wouldn’t hear him.

My smile faded. Of course, it was all true, but I figured I knew what he was really asking. I’d only written about Derek’s father once in that stupid journal, but if he hadn’t known about the things the man had done, it must have come as a shock, possibly one he wished he could disprove. I could do that, couldn’t I?—tell him it had been a lie? It was tempting. I didn’t want to shatter the image of the only family he’d ever known. After the hell he’d been through, didn’t he deserve that image?

He nodded before I’d said a word. “That’s what I thought.”

Damn. Damn. Damn. If the man wasn’t so god damned perceptive, I could have given him that image.

The conversation died away after that. I was caught up in memories of that damn book, all the things I’d written in it, and the day my father had found it. I’d been late coming home from school in my senior year. I’d stayed afterward at the teacher’s request to discuss college applications because he’d noticed I hadn’t applied anywhere.

By the time I got home, my dad had ransacked my room looking for an explanation of my whereabouts. It would have taken one-hundredth of the effort to pick up the phone and call the school, but there’d been no point in making mention of that. He’d tossed the one lipstick I’d worked up the nerve to buy into the trash can and he stood in the doorway to my room, holding my journal open in one hand.

He’d made me stand there and listen while he read aloud every line, and then he hadn’t said another word to me for weeks. He wore the same disgusted expression every time he looked at me though.

Lulled by the gentle vibrations of the car engine, I must have fallen asleep at some point because when I opened my eyes next, we were at another fast food stop and Derek was opening the passenger door. I’d been dreaming, and it took a moment to separate myself from the images in my head. I hadn’t been dreaming about James. I’d been dreaming about Derek. He had me shackled to the bedpost, whipping me before he dropped the whip on the ground and shoved his cock into my sopping wet sex. He was my captor again, but I never wanted to escape.

He reached into the car to take my hand, but as I shifted my thighs to slide out, it was clear that my body’s response hadn’t been confined to the dream. I could feel the slippery proof of my arousal on my inner thighs as I stood up.

He led us to the washrooms in the store first, and he insisted on checking the stalls, but then he left me to use the men’s room next door. Afterward, he ordered our food to go like before, but we didn’t drive far again before pulling off the road into some secluded area. I looked up at him, perplexed, but it seemed as if he was deliberately not acknowledging me there. His jaw was clamped tight but there were no other outward signs anything was wrong.

I almost said it again—especially after the recent dream, ‘master’ was on the tip of my tongue. But I swallowed it back. “Derek?”

He parked the car and got out without responding, but he was at my door two seconds later. He reached for the bag of food with one hand and my wrist with the other and yanked me out. I couldn’t stop the tremor that rippled through my body. No warning signals were sounding in my head, but something was definitely wrong. Had we been spotted? Did we have to abandon the car? But he brought me with him to the trunk of the car and then stopped.

“Eat,” he demanded, thrusting the bag at me.

What had I done? And whatever it was, food seemed like an odd punishment.

“I’m not punishing you, Pet.”

Of course, he knew what I was thinking.

“I’m going to fuck you, and you haven’t eaten since this morning. But Christ, do you have any idea the sexy sounds you make when you’re sleeping?”

The tremors transformed into tendrils of heat. I’d seen him aroused through plenty of my punishments. So it had been no surprise to see it there now. Food didn’t hold much appeal in comparison to what he had planned, but I opened the bag and peered inside, pulling out a package of fries obediently.

I still didn’t like this part. It felt strange to eat in front of him. I wanted to feel his fingers brushing my lips when he placed the food in my mouth. This is what he wanted though, so I did it, spurred on by what I knew was coming next. I must have been making progress because I could feel his eyes on me, and yet I kept eating.

Halfway through the fries, he yanked them away, stuffed them in the bag. “Face the car and put your hands on the trunk.”

I obeyed while my sex throbbed in anticipation of what was to come. I inhaled and exhaled slowly, waiting.

Waiting.

Why wasn’t he shoving my pants down and fucking me?

Waiting.

I was strung taut, vibrating with sexual energy. Waiting. He was near. I could feel the heat of his body.

His fingers brushed over my nipple and my whole body jerked at the unexpected contact. A startled moan escaped my lips, but then his fingers disappeared again.

“What’s the matter, Pet?” he crooned against my ear.

“I want…” I had to clear my throat because it was suddenly so dry. “I want you to do what you said.”

“Why?”

Why? That wasn’t along the lines of his usual questions. “Because I want to feel you inside me.”

Both his hands were on me then, cupping my breasts through my shirt and rolling my nipples between his fingers. My head rolled back and I tried to angle toward his lips.

He turned away. “Eyes forward,” he whispered. “Now, tell me why?”

Again with ‘why’! He was punishing me for something because this felt like torture.

When I didn’t respond, he clamped down on my nipples. Pain shot through me, but it wasn’t pain, at least not by the time the sensation reached the apex of my thighs and made the sensitive bundle of nerves there throb harder.

“Why?” he demanded. “Is it because I’m master here, and you can’t refuse me?”

“No,” I replied honestly, and then I ventured further, hoping I wasn’t treading on quicksand. “You…you wouldn’t make me. I know that. I want this.”

One of his hands slid down inside my pants and pressed against my clit. The arousal made me bolder, freer with my thoughts. “I want you. When you’re inside me, I feel…complete. Whole.”

He whipped my pants down so fast, they must have left rug burn—not that I would have noticed. Because a split second later, he was ramming inside me, filling every empty inch of me. His thrusts were hard, frenzied, and he held onto my hips for leverage. I held onto the trunk as best I could, but I didn’t need to—he wouldn’t let me fall.

I was climbing fast. He slammed into me again and again. I could feel every thrust against my cervix. It should have hurt. Maybe it did, but it only drove me higher.

“Tell me why,” he ground out against my ear before nipping it firmly between his teeth.

Moments away from yet another earth-shattering orgasm, it took a minute to figure out what he meant.

One hand left my hip and I felt the sting of his slap against my backside. My hips jerked as the sensation fed my arousal.

“Why?” he reiterated and then sunk his teeth into my shoulder, not deep enough to draw blood but enough to bring me dangerously close to toppling headlong over the edge.

“I want this. I want you inside me. I want you touching me, fucking me…hurting me.” Confessions were easy when every brain cell was preoccupied with mind-numbing pleasure.

He groaned and his hand returned to my hip, gripping me hard enough to add fuel to the fire. God, it was just too much. My body exploded, and I cried out as I quivered and quaked through every shockwave of pleasure that coursed through me. A moment later, he groaned through his own intense release.

He remained there, wrapping an arm possessively around my waist and leaving a luxurious trail of kisses across the backs of my shoulders. I had no interest in moving—maybe ever.

It seemed a reluctant move when he withdrew, and then he straightened our clothing and pulled me back against his chest. He dug into the paper bag, helped himself to one of the burgers and nodded for me to take the other.

It was so calm and peaceful, wrapped in a one-armed embrace with my cheek against his solid chest. I wanted it to continue. I didn’t want to think about running and hiding from bad men, or how to fit myself back into the person I’d been. I wanted the calm I’d felt when I had knelt between his thighs and he stroked my face while he fed me. “Please,” I whispered, making no move to reach for the bag myself.

He looked even more reluctant now, but eventually, he nodded and led me around to the open passenger door. He sat in the seat with his legs on the ground outside the car, his thighs parted, waiting for me to fill the empty space.

I knelt down and nuzzled my cheek against his thigh and opened my mouth when he’d torn off a piece of his burger and held it to my lips. I sighed content, at peace, and knowing without a doubt now that I was one fucked up girl.

But I had time to put myself back together. I wasn’t for sale. I was his, and if I could convince him I wasn’t your run-of-the-mill Stockholm sufferer, he would be there to help me figure out how all the pieces fit. Asking him to feed me like this probably hadn’t been a good idea in hindsight, but this would be the last time. From here on out, I intended to start working on the jigsaw puzzle of pieces so I could stop worrying about him leaving the moment he believed I was safe.

I needed time to be angry and time to heal, but most of all, I needed to know Derek would still be here when I was done.

3

Derek

I drove the entire day and half the night before I was willing to concede to a few hours of sleep in another motel room off the highway. What I really wanted to do was get Scarlett on a god damned plane and put an ocean between us and anyone who might be following us.

It had been too risky to take a flight out of Nogales Airport. Marcos owned half the security in the airport, and in every airport within a five hundred mile radius. Along with the crooked cops he’d had in his pocket and his entourage of loyal goons, distance had seemed like the best option. Another day, and we’d be in Panama, far enough away that a flight would be less risky than to continue by car any further south.

There’d been no sign of anyone tailing us. No cars I’d seen a little too often. No suspicious people. Nothing. And if it weren’t for the prickle at the back of my neck, I would have been tempted to say we were in the clear. But it was there. It had been there since the night we’d driven away from Marcos’ flaming corpse. If anything, it had only grown stronger the further we ran.

I wasn’t used to running. It wasn’t my style, and maybe that accounted for the uncomfortable sensation that kept me on high alert. I didn’t think so though. That would just be too easy.

So, I glanced around the motel parking lot before getting out of the car and felt for the solid reassurance of the guns in the holsters beneath my shirt. Darkness shrouded everything beyond the parking lot, but the overhead lights lit up the area immediately surrounding us. After tailing us for so long without detection, an assailant wouldn’t risk a shot from far away. Something could go wrong and he’d lose the advantage of stealth.

I knew that because that was precisely what I would have been thinking. Anyone hunting us also couldn’t risk a shot going astray and hitting Scarlett. Whoever it was out there, they’d want her back—free of bullet holes.

I wanted to draw them out. The need to face the fucker on our tail was an overwhelming urge that would have been impossible to resist if it weren’t for her. I couldn’t risk Scarlett winding up in the crossfire. I wouldn’t.

With my eyes peeled and ears attuned for anything out of the ordinary, I took her hand and pulled her along with me into the motel clerk’s office. Five minutes later, we were ensconced in a room behind closed curtains and a locked door. Four, maybe five hours at most, and we’d be back on the road. At the moment though, she looked more like she needed to stretch than to sleep.

I released her hand to put our bags down on the small table and then peered out the window one last time. She remained right where I’d left her, looking around while her teeth toyed nervously with her bottom lip. I let out a deep, regretful sigh. I’d done this to her. I’d made it so that despite how much her body needed to move, she would stand there, waiting patiently for my next instruction.

At times, she seemed to overcome it, forgetting for a moment that just days ago there had been consequences to everything she chose to do on her own—cruel consequences that I had inflicted. I was an evil son of a bitch, and why she wasn’t trying to sneak away at every opportunity, I had no idea.

I was glad she wasn’t though. With threats still out there, I would have had no choice but to drag her back and hold her captive until I knew she’d be safe. It was my fault she was in this mess but this was my only hope of getting her out of it.

Once she was safely hidden across the Atlantic, then maybe things could be different. Unfortunately, by then she’d probably have come to her senses and would happily send me on my way. I’d fucked up. Actually, it turned out everything I was, was one giant fuckup. And I was going to pay for it big time when she mustered the nerve to walk away.

“Why don’t you go have a shower? It’ll help after sitting in the car for so long.”

The entire car ride hadn’t been bad. There were the pleasurable stops, but I’d also managed to get her talking afterward. I’d carefully avoided mentioning her books or the god damned journal—what the fuck had I been thinking about that confession?

We talked about hobbies instead, and it turned out the girl had come a long way from the stick figure drawings on my parents’ fridge. When she’d said she was kind of into art, I hadn’t thought much of it, but I must have seemed too dismissive because she’d searched around for pen and paper with a determined fire in her eyes—god, I loved that fire. Then she’d sketched out a rendition of the blazing car we’d walked away from, complete with an eerie pair of eyes staring back from amid the flames. Cold eyes. And despite the lack of color in her sketch, there was no mistaking who they belonged to—Marcos. It was as if he had been staring out at us even in death. It had sent a shiver down my spine and I’d promised myself to never underestimate her again. She was strong and smart, beautiful, and crazy-talented.

And right now, she was standing next to the door, fidgeting with her bottom lip. “What is it, Scar? If you have something to say, you’re free to say it.” Was that just another command? A few days ago, it had been ‘don’t speak’, and now I was telling her to speak. But what else was I supposed to do?

“I want you to come with me.” She looked up at me with hooded eyes—seductive eyes.

Fuck, what man could resist that offer? I shouldn’t have been doing it. Ending the physical connection between us would no doubt speed up her realization of what was really going on. I knew she was strong enough to break that tie if she saw it wasn’t supposed to be there. She just needed to see it. And yet, here I was, leading the way to the shower. But let’s face it, so long as I had a heartbeat, there was no way in hell I’d ever be able to resist her.

* * *

The alarm on my phone sounded at six in the morning and I reached for it on the bedside table to turn it off. Despite the few, short hours of sleep, I was wide awake. I had to be. I wanted to be out of here and on the final leg of our Central American portion of this journey as quickly as possible.

I’d even had the forethought to have Scar sleep in her clothes so there would be no naked tangle of limbs to slow us down. Unfortunately, it looked like her clothes had magically disappeared overnight because her naked leg was slung across my thigh and her hot pussy was pressed against my hip. If I hadn’t already been sporting morning wood, I would have been rock hard in an instant.

Gritting my teeth and forcing my mind onto every bit of unpleasantness I could think of—even that almost wasn’t enough—I forced myself to slip out of the bed, careful not to wake her.

Five minutes later, I’d taken a piss, brushed my teeth and froze off the lingering flames with an ice cold shower. I was awake, alert and ready to get the hell out of here. I stepped out into the room to wake her, but she was no longer on the bed.

I scanned the room, expecting to find her kneeling beside it or sitting at the small table. She wasn’t there. The door was closed and still locked, and the window curtains looked undisturbed.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Where was she?

I shot to the window and looked out, but she wasn’t there. Nowhere. Not outside or in any of the cars in the lot. Scar was gone. A searing pain shot through my chest and the room started to spin in the red haze that clouded it.

Someone had come into the room in the few minutes I’d been out of it and taken her. How? Think, damn it. Think like him. I had minutes to pull it together and figure out what had happened, how the fucker had gotten out and where he’d take her.

No forced entry—that meant a key. I bolted for the door and toward the clerk’s office. I needed a description and a license plate.

She hadn’t screamed. She hadn’t made a single sound, so she’d been taken unconsciously. That meant a blow to the head—which was never a sure thing—or an injectable sedative—the more likely weapon used.

It was a small relief—she wasn’t terrified, not yet. She had no idea I’d failed her yet, and I was going to fucking find her before she came to.

I threw open the office door. It slammed against the wall and the glass shattered. I stormed to the desk, drew the gun out of its holster and held it up to the young punk’s head. “Room twelve, who has the key?”

Incoherent stuttering, and I think the guy might have pissed himself. I didn’t give a fuck.

“You have three seconds before I blow your brains out. Three…”

“Your…your brother. Your brother has the key, Mister. Please, don’t kill me,” he sniveled.

I didn’t have a brother—in case you were wondering. “Describe him.”

“T-tall. Black hair…”

Yeah, in Central America, that was really fucking helpful.

“He-he had a scar. Yeah, a scar on his cheek.”

“Was he alone?”

“I think so,” the guy squeaked. “He…he said he just got back in town and wanted to surprise you. He gave me a thousand pesos to give him the key.”

A thousand pesos—fifty bucks? This dumb fuck had just handed Scar over for fifty bucks? My finger shook the trigger. The kid deserved to die. But Scar invaded my thoughts and I knew she wouldn’t want that.

“Car? What kind of car was he driving?”

“It was black. Yeah, black.”

I cocked an impatient eyebrow.

“One of those really expensive cars, you know?”

As useless as it was, that was all the information the punk was going to be able to give me. I couldn’t exactly walk out and have him calling the cops though. So, I slammed the butt of the gun into the punk’s skull and watched him crumple, unconscious in his seat. The kid would never know how fucking lucky he was.

Back outside, I grabbed my shit from the motel room, cast one last glance at the bed as if she might appear there even now, and then left the room. I slid into the car and revved the engine, half-expecting the car to have been tampered with, but the assailant hadn’t bothered. That meant he was either one cocky, son of a bitch, or else he was too nervous to spare a moment even to safeguard his own getaway.

I scanned every inch of space as I pulled out of the parking lot, but I already knew I wouldn’t find her here. It was an easy decision which way to head though. Either one of Marcos’ goons had scooped her up or else the buyer had. Both options meant heading back the way we’d come.

I made the mistake of glancing over at the empty seat next to me. Rage and agony nearly won out. My hands shook on the wheel and were clenched so tight I was surprised the wheel didn’t snap.

I wanted to scream, kick, hit; break everything I could get my hands on. But that wasn’t going to help her. What she needed was the cold-hearted asshole I’d been before I’d dragged her into my life. If I had been hunting down a runaway slave six months ago, I would have been the coolest fucker you’d ever seen. Any regret, any equivocation about the unsavory task…I would have buried it down and focused on the job at hand.

That’s what I did. It’s all I had known for a long time. Do the job—it was all that mattered because it brought what I’d needed. Purpose, respect, money. Power. All the things I’d thought I needed. Until Scarlett. And now because I’d fucked up, the only thing I cared about—the only person who mattered—was slipping further and further away by the second.

Think like him, a rational voice in my head whispered. Strange that the rational part had taken on Scar’s voice, but it—or she—was right. So, I did my damnedest to push everything else out. If I was him…I’d be heading north in a hurry. Especially after failing to take out the mark’s vehicle, I wouldn’t be making stops or detours for anything.

I’d be on the highway, slipping above the speed limit as much as possible without risking getting pulled over. An expensive car meant there likely wasn’t a lot of trunk room to stash her in, and I’d be nervous about doing it anyway because of the weapons I’d have stashed in there. So, Scar was likely lying beneath blankets in the back seat—not the best scene for a cop to find if I was pulled over.

I turned on the highway, scanning every black car I passed. Nothing. I pressed down on the gas pedal. I didn’t have the luxury of worrying about keeping a low profile. I had time to make up for, and if a cop wanted to pull me over, he could chase my ass all the way to the car that held Scar. In my Aston Martin, there was no fucking way a cop could keep up anyways.

Minutes passed. No sign of her. It was entirely possible they’d changed cars, but I wouldn’t have a hope in hell of spotting her then. So, I ignored the bleak possibility and kept looking for an expensive, black car and a driver with a scar across his cheek.

Ten minutes…twenty. Fuck, they’d changed cars. It was the only explanation. Driving at over a buck ten, I would have caught up with them by now. My stomach churned violently to think I could very well have driven right past her if she was concealed in a different vehicle.

I swerved off to the side of the road, cutting in front of two lanes of traffic to get there—I didn’t give a fuck. I yanked the phone out of my pocket and dialed the number of the only person I could call. The only person who might have a hope in hell of pooling resources to help me track her down.

There was no point in putting it off. If there was any hope the prick could help me find her, I’d gladly stand in front of his bullet once she was safe.

The phone rang once…twice. Every second was excruciating. Impatience crawled beneath my skin while barely checked rage simmered in the veins beneath.

Three times. Four. For fuck’s sake, pick up.

“Hello?” a smooth, deep voice answered.

“James Donovan? Your daughter’s been kidnapped, and I need your help to get her back.”

“Who is this?”

Was that a flicker of concern in his voice? God, I hoped so.

“I’m the man who took your daughter.” There was no point in beating around the bush.

The line was silent.

“You kidnapped my daughter and now you want…what? Ransom?”

Yeah…this is where the explanation got convoluted. All I had was the truth, and I was going to have to find a way to make that enough.

“I don’t want your money. I need your help. I was wrong. She showed me that. I was trying to get her away, but my employer…was a very powerful man, and his goons got her.”

“Let’s say I believe you for a moment. What is it you think I can do?”

“I know despite the humble appearance, you’re still involved in many…shady markets” I hedged, mindful of the possibility of a phone tap. If I helped get the guy thrown in prison, his usefulness would plummet.

“And you want me to find out if there’s been any commotion lately?”

“That’s all I want. Just information. Any buyers unhappy about a missing purchase, or contracts put out to retrieve a product.”

“I suppose there’s no point in asking who I’m speaking to…”

I didn’t have to tell him. It wouldn’t seem the least bit suspicious for men in our particular field, but if I told him who I was, it would show I was putting myself out there. My name was well known in our circle. It might help him take my call seriously. “My name is Derek Vaughan.”

Silence again.

“Where are you?”

My location? And if the man just put out a price on my head and looked for Scar on his own? Then she’d be safe. That’s all that mattered. It was worth it.

“I’m heading up through San José now. She was taken from a motel on the outskirt of Cartago approximately twenty-seven minutes ago.”

“All right.”

All right, what? What the fuck did that mean?

“You believe she’s being taken north of your location, I assume?”

“Yes. My guess is the assailant is bound for somewhere in the vicinity of Sonora.”

“Keep heading north. I will meet you in La Fortuna in three hours. Leave your phone on and I will contact you with an exact location when I land.”

It was like grating salt in wounds to take orders from James Donovan. Weeks ago, I’d been ready and eager to rip away everything right in front of his eyes and then shoot him between them. Now I was essentially begging for his help. “Fine,” I gritted out and slammed my thumb down on the off button.

It seemed my intel on him had been correct. James Donovan had most definitely been leading multiple lives. Getting from the States to La Fortuna, Costa Rica in a matter of hours meant he either still had a plane on standby or could get one easily. He also hadn’t made any mention of the information I needed being difficult to get.

Then why? Why did he live in an ordinary home, letting his daughter work at some photo-processing shop? He could have been living, and keeping Scar, in the lap of luxury all these years. Instead, he’d buried himself so deep in ordinary and anonymity that if Marcos and I hadn’t been hell-bent on finding him, he would have remained buried.

He’d taken an awful risk, living without the security his money could have bought them. And if he’d used it, maybe I would never have been able to get my hands on Scar in the first place, and she wouldn’t be unconscious in the back of some sick fuck’s car.

A flash of sleek, black car up ahead caught my attention, drawing it away from useless conjectures. It was a luxury vehicle and pulling off onto the exit ramp. I veered into traffic without looking and followed. It was her. It had to be her.

I followed at a safe distance for a mile after the exit. It was so damn tempting just to run him off the road, but I needed him in a less conspicuous location. And it looked like I was about to get my opportunity. The car swung hung a left and then turned onto the residential street on the right. It wasn’t the middle of nowhere, but it was close enough. The houses were spaced far apart. I hit the gas, got ahead of him ten seconds later and swerved into him to stop him.

Before he could back up, I was out of the car and outside his door. I yanked it open and hauled him out before he could gather up Scar to use as a hostage. The fucker was armed, but I kicked the gun out of his hand before he’d even raised it.

I yanked hard on his arm and twisted it back at the same time, forcing him to his knees while he hollered in pain. I dropped my gun out of reach and grabbed the knife to drive into him and feel the blood draining from his worthless body. Bloodlust. Pure and potent.

I raised my arm, my muscles taut, ready, but the glint of the sun off the rear passenger window caught my eye. It was empty. The rear seats were empty. Scarlett wasn’t there.

“Where. Is. She?” I ground out slow and careful because I wasn’t going to ask twice.

“She’s gone,” he replied with absolutely no inflection in his voice. “You’ll never find her.”

His eyes were lifeless. He’d put up a minimal fight. Why? He had to know I was going to kill him, yet he seemed resigned. “What’s going on?”

The guy shrugged. “I take the girl, you kill me, my family’s safe.”

“Safe from whom?”

“I handed the girl over ten miles back. That’s all the information I can give you.”

He lunged up all of a sudden and I drove the knife between his ribs. He gurgled as his body went slack seconds later. Fuck, what had I just done? I withdrew the knife, and he coughed, spraying blood all over my pants from his mouth and his chest. I dropped him to the ground.

He’d done it on purpose. Fuck. He’d deliberately come at me so I would have no choice but to put him down.

“Where? Where is she?” I demanded, dropping down beside him. The blood loss was substantial. I didn’t aim to wound. I aimed to kill. It’s what I knew, what Marcos had taught me. So, in just a few seconds, my only link to Scar would be dead.

He opened and closed his lips, trying to make sounds past the blood filling his mouth. I leaned closer. His mouth opened and closed again, soundless. Once more, and I heard him this time, just a second before he choked on his final breath.

One word. One word and the vice that had been squeezing my heart gripped tighter, threatening to stop it altogether.

Hell.

He’d said she was in hell.

4

Derek

I left the body lying next to the car where Scar had been just moments before I’d caught up with him. But I hadn’t caught up with him, had I? He’d passed me deliberately, orchestrating the distraction that would put me even further from her. It was smart. Premeditated. I didn’t credit any of Marcos’ goons with that much intelligence. So, who?

The buyer? Would the man have gone to all this trouble for a slave he hadn’t even seen in person? An image of her flashed through my mind, on her knees, seeing her like the buyer would have seen her. Yes, a buyer might be compelled to go to an awful lot of trouble to get her back, especially if he’d already come to think of her as his. But she didn’t belong to him, damn it. She belonged to no one.

I nearly lost it again, thinking about the buyer putting his hands on her, hurting her. I’d never been more tempted to swallow a bullet. I deserved to die for my mountain of sins, didn’t I? I held no illusions about that. The world would have been better off without me. Scarlett would have been better off without me. She’d be safe now, and completely innocent of the corrupt world that had been my home for too many years. But I couldn’t do it. No yet.

I kept driving, innately keeping my eyes out for signs of trouble. Would I recognize it in the faces I passed by?—the kindred spirit of a monster? I didn’t know, so I looked anyway. The hours passed in a blur of faces. Young, old, men, women; none of them stirred anything inside me. No alarms. No intuitive pull toward a fellow evil spirit.

The only thing to take up my mind was sickening images, made even more gruesome because I didn’t have to imagine what could be happening to her. I knew firsthand the things monsters were capable of because I was one. By the time my phone rang, the images of Scar had me so tortured I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t open my mouth or I’d end up screaming and I’d never stop. Instead, I pressed the button and held it to my ear with a trembling hand.

“I’ve landed. I’ll meet you at the Inspira Café in twenty minutes. Meet me there.”

I made some strangled noise of agreement in my throat, turned off the phone and tossed it on the seat next to me. Scar’s seat. The place her body had occupied not ten hours before.

Get it the fuck together, her voice of reason spoke in my head. I listened. It was my turn to obey.

By the time I reached the café, I had it together. I’d tucked every selfish feeling of agonizing misery down deep. It would be there waiting for me later. And if I didn’t get to her in time, I deserved every gut-wrenching second it would bring. It would only be seconds though. Maybe deep down I really was a coward, because if I couldn’t save her, if she died or was lost irrevocably, I’d blow my fucking brains out. I deserved the eternity in hell I had coming to me.

It only took me about three seconds to spot him. No disguise. No obvious bodyguards lurking around. Of course, there wasn’t. James Donovan was an average individual who hadn’t existed until the day he’d stolen Scar and killed my parents. Before that, he’d been James Garcia—that man needed protecting, not the man in the café who could have passed for an ordinary businessman.

The overwhelming rush of anger I felt when I saw him surprisingly had little to do with my parents’ death. The desperate urge to rip him apart limb from limb stemmed from his carelessness with Scar. If he’d been protecting her, using even a small fragment of his fortune to have her watched over, a monster would never have been able to get his hands on her. The men I’d had take her would have been shot dead on the spot, and she would be safe.

I kept my hands to myself though. It was easy to blame him because I needed to blame someone. Someone needed to die for what happened to her, but the bitter truth of it was, that someone was me. I’d get to that, just not yet.

“Donovan.” I nodded to him as I slid into the seat across from him.

“You look younger than I expected,” he observed, looking me over to size me up.

He wasn’t wrong. For years after he’d rescued me, Marcos had teased me about not looking old enough to fuck, never mind train pleasure slaves. Even now, I could still pass for a couple years younger than my 25 years.

Nevertheless, it was a comment meant to establish himself as the superior in this arrangement, and I wasn’t about to let that slide. I returned the once over and then met his eyes, “And you look rather worse for wear after your years in suburbia.”

“Touché,” he replied and his shoulders loosened. The expression on his face relaxed, but he wasn’t fooling me. A man with eyes as cold as his never actually let down his guard. It was an act, but I had no choice other than to play along. Still, this wasn’t a social call.

“Have you heard any news?”

“I have to admit, Derek, it was a rather big risk calling me. I could have lured you here just to kill you for taking my daughter.”

“I know that.”

“And you’ve called me here anyways, which means you either intend to kill me for what I did to your little family or else you have some very desperate need to get Scarlett back.”

“If I’d intended to kill you, I would have done it the second I walked in the door.”

He was silent, considering. “I am inclined to believe you. Tell me though, what did you do to my daughter?”

Fuck, this was not going to be a productive path to travel down, so I summed it up as succinctly as I could. “She was meant to be my vengeance for what you stole from me.”

“Yes, I gathered that, but I want to know what you did to her.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I should have been better prepared for this. I couldn’t voice what I’d done to her. Not to this man. Not to anyone. “You know what it is I do. She showed me I was wrong.”

“If you feel no need to…use her further, why is it so imperative to get her back? Why abandon your thirst for revenge?”

“Because Scarlett is all that matters.” Never had I spoken truer words.

Even Donovan seemed momentarily stunned by my confession. It passed. “Yes, my daughter is a rather unique creature.”

His words were sincere, but there was ice behind them. The man was either doing one hell of a job hiding his emotions, or he really was the cold bastard Scar had said he was.

“All right,” he said, pouring cream and sugar into the coffee in front of him. “I will help you locate my daughter, but when we’ve found her, you belong to me.”

I wasn’t surprised by the deal. I knew his involvement would come with a price. I could walk away and bet the cold prick would continue to look for his daughter, but there was no fucking way I was going to take that gamble. Given the cold shiver at the base of my spine, it felt imperative to draw out the details of this agreement though.

“When we have found Scarlett, and the men holding her are dead, then you can do with me what you want.”

“We have a deal.”

I put out my hand over the table first. In an agreement, in a handshake, never let the other man take the upper hand—Marcos had taught me that. Donovan’s handshake was firm, his skin warm, but it felt like the slimiest thing I’d ever touched.

“Don’t worry, Derek. I have no interest in killing you. You are a valuable asset, and I am never wasteful.”

That’s what I was afraid of. I wasn’t just selling my soul to get Scar back—assuming I still had one to sell. I was selling lives—men he would want me to kill, girls he would want me to train.

I had no choice. She’d hate me for the things I would have to do, but she would be alive, and she’d be safe. Perhaps that was my penance for the life I’d lived—to have to return to the things I’d abandoned and live with her hatred. I wouldn’t tell her why I was doing it though. I would never let her think it was because of her.

“Have you received any news?”

“Yes, in fact, I have. There was a contract activated two days ago to retrieve a missing product—a product that belongs to Marcos Caballero.”

It made me sick to listen to Donovan talk about her like a thing, but it was necessary—common lingo in the industry—to avoid incrimination.

“Who put out the contract?”

“It’s sketchy. It seems someone is going to a great deal of effort to remain anonymous. Strange though, that there’s been no word on the subject from the man himself, isn’t it?”

“Yes, very strange,” I agreed. It was clear he wasn’t expecting to hear any word on the subject from Marcos. Donovan knew he was dead. And more than likely, he’d put the pieces together and knew I’d killed him.

“Well, there’s no sense in worrying about that, is there?” Something in the tone of his voice had my attention. He was suppressing some emotion linked to Marcos’ death, but I couldn’t guess at which one.

“Shall we go?” he said before I could consider it further, and he rose to his feet. “A plane is waiting for us. While I don’t know who put out the contract yet, I do know it was initiated where you expected—somewhere in Sonora. We’ll fly there while my contacts keep looking. If you’d like, I’ll have your car transported there.”

I nodded, not because I couldn’t replace the fucking car, but because Scar had been in this car. As I strode out of the shop and toward the car to retrieve my bag, I could see her there, smiling at me from the passenger seat. Even when I got her back, she’d never sat there again. As soon as she was safe, I’d have to put as much distance between us as I could. I didn’t want her to see me return to the man I’d been.

“When we find her, you’ll tell her nothing about our agreement,” I added the amendment as I slammed the car door and slung the bag over my shoulder.

“Of course,” Donovan conceded graciously. Too graciously.

But it was done. When this was over, I could only hope that she hadn’t figured out what an evil fuck I really was. Because I needed to believe there would be someone out there who didn’t see me as the monster I would have to be. The monster I would always be.

5

Scarlett

Two days. I’d woken up in a stone-walled cell two days ago and hadn’t seen a single living soul. I knew it had been two days—at least since I’d woken up—because there was a window in this cell. It was too high up to reach and it wasn’t a normal window. There was no glass in it—evident by the wind and rain that had blown through it the night before. It was striped with thick bars though, and it reminded me of a window in an old dungeon. It was the only source of light. When the sun went down, the prison, or dungeon, or whatever it was, plunged into darkness.

Two days, and I didn’t know whether to be relieved or terrified that I hadn’t seen anyone the whole time. I could clearly remember the early days of my last captivity. I was cold now, and hungry, and sore from the stone floor, but no one had touched me or hurt me.

There had been three bottles of water in a row in front of the prison bars that sealed me in. I’d avoided them, but eventually, my parched throat compelled me to give in and open one. It was just water. I had tried to pace myself, not knowing how long they would have to last, but a river of tears quickly leads to dehydration it seemed, and too fast, the bottles were empty. There was no water left, but I was no longer crying.

This was it. Naked and alone, I was going to die in this cell. I had no idea how I’d gotten here. The last I remembered, I had awoken shortly after falling asleep in Derek’s arms. The clothes he’d had me put on had been uncomfortable, and I’d decided to test the freedom to make my own decisions by stripping off the pants and shirt. I’d fallen back to sleep pressed against his naked chest, knowing it was right where I wanted to fall asleep every night for the rest of my life.

And then I’d woken up here. It wasn’t a punishment for disobeying him. Derek would never be this cruel, but the alternative brought no comfort. They’d found us. Whoever had been hunting us had caught up. They’d taken me—probably keeping me in an unconscious oblivion with the same kind of sedatives the men who’d first taken me had used.

What had they done with Derek? The question had plagued me, tormented me, every second of the past two days. Was he trapped somewhere in this dungeon, too? Or…had they killed him? The thought had made me sick over and over again, but with an empty stomach, I’d done little more than dry heave in the corner before curling back up and crying on the cold floor on the other side of the cell.

“Derek…” I whispered into the silent, musky air. I just wanted to know he was OK. That’s all. I wasn’t asking for much. But no matter how many times I whispered or screamed his name, there’d been no response. I was going to die never knowing if he was even alive.

Another round of sobs ripped across my parched throat. Apparently, I wasn’t done crying altogether. I curled up tighter, innately trying to escape the cool breeze that wafted in from the window. I don’t know if I closed my eyes or not. It was so dark it was hard to tell the difference.

Open, I realized, as sometime later dawn’s light slowly began to transform my surroundings from pitch black to dingy grey. I blinked back the tears blurring my vision and glanced around.

My scream lodged behind my heart in my throat when I caught sight of the figure on the other side of the bars. I scurried back further into the corner and wrapped my arms tight around my knees as if I could curl myself up into nothingness.

He just stood there, watching me with eyes as cold as another pair I’d seen not long ago. The similarities ended there, though. This man was taller than Marcos, his hair was dark but longer, and his cold eyes were a stormy grey. It looked like storm clouds were brewing in their depths.

He didn’t move. He just kept staring. He was so still I couldn’t tell if he was even breathing.

“What do you want?” I asked when I could find my voice.

He raised one hand and covered his lips with one finger, motioning for me to be quiet. His eyes never left mine.

“Tell me now,” I persisted.

He cocked an eyebrow over one, evil eye, and I couldn’t help but question the intelligence of pushing this man.

Too late. He reached for the handle and slid open the door. It offered no resistance, even though it refused to budge for me all the times I’d tried to force it open. An electronic lock—it must be—but that seemed terribly out of place in this medieval dungeon.

He stepped into my cell and suddenly I wished for the lock, for anything that would have kept him on the other side of the bars.

He strode right to me and yanked me up onto my feet. I tried to struggle out of his grip, but he bent my arm behind my back. The burn in my shoulder forced me to stop struggling before he snapped it out of its socket.

“Please let me go,” I pleaded, though I knew he had no intention of it.

He shoved me forward, keeping my arm twisted back to ensure my obedience, and pressed me against the rough stone wall. I couldn’t move, not without dislocating my own shoulder.

A familiar whizz through the air and I was screaming before I felt the lash of a whip across the backs of my thighs. Then it came down again across the same spot, and then higher, and higher still, setting my back on fire where Marcos’ lashes had only recently begun to fade.

“Stop, please,” I cried.

The next lash contained twice the fire of the last one. I could feel the sticky, wet heat there, and knew it had dug in deep. The next was gentler, controlled.

“Please, stop this.”

The whip blazed a wet, hot trail across my lower back, making my knees give out. He held me there, suspended between his grasp on my arm and the stone wall that was biting into my flesh.

He was training me. Every time I begged, the whip came down harder than when I didn’t. I squeezed my lips shut. Another controlled lash and I did my damnedest to keep my mouth closed. Three more, each administered with a rigid control.

He released my arm, and I crumpled to the ground. I didn’t dare try to get up, so I laid there as tears streamed down and puddled on the floor. I could feel the warm trickle of drops of blood as my wounds cried, too.

“Rule number one: A slave will not speak unless spoken to,” he spoke for the first time, in a deep, gravelly voice. “There will be consequences every time a rule is broken. Rule number two: A slave will address her superiors appropriately. You will address me as ‘sir’. Do you understand?”

This couldn’t be happening. I was safe. I was free. Derek had taken me away from this life.

He yanked me up onto my knees but then backhanded me across the cheek and sent me sprawling back to the floor a second later.

“Do you understand me?” he growled, reaching for his whip.

“Y-yes, sir,” I stuttered around sobs.

“Good. Follow me, slave,” he instructed and then stepped out of my cell.

I got my hands and knees beneath me and pushed up. I didn’t bother standing up. I knew that wasn’t what he wanted. No doubt it would only result in another whipping. I crawled to the door, choking on tears, feeling weaker than I’d ever been. A bit of pain, and I was already jumping to be his obedient slave? This man wasn’t like Derek though. His eyes were as cold and lifeless as Marcos’ had been. No compassion. Only ruthlessness. There would be no softening him.

Oh god, Derek, where was he? If he was here, he’d never let this monster hurt me. He wasn’t here though, so I had no choice but to crawl across the jagged stone floor, following behind a man who would like to break me—physically or emotionally, I don’t think it mattered to him which one.

It must have been fifteen yards, maybe twenty, before he came to a stop at the end of the long hall. If I looked behind me, I’d no doubt find a trail of blood left by my battered knees.

I didn’t look behind me.

“Stand up.”

I did, covering my body as best as I could with my arms.

He pointed to an alcove on the right and motioned for me to enter.

A gas chamber?—it’s the first thought that popped into my head. Maybe he was going to put an end to my misery. My heart ached thinking I’d never see Derek again. I would never know if he was even alive, but I had to believe he was. So, with wobbly legs, I stepped into the alcove. Did this make me brave or a coward?

But there was no door to seal me in. Just more stone walls in a room the size of the cell I’d just left, with a pair of shackles high up on the wall. I back-stepped when I saw them, but he was already behind me and I crashed into the hard wall of his chest. Before I could push away he grabbed my wrists and slammed me back against the wall. The fresh lashes on my back screamed in reawakened agony.

I struggled, but it was futile. My wrists were shackled high above my head within seconds, pulling me up so that my heels hovered just above the floor. His hard body pressed against me, but it evoked none of the things Derek’s had.

I opened my mouth to beg and plead, but slammed it shut, jarring my teeth. He would only punish me for speaking. My heart thudded a rapid, staccato beat in my chest and I couldn’t seem to gulp enough air into my lungs. If I didn’t calm down, I was going to pass out.

Oh god, yes. Yes, I would pass out. I let my lungs work faster as the edges of my vision grew fuzzy and dark.

“If you pass out, slave, you won’t like what I do to revive you.”

I could hear his voice, but by the time his words made sense, it was too late. The room spun wildly and the darkness had taken over most of my vision. His eerie smile was the last thing I saw, right before I slipped into blissful oblivion.

Seconds or minutes, I don’t know how long I managed to escape. But when I came to, a scream tore from my lips. Pain. Burning pain. He was beside me, but his hand was wedged behind me and his fingers were pounding into my virgin rectum. I screamed louder and tried to jerk away.

He slammed my hip into the stone with his free hand and I could feel him stretching me further, adding another finger inside me. God, no. It hurt. It burned.

He withdrew suddenly, and my screams turned to racking sobs.

“Welcome back,” he said nonchalantly as he knelt down and grabbed my ankle.

I hadn’t noticed the shackles at the base of the wall, but I saw them now as he restrained one ankle and then the other, spreading my legs obscenely. My efforts to kick and jerk my limbs out of his grasp were useless.

He stood up and moved in front of me. His eyes grazed over me, taking in every exposed inch. I squeezed my eyes shut, but there was no blocking him out. My body wore the proof of his existence and I could still feel his eyes on me.

He was still for so long, I couldn’t resist the wretched urge to open my eyes, not that it would do me any good to see what was coming next. I met his cold eyes but that was what he was waiting for. His open hand crashed into my cheek, which jerked my head and bounced it off the wall.

“Rule number three: A slave will keep her eyes down unless instructed to do otherwise.”

I glared at his toes through the stream of tears that wouldn’t stop flowing. I knew these rules. Had Derek been as brutal in his teaching of them? No. He’d never been like this man. There had always been something in his eyes—life, pain, need. There was nothing in this man’s eyes.

He crossed to the other side of the cell and returned with a long hose. He pressed down on the nozzle and my whole body was showered in a lukewarm spray. When he turned it off, he stood there. I wanted to look up to find out what was going on, but I knew better. I hung there shivering instead, part in cold, part in fear of what was to come.

“Good girl. I’m impressed,” he said, though the inflection in his tone was no different. “Let’s see if you can keep it up.”

Then his hands were on me. They were slippery, covered in soap that smelled like roses. Nothing like the soap Derek had gotten for me that was the same one I’d used at home. This man’s hands groped and rubbed everywhere while I stared miserably at his feet and watched the tears that dripped off my chin land on my breasts and mingle with the soap he’d lathered there. I would never forget the smell of that soap. Roses. A once pleasant scent turned repugnant beneath his hands.

When he grazed over the wounds on my back, I sucked in my breath and cried out at the same time, and when he slipped lower and ran his fingers over my abused rectum, I had no doubt he’d ripped me open there, too, by the sting of the soap he rubbed into me. Then the sprayer returned and he washed all the soap away. If only he could wash away my memory with it.

“Very good, slave. Perhaps you won’t be as difficult as I’d suspected. In fact, I think you’re ready for the next rule.”

No, I didn’t want any more rules. I wanted to go back to my cell and curl up in the corner until dehydration, starvation or hypothermia brought the sweet succor of death. I didn’t want to die, but this man was going to make life hell. There was no escape. No hope. His eyes held none of the promise of the humanity Derek’s had held.

Derek. I’d gladly go back to my first prison to be there with him now. Was he out there somewhere? If he was, he’d be searching for me. He wouldn’t stop until he found me. I wasn’t sure whether to grasp onto the hope or thrust it far away. Hope was a dangerous thing. It could keep a person clinging to life when the only relief to be found was in death.

If I believed he was alive though, I had to believe he was coming for me. I could endure this man—his vicious whip and vile hands. I would survive because Derek could charge in at any moment. And Derek had given me the tools I would need to survive. Submission, obedience—that’s what this man wanted. It made my skin crawl to think of submitting to him willingly, but it wasn’t for him that I would obey. It was for Derek so that his efforts to save me would not be wasted. I wouldn’t make him go through whatever he was going through to rescue a corpse.

So, I kept my eyes on the floor when he came close, and I resisted the urge to jerk away from him when he reached out and brushed his fingers over my nipples. They were already hard from the cold and friction, but his touch did nothing to stir arousal inside me.

“Yes, I like you like this, slave,” he said. “Now, look at me.”

I raised my head and forced eye contact. The coldness in his gaze sent a shiver down my spine.

“That’s it. I want you to keep looking at me with those pretty, green eyes. Do not look away, or my fingers in your ass will seem like a mere tickle in comparison to what I’ll shove in there next. Do you understand me?”

“Y-yes, sir.” My whole body was shaking so hard the shackles on my wrists and ankles clattered loudly.

“Don’t be afraid. What I’m going to do isn’t going to hurt one bit.”

Somehow his words weren’t reassuring.

One hand slipped between my thighs and he cupped my sex with the palm of his hand. My pleas hovered on my tongue, but I held them there. I wanted to look away or close my eyes, but I kept them locked on him while silent tears slipped down my cheeks.

He knelt down in front of me, forcing me to look down to maintain eye contact. And that meant I could see his hand on me, too. The tears fell faster. I didn’t want him touching me. I wasn’t his. He wasn’t my master. He wasn’t allowed to be touching me.

When his fingers fastened on my clit, I tried to jerk away, but I was stuck there. I couldn’t stop him as he started to rub. He moved in slow, languid circles at first. I wanted to scream at him to get his hands off me, but I had to keep it in. Obey and stay alive for Derek. That was all that mattered.

His fingers moved faster, and his other hand slipped between my thighs. A finger ran along my sex. Then he was inside me. God, no, I didn’t want him inside me. He stroked my inner walls as his fingers on my clit picked up their pace.

Then I felt it.

No. No. No. I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to respond to him. It was just a flicker, my traitorous body’s innate response to physical stimulation, but it was sick. Wrong. Disgusting.

His pace increased and he leaned in to graze his teeth along my inner thigh. No matter how much I didn’t want it to, it sent a ripple of heat through my sex. Please no. This couldn’t be happening.

“Yes, that’s it, slave. You’re just a little slut, aren’t you?” He eyed me, expecting an answer.

“No, sir,” I whispered miserably. I wanted to disappear. It would have been better if I’d never existed than to be humiliated like this.

“We’ll see,” he said and then leaned up and nipped at my nipple.

More heat. I gritted my teeth, fighting it, trying to extinguish the flames. It was no use. He moved expertly. I cried harder the hotter the fire got. I couldn’t take this. His whip I could survive, not this. Not this.

“Stop!” I screamed. “Please stop.”

He moved faster, ignoring my pleas. His finger drove into me, slamming against my sex with every stroke, and making wet, smacking sounds. Oh god, it was me. It was my own wetness. My breath was coming faster by the second as heat coiled low in my abdomen. I wasn’t going to be able to stop it. I was crying frantically. I couldn’t see him through the blur of steady tears, but my body wouldn’t stop. It was too damn close.

“Come, slave.”

All of a sudden, the coil sprung free and my release rippled out from my treacherous sex. I’d never been more humiliated or felt more betrayed. My own body had betrayed me. And despite how hard I’d tried to hide it, his smile made it clear I’d failed. He knew exactly what he’d coerced from my body.

“Yes, you are most definitely my little slut.”

He stood up and shoved his fingers in front of my face—fingers that glistened with the proof that he was right.

“Rule number four: A slave will come when she’s told,” he said as he shoved his wet fingers into my mouth.

I’d tasted myself before—on Derek’s fingers and on his tongue—but the salty sweetness was vile now, it made my stomach roil with nausea.

“Unfortunately, you forgot about the other rules, didn’t you?”

What? No. What was he talking about?

I realized what he was talking about the moment he bent down and reached for the shackles that imprisoned my ankles. I’d cried out, I’d begged him to stop when he’d turned my body against me. My whole body tensed now against the lashes that were about to set a fresh fire blazing across my back.

He stood up and unfastened my wrists. I pressed back hard against the wall, stalling his access to my wounded back. When he made no move to reach for me, my gaze darted up before I could catch myself. I looked away, back down to the ground fast, but not fast enough.

“I don’t think you understand your place here, slave. You are a thing, to use as I see fit, and you’re going to learn that right now. Get down on your knees, face against the floor.”

No, I couldn’t do it. By the way, his erection was pressed against his pants and the way he made no move for the whip he’d tossed on the floor at some point, it was clear what he intended. He was going to use me. He was going to force himself into my body—a place where Derek had been the only one to enter. And he’d never taken me by force that way. He’d given in when I’d been the one to push for it. I’d felt complete with him inside me. Only him. Not this monster.

It was foolish. It might have been the most witless thing I’d ever done because I knew from my first step away from him, I would fail. He’d catch me and he’d punish me. But I did it anyway. I ran.

Back down the hall, he’d made me crawl along. I passed my cell and still, he hadn’t caught up. He was walking toward me with a slow, easy gait. I ran into the only door I could find and yanked on the handle. It wouldn’t budge. Like a complete idiot, I kept tugging. Eventually, I gave up and darted back to my cell, slamming the bars shut and praying the lock would miraculously engage.

It didn’t.

I backed up into the corner and slid down to the floor as he pushed it open. When he closed it behind him, there was a tiny click. I almost didn’t hear it over the sound of my heartbeat thudding in my ears. Someone was watching. It was the only explanation. Someone was watching and controlling the locks on the door. The eyes watching me on a camera somewhere though seemed inconsequential in comparison to the stormy clouds looming over me now.

I wanted to feel the sting of his hand or the cut of his whip. Something predictable. Something I knew I could handle. But he used neither. Instead, he held out his hand to me and nodded at it encouragingly.

It was a trap. Of course, it was a trap, but what choice did I have? So, I took it, my ice cold hand latching onto his much warmer one. I waited for him to yank me to my feet, but he didn’t. He pulled me gently, slipping a hand beneath my other arm to balance my weight.

He didn’t let go when I was all the way up. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me gently against his chest. His free hand moved to stroke my hair while the one that still clasped mine drew tiny circles across my wrist. It wasn’t like when Derek had shown me kindness though. There was no confusion in my head, no softening toward this man. My senses were on high alert and they were telling me this was just another ploy. I was the mouse, and the cat was toying with me.

This was the calm before the storm let loose its fury.

As if on cue, he spun me around and grasped both my wrists in one big hand, pressing hard against my lower back. I cried out as he reawakened the lashes once again. He pressed harder, and my knees wobbled precariously.

With a twist of his wrist, he bent my elbows and pinned my hands between my shoulder blades. Burning pressure on my shoulder joints. My elbows. One wrong move and every joint was poised to snap. Even my trembling tugged at them. He had me trapped. He leaned in. I could feel the whisper of his lips against my ear.

“You’re going to pay for that, slave. I was going to fuck your pretty cunt, but now…”

He tugged on my wrists and my knees buckled. I fell hard on them with a thud that resounded all the way up my spine. I cried. I was so fucking sick of crying, but I couldn’t stop.

More pressure. He bent me over until my cheek scraped against the stone floor—just like he’d wanted me. The whip. He was going to whip me, and probably ten times worse than he had before. But the sound wasn’t right. There wasn’t a whiz, it was a zip and…

“No!” I screamed. It wasn’t his whip. God, it wasn’t his whip. His penis pressed against my rectum for a split second before he rammed forward. Pain. He was inside me. Burning. Too big. Too much. Agony.

His hips slammed against my cheeks. He didn’t stop. He drove in over and over again. The pain didn’t relent. It grew, like an oxygen-rich fire, it blazed. And my world shrunk. Nothing existed but his invading erection and the pain that shot out and engulfed every fiber of my being. I couldn’t think beyond it. I reached for what I needed—an image of Derek to grab onto with all my might—but there was only pain.

Time passed, or it didn’t. I really couldn’t tell. The pain began to ebb, just a little as if the edges of it had grown fuzzy. The excruciating dry rub gave way to the liquid fire. Blood. My own blood was lubricating his thrusts.

I wanted to die. I couldn’t hold on, waiting for Derek. I wasn’t brave. I wasn’t strong. I was torn and used, bloody and broken. And it hadn’t even been hours since the monster inside me had appeared outside my cell. A few more hours…a few days…how much would there be left for Derek to save?

I became aware of a new pain. Beneath his merciless thrusts, my cheek had been thumped and grated against the stone floor. It rivaled but didn’t top, the pain of his thrusts. It was just more fuel for the unbearable fire consuming me.

Eventually, it was over. He rammed in deeper, so deep I felt him in every part of me, but then he stilled. His disgusting grunts reached me above my own hoarse screams and then he withdrew. He was done.

With a shove, he knocked me to the floor. I didn’t curl up. I didn’t try to get up. I laid there. Ruined. Used. I didn’t even bother to try to cover myself when another figure appeared outside the cell. It wasn’t Derek, though I wasn’t sure it would matter if it was. Was there anything left to save?

It was another unfamiliar face, but it looked no more capable of human emotion than the other one. He shoved two towels at my tormentor—a wet one and a dry one—while he leered at my abused body with a sickening heat in his eyes.

Two towels landed on the floor in front of me. Three more things plunked down next to the towels—a tube of something, a bottle of water and a foil-wrapped package that looked like a protein or energy bar.

“Clean yourself up and eat, slave. You have one hour.”

The two men left together, and I recognized the click of the lock when they’d shut the prison bars. I laid there watching their feet until they stepped out of sight. Then I listened. Ten more steps to the door, which sounded like it opened without difficulty for them. The door closed with another quiet click. And then there was silence.

I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t muster the strength to pick myself up off the floor. I’d once thought the room Derek had held me captive in had been hell…I’d been wrong. So pathetically naïve to think his brand of torture had been brutal, sadistic.

I looked at the things the man had left, searching for something that could help me. Not to heal, not to defend myself, and not to scale the wall and slip through the window. There was only one escape from this hell, and I needed to do it now before they returned. But there was clearly no way to turn the things on the floor into merciful bringers of death.

One hour and he’d be back. One hour to do what he’d said, or else god only knew what punishments he would heap onto whatever he had planned.

With shaking limbs, I forced myself to hands and feet. I slipped the dry towel beneath my bloody knees and knelt, but I couldn’t sit back on my heels and had to hold onto the wall to stay upright. I decided to work from the top down, my face first, unsuccessfully stifling a cry as I pressed the lukewarm towel to my shredded cheek.

Inspecting the tube of cream, it turned out to be a healing serum, and I patted it on liberally. Five percent lidocaine. It wasn’t nearly as good as the cream Derek had rubbed into my flesh with tender hands after Marcos had marred it, but it did take some of the stings out, so I rubbed a small bit into the other side of my face where the monster had no doubt left his handprint.

My arms and chest were easier—nothing but red marks from his rough handling. I tried to reach my back with the towel, but was only partially successful, though my stomach turned seeing the lines of blood soaking into the cloth from the lash wounds.

Then lower. I dabbed at the place where he’d been, and when I pulled the towel away and found it saturated with blood and semen, I doubled over, my stomach once again trying to bring up food that wasn’t there.

The serum helped. I rubbed in a liberal amount, trying to ignore the way the opening he’d abused felt stretched and swollen.

That was it. There was no more relief to be had. Except…the serum contained lidocaine—a numbing agent. Thinking about the despicable way my body had responded to his fingers made me choke on another sob. But the cream could help make sure my body couldn’t betray me like that again. Without any more thought, I squeezed the serum onto my fingers and rubbed it into my clit.

I turned my attention to the water and energy bar, eyeing them like mortal enemies. My throat was raw from screaming and my lips were parched from thirst, but eating and drinking would only prolong this. It might be a slow escape, but it would come eventually if I could just resist the urge to give into the burning thirst that scorched my throat.

He’d told me to eat. Fine, I’d eat, but he hadn’t said a word about drinking. And just to make sure I didn’t change my mind, I opened the bottle and dumped the contents on the bloody towels. Then I reached for the energy bar. Still shaking, it took me four attempts to open it.

Each swallow felt like broken glass but I got it down. Then I laid down and rested the less-injured side of my face against the ground. And I waited. I could mark the day and night by the light from the window, but not the passing of a single hour.

Sixty minutes. How many minutes did I have left? I counted the seconds, counting slowly as if that could slow time’s passage. When my eyes drifted closed at five-hundred and thirty-two seconds, I lost count. Sleep. A temporary escape. I welcomed it as it reached for me. And finally, as it pulled me under, Derek’s face was there. His too handsome face and vivid, blue eyes. Yes, this was my heaven.

6

Scarlett

“You think you can fool me, slave?” Derek’s full lips formed the words but his voice wasn’t right. It was cold, and it filled every fiber of my body with dread. “Get up,” he barked and dragged me upright, but with the jerk of my arm, my eyes flew open.

It wasn’t Derek. He wasn’t here. The monster was back and he was angry. From my knees, he pulled me up onto my feet and backed me up until my back thumped against the stone. I stifled a cry and stared at my feet. Every muscle was taut, trying to prepare for his next strike.

His hand dropped to my sex and he slapped my clit. I felt it sharply on the surrounding flesh, but not my clit. Not the place that was numbed with the lidocaine cream. I held back the sigh of relief that threatened to slip out. I was numb. That part of me was safe from him.

At least, that’s what I thought until he forced my chin up.

“Your innocence should please me, but coupled with a flagrant defiance…”

When he stroked his fingers gently along my jaw, I knew something bad was coming. He’d caught me. He knew exactly what I’d done. Of course, he did. I’d completely forgotten about the cameras. I couldn’t see any, but they must be here somewhere. How else would the doors know when to lock and unlock? Someone had watched me—probably him among them—while I attempted to clean my body and soothe it with the damn cream. He’d watched as I massaged it into my traitorous clit.

Just like before, he moved swiftly. He’d grabbed my wrists and yanked them over my head before I could jerk away. One big hand held me there. I wanted to kick him, to bite him, to inflict whatever damage I could, but I didn’t. I stood there like a deer caught in headlights, too afraid to move.

He slid a finger on his free hand into his mouth. Was this some reference to the way he’d forced his wet finger into my mouth earlier? His hand then slid between my thighs, but he didn’t stop at my clit. His saliva-moistened finger glided between my dry labia, and I understood what he was doing when he pushed it inside me.

I’d been stupid. Naïve. Not innocent, but foolish.

He stroked along the front wall of my sex, and I gritted my teeth. It wouldn’t work this time. I wasn’t going to allow it.

His strokes grew firmer and he increased his pace. I thought about every vile thing he’d done to me and how much I loathed him. I could kill him. If ever given the chance, I could do it. I wouldn’t hesitate. And it wasn’t just for me I’d be doing it. I couldn’t possibly be the first girl he’d taken, and I likely wouldn’t be the last. Unless I snuffed out his evil existence.

A spark sizzled through my core as his fingers found the sensitive place inside me. He’d been skirting it, but I realized it had been deliberate because he stroked there now with an expert touch.

The spark ignited, feeding a pressure deep inside me.

No. For fuck’s sake, I didn’t want this. I still couldn’t believe my body could be such a wretched traitor. But the proof of it was right there in the drop of wetness that leaked onto my inner thigh.

The pressure built. My cheeks flamed in humiliation behind the cascade of tears.

“Moan. Now,” he whispered roughly.

I opened my mouth to fake the sound, but his fingers moved faster suddenly, and the sound that slipped out wasn’t fake.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fucking fair. I didn’t want my body to respond. The monster was sadistic and cruel. How could his touch do anything but repulse me?

“Again,” he demanded.

I didn’t have to fake it. All I had to do was unclench my jaw that was keeping my sounds trapped in my throat.

And then I couldn’t stop them. The pressure mounted. It was almost unbearable. Breathless cries slipped out. Dirty, disgusting moans fell from my own lips. I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t even slow it down.

I slammed my head back against the stone wall as the pressure he’d created exploded. It shot ripples of pleasure surging through me and released a rush of liquid from my sex.

My misery was like a crushing weight, threatening to drive me to the ground despite his hand that held me trapped. It shrouded every inch of my soul in black. Dark. Dirty. I was a slut, just like he’d said. There was no other way to explain it.

When he spun me around and his whip came down across the backs of my thighs, I welcomed it. I deserved it. Maybe he could beat the dirty slut out of me.

It turned out though, he couldn’t. Over the next five days, he reinforced the rules and introduced a handful of new ones, punishing me every time I disobeyed and sometimes, I think, just because he could. But in between it all, he’d put his fingers or his tongue on me, or inside me, and turn my body against me all over again. Sometimes he’d fuck me to split me open and hurt me as much as he could, other times he’d hover over top of my body, grinding his pelvis against my clit while he impaled me on his erection over and over again until my whore cunt convulsed around him.

My life became a constant flow of pain and unwanted pleasure. If I disobeyed him, he punished me. If I obeyed him, he introduced more rules that were impossible to keep straight in my head. I was bound to mess up, and he knew it. He looked forward to it. And no matter whether I followed the rules or not, he dragged orgasm after orgasm from my body until I was so abhorred, so disgusted with myself that I couldn’t stand to be inside my own body. Loathing welled up, for him, for me. Surely, neither of us deserved to exist in this world.

Five days. Five days and there had been so sign of Derek. I tried to shove away the ever-increasing certainty that he was dead. Not because it meant there was no hope of being rescued. I didn’t want to be rescued. I didn’t deserve to be rescued. I wanted to die, and I wanted to take the evil monster with me. The hope of rescue was no longer what kept me staving off the images in my head of Derek lying lifeless in the Cartago motel room.

I needed Derek to be alive because he deserved to live and find love, and because I was going to die here. I needed someone to remember me as something other than the beaten and broken whore I’d become.

I grasped onto an image of his sexy as hell smile as another orgasm rocketed through my body. Blood from the last whipping still dripped down the backs of my thighs, but it didn’t matter. I’d let my mind wander to where it wanted to be. Not here in hell, but in Derek’s arms, or beneath his thrusting hips, or on my knees with his cock in my mouth, or bent over the motel room bed, watching our reflection in the headboard mirror.

The monster shoved me to the floor and laughed.

Five days. Five days since I’d woken up in hell. God, I hoped it would be over soon. But like I told you, hope could be a very dangerous thing.

7

Derek

I’d never known hours could crawl by so slowly. So fucking slow. Three-hundred and ninety-one hours and sixteen minutes since I’d walked out of the motel room bathroom to find Scar missing. Three-hundred and ninety-one hours and sixteen minutes of the worst torture I’d ever known. I’d gladly go back to that dark, dingy basement my foster parents had shoved me in. I’d welcome every blow of his fist, every lash of his whip, and every sickening touch of their hands. I’d climb on top of that bitch while her mother-fucking husband used me like a whore. It would be sweet relief from the kind of hell I’d lived the past sixteen days.

It was sadistic irony in its most acute form. I’d taken girls from their families—usually destitute ones who would choose a life of servitude over a life of poverty for them and their families. But I’d never once given thought to how much those families suffered.

I was thinking about it now.

I deserved this. I knew I did. But Scar…she deserved to be loved and protected. Cherished. I didn’t have to wonder what was happening to her now, because I fucking knew. Maybe not every detail, but the picture was so vivid I wanted to tear my eyes out. It wouldn’t help though. The scene before me was just another road, another path to another dead end. The pictures were in my head and there was no way to gouge them out.

Sixteen days ago, I’d been hopeful. Touching down in Nogales, Sonora, Donovan’s man had been there with a report Scar might have been being held in a warehouse not far away. The warehouse was empty though. And every place we’d checked after that had been another dead end. Even Donovan seemed to be looking worse for wear, a bit frazzled around the edges. I think neither of us wanted to say it, but it was there in the air all around us. It was a crushing weight I had to claw and fight to stay above. It was one word. Four little letters that equaled more agony than I’d ever known, all put together.

Gone. Scar was gone.

She wasn’t dead. I could feel it, damn it. Though I’d never been one to believe in that kind of bullshit before, I knew it was true. The light in her green eyes was still bright in my head. She was alive.

Besides, if the devil who’d taken her had killed her, there would have been some word of it. An anonymous female body found burned beyond recognition. And I couldn’t help feeling that if she was dead, the son of a bitch would have wanted me to know it. He would have wanted to throw my failure in my face, flaunt it and make me suffer.

No, she was alive and it was the most selfish thing I could ever have wished for to hope that she stayed that way.

They had tortured her, probably from the very day they’d taken her. Beaten, whipped, raped and broken. How much of her would they have tormented out of her by the time I found her?

If I found her.

Scar was strong, the strongest person I’d ever met, but everything and everyone could be broken. Every person could be taken apart into so many pieces that it would be impossible to put them back together again. Memories of their abuse and torment wouldn’t allow it.

I’d seen Marcos bring many slaves close to that point before. Lifeless-looking shells that had retreated to somewhere deep inside themselves—the only escape they could find. But every once in a while, a grimace, a shudder, a spark of hatred flashing through their eyes meant they were still in there. There was still something to save, even if the road back would be a long and painful one.

There’d been one though. One that had seemed to drive Marcos to the brink of insanity. Four years after he’d taken me in—two years after he’d introduced me to the world of training pleasure slaves—she’d arrived with a handful of others. He’d singled her out and hadn’t let a man there touch her. He’d touched her though. And whipped her, and beat her to within an inch of her life.

As much as I’d respected the man, it had been the first time I’d ever voiced an objection to his methods. I could still feel the crunch of the bones in my nose from the blow he’d struck. Then he’d sat me down while my nose bled onto the floor and explained that some slaves required a firmer hand than others. One day I would understand, he’d said—unless I interfered ever again, in which case I would be too dead to understand anything. Then he’d locked himself in his training room with her and hadn’t come out for nine days.

I would never forget the dead look in her eyes when they emerged. Nor now, years later, could I avoid thinking about the striking resemblance the girl had borne to Scar and her mother.

Was that what they were doing to Scar now?—whoever the fuck ‘they’ were. Subjecting her to horrors from which there was no coming back? Marcos’ slave had been dead to the world after nine days. Scar had been gone sixteen. Sixteen days. Three-hundred and ninety-one hours…and twenty-one minutes.

I stopped the car at the top of another long, winding driveway and scanned the surroundings through a haze of red that seemed to perpetually obscure my vision now. It was a grand estate, apparently home to yet another man who, while he did not train pleasure slaves, was an avid collector of them and kept himself apprised of the market—according to Donovan.

It had been excruciating to drive around from one false hope to the next with the man, to wait with bated breath for the next useless lead his contacts provided. It wasn’t the man that made it agonizing really. He was a cold fuck, but he did little to grate on my nerves.

It was the waiting. Waiting for him to make contact. Waiting for him to acquire leads, and for him to negotiate exchanges of information. And the uneasy feeling that had me constantly resisting the urge to reach for my gun.

Abandoning any hope of maintaining an element of surprise, I’d begun reaching out to my own contacts by the end of the third day.

At first, it had seemed important to leave Marcos’ network thinking I was dead, that whoever had taken her had killed me in the process to keep them from bothering to bury her deep. But the strategy hadn’t done a damn bit of good, so while Donovan had been meeting with yet another useless contact, I’d put in some calls of my own.

My phone had vibrated against my chest not five full minutes ago and while my fingers itched to pull it out, I waited. Call it a distrustful nature, but there was no reason Donovan needed to know what I was up to unless it proved fruitful.

Donovan nodded and slid out of the passenger seat. I waited while he ascended the front steps, and the moment he disappeared into the house, I pulled out my phone.

“No news on a missing product,” the short text read. The same as a half dozen others had read in the days before. Fuck!

I was just slipping the phone back into my pocket when it vibrated against my fingers, signaling another message. The number was an unknown, but the message got my attention.

“I’ve been watching your missing product since it arrived, and it’s about to be cleared for transport,” it read.

“Where?” I texted back while my heart pounded.

“Right here.”

Right here? Where the fuck was right here?

“Watch out behind you,” the next text appeared on the phone’s screen.

I dropped the phone in my lap and glanced in the rearview mirror. A guard had appeared there, ten yards back, just standing there.

But how…

Oh, fuck! Right here meant here. This house. She was here. Unless the mystery message-sender was fucking with me, Scar was alive. And she was within my reach.

But how the hell was I going to get to her and get her out? A guard behind me. Two more at the post we’d passed on our way in. I could see another at the far, left corner of the house, and no doubt there was at least a handful more I couldn’t see.

There was something else though. The estate’s owner only purchased slaves, but he didn’t train them…and yet Scar was about to be transported. Something didn’t add up. Had Donovan’s contact perhaps led them right into a trap? Or was the mystery man texting me full of shit?

“Proof?” I typed with my phone on my thigh.

“None,” he texted back.

Just fucking great.

The guard in the rear view mirror started back the way he’d come, disappearing around a bend in the driveway.

“Right side of the house. Go now.”

Fuck. I was probably about to walk right into a trap, but I was sliding out of the car anyways. What choice did I have? She could be here. No fucking way could I walk away from that. So, I walked casually toward the right side of the house, not spotting a single guard on the way.

The phone vibrated with another text just as I’d rounded the corner. “Second door.”

I walked to it and just as I grabbed the handle, the door made a quiet click and it opened when I pulled.

Inside, the phone vibrated again. “Don’t move,” the text read.

Yup, I’d just walked right into a trap. And it seemed my suspicion was confirmed when I heard the murmur of voices coming closer.

Closer. And then quieter.

They passed right by the door that separated the four-foot foyer where I stood from the rest of the house. There were two other doors, one to my left and the other to my right. A quiet click of the door on my right told me which door the mystery man wanted me to take.

I opened it. The door led to a staircase. Fifteen stairs down to a gloomy stone landing below. There was a door there as well. It looked just like the one I’d opened. If I climbed down the steps and the door at the top locked behind me, I’d be trapped like a sitting duck if the one at the bottom didn’t unlock for me. Or, I could open the door down there to find a sea of guns pointed at me.

Or…I could open the door and find Scar on the other side.

That last thought had me taking the steps down two at a time, but I reached for the guns from the holsters beneath my shirt. If it turned out there was a welcoming committee of gunmen beyond the door, I was at least going to take at least a few of them out with me.

“Wait” the message appeared on the screen.

Wait? For what?—an engraved invitation? Hurry the fuck up, damn it.

Another text, “Two men. Seventeen yards in.” And then another, “Breathe.”

Breathe? This wasn’t a fucking yoga class.

Another, “It’s bad.”

Fuck, I couldn’t think about what he meant by that. I couldn’t.

Adrenaline was coursing through my veins. Every muscle taut. Ready. Two men?—I’d rip them apart with my bare hands.

More messages, “No gun. Too loud.”

Then it seemed like my bare hands were going to get the chance to do exactly that. I holstered the gun. Fuck, I was putting an awful lot of faith in mystery man.

The quiet click I’d been waiting for sounded. I opened the door as quietly as I could.

A quiet moan of pain assailed my ears, though it felt more like a knife through the heart. Scar? It couldn’t be. It sounded so weak.

The crack of a whip. Another moan. I wanted to cover the distance in one flying stride, but I forced one silent step after another until I could see what I was up against, praying to a non-existent god that it wasn’t her.

Two men, just like mystery man had said. But the girl who hung limply, held up by one set of beefy hands, couldn’t be Scar. It fucking couldn’t be.

The same long, auburn hair hung down the girl’s back, but it was matted and stuck to her neck and back by sweat and blood.

Oh fuck. No. No. The nausea, the bile at the back of my throat, the sting behind my eyes, the knife piercing my heart were all wrong. They were wrong. It wasn’t her.

This girl had been whipped so many times there was scarcely a flash of creamy white flesh between bloody lashes. What wasn’t whipped had been covered in bruises and cuts.

Her head lolled to the side and I could see the crusted scab that covered her entire cheek. Her eyes opened briefly. I barely saw them before they’d closed again, but I saw them.

Scar. There was no way to deny it. It was her. At least, it was Scar’s body. Whether they’d left any of her soul in her body, I didn’t know.

The bastard with the whip dropped it to the floor and the hands holding her wrists released her. She crumpled to the ground, facing the exterior stone wall.

I became pure rage. It consumed every cell in my body. White hot fire flowed through my veins. A growl rose up from the depths of my being.

I pounced on the one nearest to me, the one who’d had the whip. His head smacked against the wall with a heavy thud, and his eyes rolled back in his head. He slumped to the ground. Fuck. Too hard.

“Who the fuck are you?” the other one exclaimed as he stood up tall, flexing his bulky muscles.

I lunged at him. No amount of steroid-fed muscle was going to help him. I had his arms behind his back, both shoulders popped in seconds.

Screams.

I bent his arms at his elbows, then further. And further. Crack. One and then the other snapped.

More screams.

I kicked in one knee.

He wailed in agony as he crashed to the ground.

The other knee. More grotesque screams. And then he was whimpering like a fucking child.

The whip-wielder moaned, coming to and pushing himself up off the floor.

The feral animal in me smiled. I wanted blood. I’d never felt the urge to sink my teeth into another human being and tear the flesh from his bones. But that was precisely what I wanted. I wanted to feel the blood drain out of him.

The stupid fuck actually charged at me. The feral animal’s smile grew wider.

I caught his wrist as it flung at my face and yanked it behind his back. The bastard struggled so hard he snapped his own shoulder. Bowed like he was, it was easy to reach. Irresistible. I knew exactly where the jugular vein was located and I sunk my teeth into his neck. I didn’t want to rip it right open. Just a pierce. Just enough to know that his death would be slow, pulsing, agonizing. And certain.

He kicked back as he howled, making contact with my shin. The force could have snapped it, and I wouldn’t have known. I didn’t exist at that moment in a realm of human limitations. Rage had no limits. It didn’t feel. It didn’t hurt, and it couldn’t be stopped. It lashed out and ripped apart everything in its path.

And that’s just what I did. Shoulders, elbows, knees—the fucker looked like a marionette on strings, just like his accomplice.

I caught sight of her out of the corner of my eye. She’d rolled over and faced me now. Her eyes were open, sunken and ringed in dark, but their green centers sparkled behind a veil of tears and it sucked the rage from my body. Life. There was still life there. That’s what I was seeing, wasn’t it? God damn it, there had to be. No way was it just a figment of my own desperate imagination.

“Don’t look, Scar,” I whispered in a voice so raw with emotion it didn’t sound like me.

She closed her eyes obediently. Was that because it was me? Or because there wasn’t an ounce of free will left in her?

I grabbed a dirty, bloody towel off the floor and shoved it in the bastard’s mouth to shut him up. He would die slowly. The bite to his throat would make sure of that. I leaned down next to the other man and placed my hands on either side of his head, right where they needed to be for the twist that came next.

Snap. And he was dead. Then I forced their miserable existence from my mind.

I approached her slowly, arms at my sides, palms out. I wanted to rush to her and gather her in my arms, but I was afraid of how she’d react. Would she just see a large figure coming at her, touching her, hurting her?

“Scar?” I whispered as I knelt down in front of her.

It was several long, agonizing seconds before she opened her eyes, but when she did, she stared straight ahead at my knee.

I reached down slowly to brush her hair off her forehead. She grimaced, but she didn’t pull away. I wasn’t oblivious to the need to get her out of there. With guards crawling all over the place, the threat was far from neutralized. But I had absolutely no fucking idea what to do.

The bastards on the floor, they were simple. I’d known exactly what to do to them. Hell, if I’d had more time, I would have cut them up into hundreds of pieces, one careful bit at a time so they’d survive every minute of it.

But how the hell was I supposed to help Scar? Pull her to her feet and drag her along with me?—would she understand what I was doing? Pick her up and carry her out?—where could I touch her that wouldn’t hurt her?

“I’m so fucking sorry, but I need you here with me, Scar, just for a few minutes. I have to get you out of here now.”

She blinked and finally, she looked up at me. “Just…go,” she croaked in a raspy whisper.

My heart broke seeing the resignation in her eyes, hearing it in her voice. It was even worse than seeing her broken and bloodied body. Was I too late?

No fucking way, I decided. She was strong. We would find a way for her to heal. I’d failed her; I’d let these monsters get to her, but this wouldn’t be the end for her. This would not be how life ended for the girl who deserved so much more than the world had ever given her.

“No. If you die here, then I die with you.” I sat back on my ass to make it clear I meant it and hoped to hell that still meant something to her. That she could even understand what I was saying.

The first flicker of something stirred in her eyes. “N-no,” she stuttered as fresh tears slipped cross her temple and soaked into her hair. But she made no effort to move.

“Scar, you will heal. I promise you will. No matter what they…” I couldn’t say it. My heart lodged in my throat, and I couldn’t force the words out. “Please,” I choked out instead.

Was that a nod? It looked like it, and her small hand pressed against the floor as if she was trying to push herself up. Yes, I knew it. At least, I’d hoped. But the proof was right in front of me. Nothing could beat Scar. She had a life to her that was made of fucking steel.

All of a sudden her eyes went wide, and she was no longer looking at me. Her whole body trembled as her eyes fixed on something behind me.

Not something. Someone. I didn’t have to look to know.

Fuck! My phone hadn’t vibrated once since I’d been in the stairway. It had been a trap, but I hadn’t come this far only to fail her again. As discreetly as I could, I withdrew my gun from its holster.

“Drop the gun, Senor Vaughan,” an unfamiliar voice spoke from behind.

I placed it down carefully, right in front of her, and I met her eyes until I was reasonably certain she understood what I was trying to tell her. “Kill the mother fuckers, Scar,” I’d screamed with my eyes. And as much as it fucking killed me to think it, it was a last resort, too. To make sure she could escape…one way or another.

I stood up slowly and turned to face what was behind me.

Three men. Two strangers, one of them with a gun pressed to Donovan’s head. Yeah—like that was going to stop me. The guy could blow his head off for all I cared. The only thing in the world that mattered was lying on the floor behind me.

Something was wrong though. Out of place. A disturbance in the power play that prickled down my spine.

The other stranger stood just apart enough to mark a separation between him and the others. Was he the one in charge, carefully trying to conceal it behind hunched shoulders and downcast eyes?

I caught sight of the phone in his hand when it slid from inside his sleeve and into the palm of his hand. A phone?—for what? He pressed a button and the phone in my pocket vibrated silently a second later.

What the hell? This was the mystery man? Was this his trap, or had he been dragged into the cage as well?

“Now then, Derek,” the one holding the gun drew my attention back to him. “Let me welcome you to my home. My name is Filipe Ruiz. I must say, I’ve been looking forward to meeting you for quite some time.”

“I’m afraid I can’t say the feeling’s mutual.”

He laughed. Or was it a cackle? He stepped closer, forcing Donovan with him. It was strange though that he made no effort to have me pat down for more weapons. Did he really think that gun was the only one I had?

Yes, I realized, he did. It was clear in the surety in his stance. And that was interesting information, indeed.

“Come, you can sample my slaves later. For now, let us have a drink and get to know one another better. James has told me so much about you. He was so determined to have you to himself, but I’m sure you understand I can’t have that.”

Was this asshole for real? There was no fucking way I was letting Scar out of my sight ever again.

I forced my shoulders to relax though and loosened my limbs. Outwardly, I was the pinnacle of calm.

And then I reached for it. I had the other gun out of its holster, in my hand and cocked so fast, the stranger didn’t have time to switch his aim from Donovan to me. The bang of my gun reverberated off the stone walls around us, but Filipe Ruiz didn’t make a sound. He couldn’t. I’d shot him dead center between the eyes. He fell to the ground in a heap of worthless flesh.

The phone in my pocket vibrated against my chest. Another signal?—for what?

“Get away from my merchandise, Derek,” Donovan demanded as he aimed the gun he must have been concealing behind his back.

That’s what mystery man had been trying to signal. The whole fucked up mess crashed down on me in that second. It had all been a lie. The bastard I’d just shot had been nothing more than a decoy. Donovan had known exactly where Scar was from the moment I’d called him because he was the one who had her put here. His own daughter, for fuck’s sake. Maybe not by blood, but it shouldn’t have fucking mattered.

“How could you, you sick fuck?” I seethed as I inhaled rage and it seeped into my cells.

“She’s the spawn of a whore and a traitorous bastard. What other future was there for her? I’d intended to turn her into Marcos’ slave before you came along and fucked up my plan. When he’d used her body in every vile way imaginable…then I was going to reveal the truth to him—that it was his own daughter he’d tortured. Unfortunately, you beat me to it, and Marcos has been resting in hell for some time now, hasn’t he?”

He raised the gun higher and I stared down the barrel. I was going to die, but with my finger on the trigger, so was he. I had to trust that the mystery man who’d helped me get to her would help her get out.

“I loved you,” Scar’s voice spoke from behind me. She was no longer on the ground. It sounded like she was right behind my shoulder. And though her voice was hoarse, it wasn’t weak.

“After the horrible way you treated me, the hell you put me through, I still loved you,” she continued.

And then she shocked the fucking hell out of me.

“I love you,” she whispered, and then the gunshot reverberated off the walls.

With his face contorted in fear and surprise, he fell to the ground. And then so did she.

She wasn’t shot. Donovan hadn’t shot her. His gun had discharged, but the bullet had hit my arm, on the opposite side of where she stood. It hadn’t hit Scar.

She was on her knees, bent over with her arms pressed against her stomach. My heart soared at the demonstration of her strength while at the same time, her hoarse sobs threatened to tear it apart.

“You have to leave. Quickly,” the mystery man said. He hadn’t moved from the place he’d been standing when I’d first turned around.

I didn’t want to scare her or hurt her, but he was right. It was only a matter of time before someone noticed four men were missing. So, I stripped off my shirt, draped it over her and bent down to gather her up as gently as I could.

She resisted. “Please, just leave. I don’t want to go with you,” she choked out between sobs.

I refused to acknowledge the twist of the knife in my heart, and I picked her up anyways. She fought to get down, but she was so weak it equated to little more than writhing in my arms. The struggle subsided quickly and she laid still in my arms, now huddling closer to my chest. I could feel the exhales of her breath against my bare skin. It was the most comforting thing I’d ever felt.

Up the stairs and out the door that led to the four-foot foyer, but the mystery man stopped there. “You’re not coming?” I asked.

“I’ve sat in front of those cameras for six years. Six years, and I didn’t do a god damned thing. I couldn’t. Or maybe I was just too much of a coward. I’ll do something now though. Stay here. As soon as I send the next text, get her the hell away from here. I hear it’s going to get awfully hot soon—like a big-ass bonfire.”

I nodded, but I needed to know, “Why?”

“She reminded me of my wife—looked an awful lot like her actually. Alicia was taken from me and sold eight years ago because I fucked up. When you showed up in the driveway, I knew you were looking for her,” he inclined his head toward Scar. “I guess I did what I wished someone had done for Alicia.”

Eight years ago. A girl who looked a lot like Scar. Fuck. It could be a coincidence, but what were the fucking chances of that? The girl Marcos had tortured. Guilt washed through me, but there wasn’t time for it. Not until Scar was safe.

I had a feeling mystery man intended to go up in a blaze along with the house, but who was I to object? Hell, if I’d lost Scar, I wouldn’t have lasted eight days, never mind eight years.

And the second the phone vibrated, the door unlocked and I took off, back along the side of the house to the car still waiting at the top of the drive. I placed her in the passenger seat as gently as I could and buckled her seatbelt when she made no move to do it herself. In the driver’s seat seconds later, I revved the engine, but then it hit me. The guard post.

As if reading my thoughts, the phone vibrated. “All clear up ahead,” the message read.

It was a good thing mystery man had been thinking further ahead than I’d been. I started down the drive with the phone still in one hand.

“Name?” I texted.

“Michael.”

“Thank you, Michael.” There weren’t many times in my life when gratitude had been warranted. This was one of them.

“Take care of her, Derek.”

8

Derek

I slipped the phone into my pocket and focused on the road ahead as we passed the guard post unnoticed. But now what? I glanced over at Scar. She hadn’t moved a muscle, and while her eyes were open, she seemed to be staring ahead, unseeing. My heart clenched. This was my fucking fault, I knew it, but I also knew it was the least productive path of thought at the moment. I forced down the guilt…for now.

She needed a doctor. Aside from the emotional trauma, her body was severely injured, and I didn’t know to what extent. The hospital was the obvious solution, but they provided substandard care at best and would raise a lot of questions. Fortunately, I had a private doctor on call who was good at what he did and didn’t ask questions. Technically he had originally been contracted by Marcos, but since Marcos had never really given a fuck about the medical attention his slaves required, I’d been the one in contact with him for the past several years.

A quick call had him ready at his home-based office, and I pulled into the driveway fifteen minutes later. Fifteen silent minutes. She’d said nothing and she still hadn’t moved at all. It was as if killing Donovan had used up every bit of spark she’d had left. I never would have let her do it. If I’d known she was standing there with my gun pointed at the man who’d been a despicable excuse for a father, I would have fired first. Mystery man could have sent a signal text to warn me about that one! But it wasn’t his fault, it was mine. Just another way I’d failed her.

I pulled into the garage as it opened for me like I knew it would. The man treated bullet holes, broken bones, and torn flesh—not really the kind of patient roster one wanted waltzing up to the front door in an upscale neighborhood.

Once inside, I hurried around to her door, but instead of picking her up, I held out my hand. Would she take it? Reject it? Continue to stare unseeing at the grey cement walls?

She took it, and so I eased my other arm around her and helped her out. Then she just stood there, and since I wanted nothing more than to gather her in my arms and wipe away every vile minute since they’d taken her, I lifted her up and held her close. There wasn’t a fucking thing I could do for her memories though.

In the exam room, I sat her down on the examination table and held her hand while Dr. Vicente Fuentes started to probe gently at the wounds on her face.

“Derek, please tell me you’re not responsible for this.”

How could I tell him that? I was responsible for it. “It’s my fault, but no, I didn’t…do this.”

Scar didn’t resist. Vicente turned her head this way and that lifted her arms and inspected her calves and feet. When he started to remove the shirt I’d draped over her, I had to stop myself from tearing his hands right off. She didn’t move though. She barely even flinched when he pressed his gloved fingers against her flayed back. Her breasts were covered in finger-size bruises, and the bruising on her ribs spanned the width of my entire hand, at least.

“I think she may have cracked her ribs…”

“She didn’t fucking do this,” I shot back as if he’d been implying it was her fault.

“I’m not suggesting she did. I’ll take an x-ray before you leave, but it might be best to bind them up anyways.” His eyes shot to her back, and the problem was clear—a tight binding around her ribcage was not going to play nice with the lacerations on her back. He nodded to himself, seemingly determining it was still the better way to go.

Then he was laying her back on the table and she made no move to resist him. As he took hold of one of her feet though and started moving it toward the stirrup, tears began to leak from the corners of her eyes.

“Stop.”

“But…”

“I fucking said stop.”

He placed her foot back on the table.

It wasn’t a rational decision. She’d been injured, and no doubt those fuckers had injured her there, too. But I couldn’t do this to her. I’d figure out some other way. Some way that didn’t involve another strange man exposing her and putting his hands on her.

I just had to hope my own selfish need to stop her from suffering now didn’t lead to more complications later. Internal bleeding and lacerations…STD’s…pregnancy—the possibilities ran through my mind.

Fine. I’d been the one to do it then. Whatever was necessary to make sure she’d recover physically, I’d do it. And I’d hope that somewhere in the back of her mind she would remember what she’d felt for me and the way she saw me, and know I wasn’t doing it to torment her further.

“Tell me what to do.”

“You’re not serious, Derek. You’re not a doctor,” he explained as if I didn’t already know.

“And you’re not touching her. Understood?” I’d threaten him at gunpoint if I had to, but I didn’t want to have to resort to that.

He nodded his acquiescence after a moment of silent standoff and started laying out the instructions for me. It was one of the benefits of always being the scariest son of a bitch in the room—I won every standoff.

I murmured soothingly as I lifted her feet into the stirrups, but had to stop when I saw her. Raw, split, her delicate flesh mangled. I couldn’t speak. Fuck, I couldn’t breathe. If it weren’t for the silent tears that kept leaking from her eyes, there was no way I would have been able to do it. But she needed this, and she needed me to get it the fuck over with fast. I needed to pull my shit together and get through this. I had to. And then I was free to go insane in a darkened haze of rage and anguish.

Thirty minutes later, it was over. Stitched, bandaged, and sent on our way with enough prescription narcotics to start a small-time drug ring. He’d given her an injection of morphine and I’d watched the pain drain from her features within minutes. By the time I sat her down in the passenger seat, her eyes had grown heavy. She was fast asleep by the time I pulled out of the driveway.

I needed a destination. I couldn’t take her back to my home, though it was the place I longed to bring her. A hotel was the most reasonable choice but after the motel…

No, it was still the best option, and back on familiar ground, I knew where to go. I steered the car in the direction of the Sonora Oaks. The staff was the epitome of discretion, and calling ahead meant I could take Scar in through the service entrance and avoid a spectacle.

She didn’t stir, even when I lifted her and carried her into the hotel and up to the top floor. She moaned softly when I laid her down on the king-size bed, but then she seemed to settle back into her drug-induced sleep. I wanted to climb into the bed next to her, pull her close and never let her go again, but I didn’t. How could I touch her without hurting her? How would she react if she woke up with my arms encompassing her?

I pulled a chair over to the bed and sat down.

And then it hit. The floodgate let loose and the tidal wave that crashed over me left me gasping for breath. The lump in the back of my throat dislodged with a wretched sob that ripped clear out of my chest. It wasn’t a common occurrence. I hadn’t cried since I was a teenage boy. I’d thought I had lost the ability to cry at some point after Marcos had rescued me. It was apparently in fine working order now though. Hot tears stung my eyes. I looked at her through the watery blur as they escaped.

I’d let this happen. I had ripped her away from her safe life and fed her to the wolves. Wolves that had ripped her apart. The horrifying images that filled my head for the past sixteen days were nothing in comparison to seeing her now, in the flesh, with the proof of my colossal failure written on every marred inch of her body.

“Fuck Scar, I’m so fucking sorry,” I choked out. She couldn’t hear me, but it wouldn’t matter if she could. I could say it over and over again for the rest of my life and it wouldn’t do a god damned thing to make this right. There was no making this right. They’d taken everything from her. How the hell could anything fix that?

No. No fucking way was I going to think that way. She was strong. Intermingled with the torment in my head, that one thought kept coming back to me. She’d surprised me at every turn. She would do it again because she was stronger than me; stronger than anyone.

I took hold of her steel-like strength and made it my own as I brushed a fallen lock of hair off her forehead. She would recover. No matter what it took, I wouldn’t give up until every part of her had been restored.

It was completely foreign territory—helping a broken slave recover her former self—but I’d find a way to navigate it. I would. I wouldn’t fail her this time.

I sat back in the chair, feeling the first real flicker of hope since I’d stepped into that wretched basement. The fucking tears hadn’t ebbed. Having found their way out, it seemed there was no stopping them. Grief, guilt, gut-wrenching sorrow—they were all still there. Maybe they always would be. I’d never been able to forget the image of her now. It would haunt me for the rest of my life.

But there was hope too, that maybe one day, sometime in the future, she would be able to forget. Or at least be able to make it through the day without the nightmare she’d lived controlling her every movement, her every thought.

Two hours passed, and then three. She’d need her pain medication before much longer, but I was reluctant to wake her. I could hope that in her morphine-addled sleep, her head was quiet, devoid of memories. Once I woke her up, it would all be there. I couldn’t protect her from it.

Just one more hour. One more hour, and then I’d wake her.

Every minute, I watched her features for any sign her discomfort was increasing, but her brow remained smooth and her lips were relaxed, slightly parted the way they usually were when she slept, like an invitation to sample their softness and warmth. I couldn’t kiss her now though. But one day. I could hope that one day I’d be able to kiss her beautiful lips, and not conjure up memories in her head of the monsters that had tortured her. One day.

9

Scarlett

I awoke from the deepest sleep I’d ever experienced. I had drifted down so low, I had to will my consciousness upward, away from the dark nothingness that had clung to my mind and held me down in the deepest recesses of slumber. Up, and then up a little more. It was exhausting, so much so that I almost gave up and let it pull me back all the distance I’d come.

Just as I was about to surrender, the world around me brightened at the edges. The feel of something firm but smooth beneath me. The quiet inhale and exhale of someone else’s breath. And then pain. It went off like a camera’s flash and shot me above the surface.

The men. My hell. It all came pouring over me as the darkness receded, further and further away by the second. No, don’t leave. I wanted to reach for it, to follow it down, but it was too late.

I didn’t open my eyes. Maybe he didn’t know I was awake yet. A few more seconds, and it wouldn’t matter. He would take what he wanted. I’d long since accepted it. There was no sense in fighting it. I couldn’t fight it. But I could have these few seconds. They were mine. At first, I’d used them to dream, to imagine an escape, like the blissful nothingness death, could bring. But it never came, and even the dream of it had become a torment. So no more dreams. No, these few seconds weren’t for dreams anymore. They were just seconds. Precious seconds before the torment began anew.

But seconds passed, and then a minute. Two minutes. Something was wrong. Different. He had to know I was awake. Why was he letting me lie here in bed?

A bed. No cold, stone floor beneath me. I was in a real bed.

Derek’s image flashed behind my eyes. Not an image I’d called up before. This was different. He was angry. No, not just angry. Crazed with fury. His movements were swift and sure as he…

It all came flooding back. Derek was alive. Alive. He was alive, and there in my hell. His fury-filled face had been the most beautiful sight I’d ever seen. But I didn’t want him there. It was too late. Far too late. And yet, he’d ignored my protests. Those men—my tormenters, the stranger…my father…they’d all died.

I’d killed the man who I’d called father for twelve years. It hadn’t been because of what he’d said. Not the discovery that he was the one responsible for my hell. He’d aimed a gun at Derek, and I’d had enough. He’d taken everything from me, everything that had made me…me when he’d had me ripped away from Derek to destroy me. He couldn’t have Derek. I wouldn’t let him.

And then Derek had carried me out of hell. Just put me back, my fractured mind had cried. It was still crying. I didn’t want him to see me, not like this, not ever again.

He was here though. The scent of him wafted toward me and I couldn’t stop myself from breathing him in. He was close. So close.

“Open your eyes, Scar,” his deep, sure voice spoke, and my eyelids fluttered open, mindlessly obeying him.

My eyes drank him in greedily, roaming over every inch of his face. I’d thought he was dead, but he was so very alive, so very like the image of him I’d clung to. All of him the same…except for his eyes. They were red-rimmed like he’d been crying, and they seemed to lack the confident light that usually glowed in them. He was hurting. He was hurting because of me, and it made my heart ache because he obviously didn’t realize I wasn’t worth the trouble. If he knew…

I looked away. I couldn’t look at him anymore. There was too much emotion there. Emotion I didn’t deserve.

“Scar, you need pain medicine.”

I glanced back but focused my attention on the glass of water and the pills in his hands. He held the pills to my lips and I opened my mouth, and then I swallowed the water he gave me. And then I did what I knew needed to be done. There was no point in putting it off. I rolled onto my side, facing away from him, “You should go now,” I said in a voice so hoarse it had long ago stopped sounding like my own.

“No fucking way.”

And when he stood up and came around to the other side of the bed, it was impossible to hide the tears streaming down my temple. He sat down on the bed, his back against the headboard and his long legs stretched out in front of him. He didn’t touch me. Of course, he didn’t. How could he possibly want to? I would have escaped my own skin if I’d been able.

“I can’t undo what…happened, but I’m here now Scar. Whatever you need, I’m here.”

He took my hand in his and just held it, his warmth surrounding it. It was the first kind touch I could remember since waking up in hell, so it caught me completely off-guard when deep, wrenching sobs rose up from my chest and wracked my whole body.

He dragged me onto his lap with a strangled noise in his throat, and wrapped me in strong arms I’d thought I would never feel again. He held me as my body spasmed through its grief. He held me so close it was as if he was clinging to me too.

By the time I’d managed to rein it in, his chest was saturated with my tears and the pills he’d given me must have been taking effect. My limbs felt heavier, weights pressing against wounds and dulling the ache. Even my thoughts felt heavy and tangled in my head. I think I fell asleep, but Derek was still holding me when I awoke sometime later.

It was easier to pull myself up as if subconsciously I knew there were no new horrors awaiting me at the surface. It was easier like this, opening my eyes to see the muscular curve of his shoulder and the sinewy muscles of his arm. From this position, I didn’t have to look in his eyes and wonder what it was he saw when he looked at me now. A used slave? A broken girl? He knew what had been done to me.

The time since he’d appeared outside my cell had come back to me in better clarity, and I could see him in that examination room, seeing the proof on every part of me. He didn’t know everything though. How could he possibly guess how my vile body had turned against me? He could never know. It would be better to return to that hell than for him to see the whore I’d become.

“You’re due for more pills,” he said.

I’d slept for four hours? He’d sat here and let me sleep all that time? I moved to slide off his lap, but his arms tightened to hold me here. I didn’t fight.

He uncurled my fingers on one, fisted hand and dropped two pills into my palm. I popped them into my mouth and chased them down with water. I liked these pills. They made escaping into sleep easily, and kept it dark there. No dreams, no nightmares. Only darkness. Layers and layers of black between me and the reality my life had become.

But when I woke up next, still wrapped in his arms, he must have realized what I was doing and it didn’t appear that he was going to let me do it anymore.

“I know you’re hurting, but you can’t just retreat. You have to talk to me Scar, not pull away.”

He’d tilted me back to see his face, and his fingers were brushing the hair back from my brow. Then he slid me off his lap and fluffed up the pillows behind me so I could lean back against the headboard too. He took my hand back in his and stared straight ahead of him at the wall across the room.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened right now, but I need to know what you’re thinking.”

“I’m thinking you should go,” I whispered to the wall.

“No.” Simple, but the determination in his tone was powerful. Of course, there was no making Derek do anything he didn’t want to do. There would have been no way my tormentor would have been able to wrench from Derek’s body what he’d taken from mine.

I stared at the wall, trying not to focus on the strong hand holding mine, but every time I succeeded, my mind thrust me back to the place I’d been. Vile hands and teeth, the fire of his whip, the pain of him tearing me apart and the even sharper, knife-twisting agony that accompanied every release he ripped from my body. I wanted to curl back up in Derek’s arms, but I didn’t.

“But I’ll tell you what I’m thinking, Scar. I’m thinking you’re in pain. Every kind of pain. And you feel like you’re never going to recover.” He spoke as if he could somehow relate innately to what he was saying. “I think you feel like what happened ripped chunks of your soul clean out of you, and you’ll never get them back.”

Is this what the foster home he’d been sent to had done to him? Is that how he could relate? My heart broke a little more, thinking of the vibrant boy he’d been, subjected to horrors that changed him, irrevocably in some ways. But it wasn’t the same, not entirely.

“I have no soul left,” I told him honestly, and then I closed my eyes, letting the pile of plush pillows support my weight and the blessed drugs in my bloodstream pull me under.

It felt like not long after I’d drifted off, I was being pulled from my dark hiding place. When I opened my eyes, Derek was all around me. He’d gathered me up in his arms and we were no longer on the bed.

“What are you doing?” I tried to struggle to get free, but he held me tighter as he strode from the bedroom and into the connecting ensuite. The determined look in his eyes concerned me more than the sudden departure from the bed.

Without putting me down, he turned on the shower faucet, then stepped in, still half-dressed. The warm water cascaded over my body, igniting dozens of cuts and scrapes along its way. I writhed in his arms and whined pathetically, but his hold remained firm. He slid to the floor beneath the spray and gathered me on his lap. I tried to sit up, but even with my veins teeming with narcotics, the shooting pain through my ribs stopped me.

“What the hell are you doing?” I croaked.

“The only thing I know how to do, Scar,” he replied, his voice raw. “I fucked up, and you paid the price for it. You’ll never know how sorry I am, but I won’t let you do this. You will not blame yourself.” His voice was carefully restrained, but I had a feeling he’d be shouting at me if I didn’t look so pitiful at the moment. “And you will not delude yourself into thinking those sick fucks could get anywhere close to your soul. Got it?”

“He didn’t get close to it. I fucking threw it down at his feet!” I screamed. It was a mistake. I knew it the moment the words were out.

I struggled to get free despite the pain in my ribs. Pain was something I’d grown well-accustomed to over the past couple of months. He didn’t stop me this time, but I almost wished he had when I surged to my feet and the room spun wildly around me. I reached for the wall to stay upright. He was on his feet in a flash, but I swerved out of his reach when he stretched his arms toward me.

“Don’t touch me. You can’t want to touch me,” I croaked.

Pain flashed through his eyes, and it tore through my heart. I didn’t want to hurt him. I loved him. But that’s why he had to stop this. I wasn’t the girl he cared about. That girl had died in hell, and a depraved whore had taken her place.

So, I took a deep breath and told the biggest lie of my life, “I want you to leave.”

He jolted as if I’d struck him, god damn it.

“No.”

Why did everyone else get to say no? Why was I the only one who had absolutely no fucking say? “No? What I want doesn’t matter? Should I get down on my knees like a good, little slave now? Is that what my master wants?”

He paled, but he didn’t budge. “If I thought me leaving is what you really wanted, Scar, I’d be gone. Maybe it’s even what you should want, but you don’t. You’re hurting and you’re confused.”

He’d known me so well, right from the very beginning, but he was wrong this time. I wasn’t confused. I knew what I was, what I’d become in that dungeon, and I knew he deserved better. But it looked like the only way to convince him of that was to lay it out for him. I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to see the disgusted look on his face when he knew the truth. It was all I had left—his belief that I was inherently good, but life was going to take that from me too.

I crumpled to the ground. It suddenly took too much effort to stand. At least down here on the shower floor, I wouldn’t have to see his face.

“I’m a whore, Derek. That’s why I want you to leave.”

“You’re not a whore, Scar,” he said, crouching down in front of me.

“Sometimes he hurt me, but other times, he’d touch me and my body would respond. I couldn’t stop it. God knows I tried, but it didn’t matter. Do you understand now? Are you satisfied?”

“He made you orgasm, and you think it’s your fault,” he said matter-of-factly, though I could see the way his hands were clenched so tight his knuckles had turned white.

“Of course it’s my fault! What respectable woman would have…”

“Every one of them, Scar,” he cut me off with vehemence. He ran a hand through his wet hair. “To turn your body against you, it’s the most powerful tool in a trainer’s arsenal. It wasn’t your fault, and there’s nothing wrong with you.”

He spoke with so much conviction, I wanted to believe him. He knew what he was talking about. How many girls had he…oh god, I couldn’t think about that. Yet, I couldn’t not. “How many times…”

“It wasn’t the same. The girls I…trained, most of them had chosen it or been talked into it. To provide for their families, to escape poverty. You were the first girl I’d ever taken completely against her will. I’m sorry, Scar. If I’d never done that, none of this would ever have happened to you. This is my fault. Not yours.”

I didn’t struggle out of his embrace this time when he wrapped his arms around me. He may have been the one holding me, but it seemed he needed it, maybe as much as I did.

But now I was even more confused than I’d been before, and the pain medicine was making it impossible to sort through my fuzzy head. Was he right? Would any woman’s body betray them like mine had? Would Derek say anything to overcome my resistance or was it the truth? Maybe he was repulsed by me even now but felt guilty and needed to see me recovered before he made a beeline for the exit. Oh hell, there were no answers in my cotton-filled head.

He lifted me up onto my feet and shut off the water. When he reached for the buttons on my soaked shirt I had on, I saw another set of hands—evil hands—reaching for me, and a whimper escaped my lips. His fingers paused.

“I’m not going to hurt you. I’m just going to wrap a dry towel around you. OK?” He held my gaze, not looking at my body as he unfastened the buttons. When the shirt slipped to the floor, he reached for a towel from the shelf, but my eyes followed him and I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror.

My jaw dropped open, and the reflection in the mirror mimicked me. It was hideous. I was hideous. It was the first time I’d seen myself. There’d been no mirrors in hell, though that surprised me now. The bastard could have struck just as deep with a mirror as his whip. I was revolting.

My face was a swollen mixture of greens, blues, and yellows from old and new bruises, and the wound on my cheek had never healed. He’d forced me face down on the ground so many times, and each time had ripped it open again.

Bruises and bite marks marred my torso and peeked out from the bandage wrapped around my ribs.

I hadn’t realized I’d started to cry until a tear dripped off my chin and landed on my bruised breast. In sick curiosity, I started to turn to see my back in the mirror when the glass smashed into hundreds of pieces that clattered on the ground.

I blinked. It took my drug-addled mind a full minute to realize Derek had thrown something and smashed the mirror. That was a relief. At first, I’d worried I was so hideous-looking I’d broken the mirror.

“It doesn’t matter, Scar. You’ll heal, and all of it will fade,” he said through gritted teeth as he wrapped the towel around me and tucked the end under my arm instead of between my breasts.

He took my hand this time and guided me back to the bedroom. I hadn’t noticed the serving tray covered on the table by the bed. Had he ordered it while I’d been sleeping? Had he let someone in the room? Had they seen the hideous figure asleep on the bed?

“I had it sent up shortly after we arrived in case you were hungry. And I had them leave it outside the door,” he answered the frantic questions whirling in my head.

I eyed the tray for a moment. I should be hungry. I hadn’t eaten since the previous day. Two energy bars. That was what he’d fed me every day, just to give me enough energy to stay on my feet—that’s what he’d said. When I’d tried to reject the food, he’d spent a day and a half feeding me his penis and making me swallow so much ejaculate that it sloshed nauseatingly in my stomach.

No, I wasn’t hungry.

Ignoring the food, I sat down on the edge of the bed, using my core muscles as little as possible to avoid setting off my ribs. He didn’t stop me when I laid down and closed my eyes. Good—I didn’t think I could stand being awake another minute. Just before I drifted off though, I felt him there. He’d laid down behind me, and though he didn’t put his arms around me, I could feel the heat of his body radiating against my cold flesh. I didn’t resist the comfort his nearness offered. I let it wash over me and follow me down into oblivion.

* * *

The days that followed fell into a mundane routine that must have bordered on mind-numbing boredom for Derek. Maybe I was silent in hopes of pushing him away. Maybe I just had no idea what to say to him. He kept trying to talk to me or trying to get me to talk to him. He said I’d feel better if I talked about my time in hell. I didn’t believe him.

I slept—a lot. It took too much effort to stay awake for long. He woke me every four hours though, for pain medicine. And once a day, he helped me into the shower, changed my bandages and helped me back to bed.

When I couldn’t sleep, I just laid there, remembering. And when I could sleep, I did. Unfortunately, the memories had begun to follow me there. Derek had reduced my pain medication from two pills every four hours, to one, and my dark, dreamless refuge of sleep had vanished without the muddled cloudiness from the pills. And he’d started pushing me to eat more, staring me down with his intense, unwavering gaze until I capitulated and ate another bite, or took another spoonful.

He was staring at me with that gaze now, his arms crossed, standing over me while I sat in bed with a tray across my lap. For the first time, something pleasant flashed through my mind. I was kneeling between his thighs outside his car, and he was feeding me fast food. I’d chosen to be there, on my knees in front of him. I’d asked him for it. Despite the subservient position, I’d felt stronger. Grounded in a world that had been spinning wildly out of control.

The thought stayed with me, but it took an entire week for me to figure out what to do with it. The answer came to me, lying here with a head full of vile images. All the things that had been done to me, all the things I’d been forced to do. Never a choice. I never had a choice. Even Derek rescuing me had been against my will. I’d protested, and he’d ignored me.

He’d chosen to kidnap me, to make me a slave, to sell me, and then not to sell me. He’d chosen where we ran to, and then chosen to track me down when his choices had landed me in hell. I didn’t blame him for that. He’d done everything he could to protect me, to keep me safe, and I wouldn’t have lasted as long as we did if I’d been on my own then. I knew that.

But when did I get to decide? I could be forced to my knees, but I couldn’t go there willingly?

No. It was my turn to decide. I knew what I needed, what would help me heal and become whole again. It made absolutely no sense, and yet it made perfect sense to my fractured mind. I needed to replace old images with new ones, so similar in many ways but with one glaring difference—choice. I was choosing this.

Now, all I had to do was figure out how to explain it to Derek without risking him having me committed.

He’d said he would do whatever was necessary to help me heal, and I knew exactly what was necessary.

This is what was necessary.

This is what I needed.

And the man lying next to me was equipped with the unique skill set to give me exactly that.

III - Her Dom

Prologue

Scarlett

No more intrigue. No more murder. There’d been enough of that, don’t you think?

There was just here. Now. Me. Derek—the man who would help put me back together, even if he didn’t know it yet.

He was going to break me down into my most basic parts so I could put them back together again. And then this nightmare would be over. Done. Finished. We could put our tumultuous pasts behind us and finally, we would be free to live.

At least, that’s what was supposed to happen.

Things have a funny way of never turning out how they’re supposed to, don’t they?

1

Scarlett

Another week had gone by. Another week of lying here, staring at the wall without seeing it. I couldn’t see it. I couldn’t see anything but the horror that replayed over and over again in my head.

When he held me close and I could feel his heart beating against my back, it was better. Never gone, but better. I could believe life did exist somewhere outside that cell, but still, I couldn’t see it.

I knew what I needed, what would slowly banish the nightmare I’d lived from my mind. And the man who could help me was right here, but how could I ask it of him? I’d opened my mouth so many times to let the words out, but every time they got stuck in my throat. How could I ask him to do the things he’d sworn to never do again?

He was a different man than he’d been when this had begun. He was Derek now, not my master. He was the man who stroked my arm and whispered soothing words in my ear when I couldn’t hold back my tears. He was the man who held me close and demanded nothing of me. He was the man I loved with every piece of my broken heart, but I needed my master back. I needed my master to fore the pieces back together. Maybe that made me weak. Or perhaps it made me stronger than most to know what I needed to be whole again.

But I wasn’t strong enough. I didn’t open my mouth. I didn’t ask him for what I desperately needed. I stared at the wall and watched in my mind’s eye as the devil tore the flesh from my body with his whip.

Another day passed, and then another. I took the pills Derek gave me. I ate when he brought me food. I let him help me into the shower and I laid in the bed that was like a silken cloud in comparison to the cold, stone floor where I’d thought, no, I’d prayed, not so long ago I would die.

Maybe I was getting better on my own. I wasn’t grateful the fates had sent Derek to rescue me, but the bitter resentment I’d felt in the first days had deflated. It wasn’t an overwhelming presence now. It was small, an echo of regret that floated in the back of my consciousness. Not gone, but better. I was getting better.

Derek was still asleep. I could hear the even inhale and exhale of his breathing and felt the steady beat of his heart against my back. I slipped from beneath his arm as quietly as I could and stood up. My ribs still screamed in protest, but I could get up on my own again. Better—I was getting better.

When his breathing remained even, I tiptoed into the bathroom and closed the door quietly behind me. I would shower, without his insistence and without his help, because I was getting better.

I let the unbuttoned shirt I wore slip off my shoulders and turned on the faucet. Before I could step in though, I caught sight of my reflection in a broken shard of mirror that hadn’t smashed to the floor with the rest of its pieces. It was a small shard, smaller than half the size of my hand, but the unfamiliar person it reflected back at me made me curious. It was a morbid curiosity. Nothing I saw there would make me feel better, but I needed to look.

I pried the shard loose, forgetting about its sharp edges until a thin rivulet of blood dripped down the glass. It wasn’t a sight that shocked me anymore. I’d seen more of my blood drip from my body than any person should ever see in a lifetime. A few more drops made little difference, and the sharp sting from the source was little more than a tickle. I wiped the blood away with a cloth and held up the shard in front of my face.

Only, it wasn’t my face. Not the one I remembered, at least. Most of the bruising had faded to hideous shades of green and yellow, like a poorly applied camouflage mask. My cheek though—the one that had been ground against the stone floor relentlessly—resembled something from a horror film. Scabbed and crusted, with shiny, white edges where the skin had begun to heal. The green eyes that stared back at me weren’t my own. They were dull, almost lifeless, despite the shimmer of fresh tears welling there.

I forced myself to move on, lowering the glass an inch at a time. Faded bruises. They crept out from beneath the bandages, around my ribs and spread out like ugly, obscure tattoos down my abdomen and up over my breasts.

But I couldn’t see what I wanted to see most—what I needed to see. I’d spent so many hours beneath the cut of my tormentor’s whips and canes that I already knew the damage to my back would be irreparable. It would stay with me forever, but I didn’t even know what it looked like. How strange was it that I didn’t even know what a part of my body looked like?—how it would forever look.

The need to know burned bright and I positioned myself in front of the shattered edges of the mirror that still clung to the wall. I lifted the shard in my hand behind me; though my hand shook so hard I nearly dropped the glass. Eventually, by turning this way and that, I was able to catch a glimpse of the grotesque canvas that was now mine. Mutilated flesh scabbed and puckered. God, I was hideous. He’d made me hideous.

I dropped the glass and my knees gave out, though I was able to get my hands beneath me before my body clattered and broke like the glass. I sat on the floor, gulping air and trying to stop the scream that rose up in my chest. I couldn’t let it out. I was getting better. Screaming would be worse, not better.

The blood from my finger dripped onto the marble tile, and I forced my attention onto that. It was just a tiny cut. It would heal. Look, the drips were already starting to slow. One, and then another…and then another. It didn’t escape my attention that if Derek walked into the room at that moment, it would look like I’d clearly lost my mind. Sitting on the floor, naked, and watching my blood pool on the perfectly level surface. Maybe I had lost my mind—in my first prison, or somewhere along the road of our escape, or in the dark, dank dungeon.

No, I couldn’t accept that. I was getting better.

With renewed determination, I picked up my shirt and pushed myself up off the floor. And my legs didn’t buckle when I walked toward the door. I’d lost whatever urge had compelled me to the shower, and it seemed like a wasted effort to go back to turn off the faucet. I put my shirt on though and even did up the buttons. The blood smears left by my finger seemed inconsequential. I opened the door, intending to slip back into bed before Derek woke up, but I froze before I could take a step out into the room.

He was awake, and he wasn’t alone. My heart raced, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get enough air into my lungs.

“Scar, it’s OK,” he said as he crossed the room in four, long strides. “Breathe. It’s just Dr Fuentes. He’s come by to make sure you’re healing well.”

I couldn’t move. I recognized the man now, but I didn’t want him here. I didn’t want him to touch me. This wasn’t better. This did not feel better. What difference did it make if I healed? My body would forever be a horrid mess. Did it matter if my ribs didn’t heal right? Maybe he wanted to check the places where I had stitches. No, I did not want him to do that.

The doctor approached and I wanted to dart into the bathroom and lock the door, but aside from the way my whole body had begun to tremble, I couldn’t move. There was no sense in running. It never helped. It never stopped what was going to come next.

The man stopped two feet away and he stood there looking at me. I dropped my gaze but I watched him surreptitiously through my lashes. He exchanged glances with Derek, but I couldn’t see enough to know what the look conveyed.

“Why don’t you have a seat on the bed, ángel, while I have a word with your master,” the doctor said kindly.

I liked his voice. I liked, even more, the opportunity to put as much distance between me and the kind voice as possible, so I locked my wobbly knees and headed straight for the bed. My ribs had healed enough that though it hurt to sit down, I could manage it with minimal grimacing.

“She calls me Derek, Vicente. Not master,” I heard him say tersely.

“Is that so?” the doctor replied with amusement in his tone and a chuckle.

I caught Derek’s cold glare, and the doctor’s laughter quickly died away. Then I could hear only the murmur of their voices as they spoke quietly—no doubt they were talking about me. I sat perfectly still, trying to make out bits and pieces of the conversation. Though I was tempted to wriggle closer, I didn’t. I could decipher little more than the occasional word until the doctor’s voice rose to an agitated whisper.

“Look at the poor girl—she’s a frightened shell. Unless you want her to remain that way, she needs more help than you can give her.”

What was he suggesting? That I needed more than Derek to get better? That he wanted to take me away?

“No!” I cried, backing up to the other side of the bed. He couldn’t take me away. Not again. Please god, not again.

“What’s wrong, Pet?” Derek crooned as he made it behind me before I toppled off the edge of the bed.

It was something I’d noticed ever since we’d escaped that night in my first prison. Derek kept reverting back to that name. I liked it. I didn’t know why, but it was comforting and I allowed myself to relax my body back into his arms.

“I don’t want to go with him. Please don’t make me go.”

“I won’t. I promise,” he soothed. “Dr Fuentes is only here to make sure you’re healing physically. Isn’t that right?” His eyes shot up to the doctor’s.

“Yes, that’s right,” he said to me with a sigh.

Then he came closer again, and I pressed harder against Derek’s arms as if I could disappear inside them. I didn’t disappear, and he kept coming, but he stopped a foot away this time and crouched down in front of me.

“Of course I won’t take you anywhere you don’t want to go, ángel. But do you know why I took this job—working for Derek and the man who employed him?”

I shook my head.

“Because if I didn’t, there would be girls—girls like you—who would never get the medical attention they needed. Do you understand?”

Yes, I did understand what he was saying. He didn’t agree with what happened to them—to me—but this was the only way he could help them. The only way he could help me. He wanted to help me—that’s what he was saying. That was good, but still, I didn’t want to go anywhere with him.

I nodded but kept myself as close to Derek as I could.

He eyed me for another minute. The silence was tense as if both of them were waiting for me to say or do something. I didn’t move a muscle. I barely breathed.

“All right,” the doctor said with another deflated sigh. “Will you let me have a look at your wounds, ángel?”

I didn’t want him looking at me, or touching me. I didn’t want to move from the safe cocoon of Derek’s arms. Did I have to do this? I needed my body to heal, didn’t I? Did I even have any say in the matter? It was too much. Just too damn much.

Do it, a voice whispered from somewhere in my head. It was the place that was strong. The place that knew what I needed to heal. And it wasn’t telling me to send the doctor away or to lock myself in the bathroom. That wasn’t what I needed.

“Tell me what do to,” I whispered. Maybe that made me weak, but I didn’t think so. I was making the choice to hand it over, to trust him. It wasn’t being taken from me this time. My choice.

He looked down at me and brushed the hair back from my forehead. Then his eyes closed and he nodded. Did he understand? Could he see what I really wanted to ask of him?

“Stand up and face the bed, Pet,” he said then, though partly a moot point since he was holding me tighter in his arms and helping me to my feet.

He positioned himself in front of me and kept his eyes on mine as he unbuttoned my shirt. I shivered when he slipped it from my shoulders, but I didn’t try to stop him. Instead of letting it drop to the floor though, he held it around me, part way down my back.

I felt the doctor’s hands on me then, on the flesh, Derek had exposed. He pressed gently in various places until he’d reached where my shirt still covered me. Only then did Derek lower it further, revealing the wide bandage wrapped around my ribs.

More light touches until the bandage fell away. Goosebumps prickled my flesh, only in part from the room’s cooler air on my warm skin, but I remained still and kept my eyes locked on Derek’s. He never looked away, not once, as if he knew I needed him to keep me anchored like this.

Of course, he knew. He’d always known me, probably better than I knew myself. So, how did he not know until now what it was I needed? Or had he known? Had he resisted this?—or not wanted it at all?

The doctor pressed on my ribs and I drew in a sharp breath as the pain made my eyes water. It hurt, but at least it didn’t hurt as much as it had before.

Then my shirt slipped lower and I couldn’t hold back the tear that escaped. I tried to focus on Derek instead, wondering how he could know when the doctor was finished with one area since he eyes never left mine.

Soft touches on my backside and my thighs, and then he was just about finished. Derek refastened my shirt before he leaned in closer.

“Turn around so Dr. Fuentes can look at your cheek.”

I did as he told me, but despite the kindly expression on the doctor’s face, I closed my eyes and kept them closed until he was. A few, feather-light touches, and then he was taking a step back. I sighed my relief. It was done.

“Lie down on your back, Pet,” Derek said then in a strained voice.

I whipped my head around to look at him, but no words came out when I tried to object. He was holding out his hand and I took it, and I didn’t resist when he helped me to do what he’d said.

He leaned over me when I was flat on my back, and his frame blocked out my view of everything else. All I could see was Derek, and I tried to tune out all but the too handsome face in front of me. I tried not to think about the hands on me down there or the men who had used me. None of that mattered. All that mattered was the man leaning over me.

Then it was over. It had to be—there wasn’t any more of me to examine.

Derek pulled the blanket up over my body to my chin and then pressed a gentle kiss to my lips. “Good girl,” he whispered before he stood tall and turned toward the doctor.

“There is no sign of infection and I’m satisfied her ribs are healing well. I see no reason she won’t make a full recovery…physically,” he added the last sharply.

“That’s enough, Vicente. You’ve made your thoughts known. Do not forget who you’re speaking to,” Derek warned in a calm, cold tone I knew all too well.

It didn’t frighten me now—maybe in part because it wasn’t directed at me. Either way, it was reassuring to know he was strong in ways I wasn’t, and even more comforting to recognize that tone meant there was no way in hell the doctor would be taking me away with him.

“Very well. My apologies, my friend,” the doctor said, though the insincerity in his voice was loud and clear.

Hopefully, Derek would let it slide. As much as I wanted him to leave, I did not want the doctor to suffer because of me.

Derek nodded, and I released the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

“Am I too presumptuous to assume money is no object when it comes to her recovery?”

“No, you would be correct.”

Money? I hadn’t even considered that. Money wasn’t something I’d thought about in months. But how much was it costing Derek for a doctor to make private house calls?

The doctor rummaged through a briefcase I hadn’t noticed before, and withdrew a tube—one that looked similar to the soothing cream Derek had applied to the wounds Marcos had inflicted. He handed the tube to Derek.

“It’s expensive, but after our last…meeting, I went searching for something that would be helpful. It’s recently been approved for wound care, and I think in this case it will be well worth its price. Applied three times a day, it should prevent most scarring, even in deep wounds.”

My gaze shot to Derek’s hand and the inconspicuous looking tube in it. No scars?—or at least far fewer. No proof of my body of all the vile things that had been done to it? It seemed like a precious gift, so much that I could feel a tiny tug at the corners of my lips, trying to shape them into a small smile.

But did it change anything? Would Derek ever be able to look at me and not see what I’d looked like when he’d stormed into my cell? Would I? If the scars were gone, could I forget what they’d done, or how the devil had made my body respond? No. I would never forget. Those endless days had been burned into my memory like a brand from the hottest iron.

I closed my eyes, having lost interest in the tube. I heard the rattle of pill bottles—probably more painkillers—and then footsteps retreated toward the door. They conversed in low tones, but I had no interest in eavesdropping this time.

By the time Derek returned, I’d already begun to drift off. I debated continuing down into oblivion, but the tension that radiated from him kept me teetering on the edge, and eventually, drew me back u to the surface. When I opened my eyes, he was standing next to the bed, looking down at me. He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Explain it to me, Scar,” he said. His voice was gentle, but it brooked no refusal.

I had no doubt what he was referring to, but how could I explain it to him? Maybe simple was best. “I need it to be my choice. I need to experience it, and know I put myself here this time.”

He nodded, and I expected him to say something, either in agreement or in protest, but he didn’t. Not one word. He strode out of the room and into the ensuite and shut the door behind him. I debated following him, but if he’d wanted me there, he would have brought me with him. He didn’t want me there.

He didn’t want me. If he understood what I was asking, then it was the only explanation that made sense. When he’d kidnapped me, he had wanted me. He’d wanted to control me. He’d wanted me to submit to his will, and his alone. But now, when I was choosing to offer myself up to him, he walked away and locked himself in the bathroom. I was used goods. I wouldn’t want me either.

I curled up as tight as my ribs would allow and closed my eyes. Tears leaked out the corners, but before they’d saturated the pillow, the bathroom door swung open. He was standing in the doorway, a towel slung low around his hips and his flesh still damp from the shower. He was beautiful, perfectly sculpted. Awareness crept through my veins—a feeling I hadn’t experienced in what seemed like a very long time. I wanted to block it out. The deep, dark shame inside me said I had no right to be looking at him this way, but I couldn’t help it.

By the time my gaze had made its way up to his eyes, I was warmer. The heavy blanket was stifling. But he was looking back at me, and the reflection I’d glimpsed of myself earlier in the broken shard of glass flashed through my mind. That’s what he was seeing. That’s what I looked like now. The heat fled and I tucked the blanket more tightly around my body.

“Dr Fuentes left this for you,” he said, picking up the tube he’d left on the nightstand. “You’re going to roll over for me, and while I put it on you, you’re going to tell me exactly what’s going through your head.” He tone was still gentle, and it still brooked no refusal.

I struggled from my side and onto my stomach while he stood motionless. He wasn’t going to help me. He wasn’t going to move until I’d complied. It was the closest I had felt to peace since he let me kneel between his thighs and he fed me his fast food burger from his fingers. Fucked up, maybe, but it was the least fucked up I’d felt since that day.

My ribs protested, but I succeeded, and then waited patiently as he picked up the tube, rolled down the blanket to expose my back, and sat down on the bed next to me. “Talk, Pet,” he said as he squeezed some of the thick, opaque gel onto his fingers and rubbed it gently across a wound just below my neck.

“I know it probably sounds crazy…”

“No,” he interrupted. “Don’t tell me what you think is going on in my head. I want to know what’s going on in yours.”

“It’s…what happened, is in my head all the time. I feel helpless.”

His fingers faltered but then moved smoothly again across my mutilated flesh.

“I learned a lot about myself with you…before. I learned that I didn’t need to be in control, that as long as I trusted you, I didn’t need that. It felt as easy as breathing to offer that up. But…but it was never my choice. I need it to be my choice.”

“I want to help, but fuck Scar, do you have any idea what you’re asking? Before…it was never an act. I feel guilty as fuck for what I did to you, but…I wanted to do those things—and that makes the guilt about a thousand times worse. Now though, after all, I did to you after all those sons of bitches did to you…how can I do what you’re asking?”

At least it did seem like he understood what it was I wanted. Except, I didn’t just want it—I needed it. And by Derek’s own admission, it hadn’t been an act on his part. It came naturally to him. I was only asking him to be…him. Thinking about it that way made it easier to push harder.

“I need this. And you’re the only man I want to do this. I don’t want to even think about trying to find some professional dominant…”

“Over my dead body,” he said, his voice calm and cool—and a little scary this time.

But it was precisely the response I’d been hoping for. It meant that some part of him still wanted me and had no intention of sharing me with anyone. I held my breath, waiting. I could think of no other way to sway him, so I could only hope what I’d said was enough.

“All right,” he breathed, and I exhaled with him. “But not here. I’m taking you home, Scar.”

Home? I didn’t have a home anymore. Derek was my home. “I don’t…”

“My home.”

“I didn’t know you had a home,” I said stupidly. Of course, he had a home somewhere. He wasn’t a desert nomad.

“That’s because no one but me has ever been there.”

I didn’t want to get my hopes up. I didn’t want to consider what it meant that he wanted to take me to his home. I didn’t want to hope that maybe, even after I was healed, he would still want me. But it was difficult not to when he said things like that. He was taking me somewhere no other person—no other woman—had ever been. That had to mean something, didn’t it? But…

“Is it safe? I mean, don’t we need to stay hidden?”

“I’ve been in touch with various contacts since we got here. The story is you escaped when Marcos’ car was attacked, but recaptured by a rival group. I’ve been hunting you down and looking for signs that Marcos is still alive. As a loyal follower, I can’t accept that he’s dead, and I’m keeping you in tow to hand over to him when I find him.”

Oh. I’d had no idea he’d been busy setting up a story that would mean we no longer had to run and hide. I didn’t care in the least that it cast me as the naughty runaway slave. It was perfect because it meant no one would come after me since I was already in Derek’s possession. And most importantly, it means no one was coming after Derek. He was safe.

He was taking me to his home, and there he would help me heal. I allowed the ripple of hope that ran through me to have its moment. I didn’t even try to squelch it. I closed my eyes and focused on the feel of his strong hands as they smoothed miracle-cream down my back.

“Thank you,” I whispered as the tiredness I’d pushed back earlier closed in on me again.

“Save your thanks, Pet. You might not be feeling so appreciative soon,” he whispered back, his voice as raw as it had been that first day I’d woken up in the hotel room.

I was too tired to respond, so I brought his words down with me, trying to mull them over as I drifted off to sleep. Was he right? No, he couldn’t be, I decided as I lingered somewhere between awake and asleep.

My tormentor’s whip cracked in the air all around me, echoing off the stone walls as the nightmare pulled me in. Always helpless. Powerless. Awake or asleep, nothing was my choice.

But it would be soon.

2

Derek

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What the fuck had I agreed to? I asked myself for the thousandth time since Scar had made her request. Three days had passed since then, and I felt no better about it now than I had then. She’d said it was what she needed, but could I do it? I’d told her I would do whatever it took for her to heal, but could I go through with this?

The most fucked up part of it was I knew the answer. As much as I hated myself for it, I knew. I would never stop hungering for it—for her. I craved her submission like an addict. Scar, offering herself up—it was the most potent drug on earth.

I crossed lanes and took the exit off the highway. Twenty-three minutes—less than half an hour, and I’ve had to make good on my agreement. Already I’d noticed a change in her. She’d still slept a lot the past three days, but when she was awake, it was as if more of her was awake than had been before. She was still content to lay in my arms as I rambled on about shit—most of which I’d never told another living soul—but she asked questions now and then, and even injected a few thoughts of her own.

When I’d found her in that basement, I’d feared that even if she healed physically, she would never fully come back from the dark place those fuckers had taken her. But I’d known she was strong, that she would find a way. I’d just never imagined this would be the way.

I glanced over at her sleeping form, her lips slightly parted and her features relaxed. Inside and out, she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever known. I would never stop craving her, but right now, after all, that had happened to her, what I was about to do was going to be the most difficult thing I’d ever done. Difficult, not only because of what they’d done to her but because part of me was going to enjoy it.

The streets flew by without my notice. I was on auto-pilot. It had been months since I’d been back here, but I would have been able to make the trip with my eyes closed. It was home, far-removed from everything else in the world. No one else had ever been there because I hadn’t wanted them to taint it. But Scar, she belonged there. Our home.

Fuck, that was some sappy shit, but there it was.

I made a quick stop at the post office and then, precisely twenty-three minutes after pulling off the highway, I slowed as I approached the gates. A retinal scan and 12-digit code later, the gate opened and I put my hand on Scar’s shoulder to wake her.

Her eyes fluttered open and then went wide in fear, but she became aware faster than before and she turned to look at me. I smiled and then nodded ahead of us, then drove slowly up the winding drive. Her eyes went wide in astonishment, not fear this time, and I bit back a grin. Yeah, she was impressed. Two storeys of stone and glass—a five-thousand square foot escape from my everyday life. It was small in comparison to Marcos’ home, but it was perfect for me.

We reached the top of the drive, and she was still staring wide-eyed at the house. The property surrounding it wasn’t much to look at—rock and stone and self-sustaining shrubs. Allowing no one else here meant I didn’t employ landscapers, and I wasn’t exactly the gardener type. It was tidy though and serene.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed finally.

“It’s ours…unless you want to tear it down and build something from scratch.” It seemed like a waste of a house, but if that’s what it took for her to feel comfortable here, I’d do it.

“Of course not,” she said, though her countenance had changed.

She was nervous. A new place. More unknowns. Maybe I should have insisted we stay at the hotel longer. Since it was too late for that, I slid out of the car and came around to help her out. Her ribs were healing, but the seats were lower than the bed height she’d had to manage at the hotel.

She wrapped her arms around me as I slid my hands beneath her arms to help her up, but once on her feet, she didn’t let go. She was breathing faster and I could feel the pounding of her heart against my chest.

“I know it’s ridiculous, it’s just…” she started to explain.

“It’s new and different, and it’s already hard enough to deal with things you are accustomed to,” I finished for her. She knew my history now. She didn’t have to wonder how I could relate.

She nodded against my chest, and it only took a minute for her breathing to return to normal. When it did, I took her hand and led her up the front steps. She was intrigued by the retinal and fingerprint security checks at the door, and hopefully, it would help to reassure her nothing was getting in without my permission.

And then we were inside, and I was closing the door and re-engaging the security system. Clutching tight to my hand, she gazed around in wonder. Marble and granite, leather and crystal, the décor were extravagant, and the open floor plan, even more of a wonder to behold—not nearly as magnificent as the woman standing next to me though.

This was it. She was here—in a place I could never have imagined she would be a few short months ago. But I knew what came next—what I’d agreed would come once we were here. A part of me hoped she’d forgotten or changed her mind. Another part of me very much hoped she hadn’t.

“I know what I asked, but I don’t know how…or what I should do.”

Well, she hadn’t forgotten.

This part should have been simple. A master controls while a submissive submits. I wasn’t exactly unfamiliar with the premise. But I’d had some time to think this over the past three days, and if I was going to go through with this, I wanted a few modifications to the typical structure—whether she liked it or not.

“I’m going to take you on a tour of the house, and then we’re going to discuss the ground rules.”

“Rules?”

“Tour first, then rules.”

I kept the tour brief—she’d have plenty of time to get acquainted with the house—and I deliberately concluded the tour in the sunken den at the far side of the house.

“All right, Scar, this room is my first ground rule. And it’s non-negotiable. In this room, you’re Scarlett Donovan. You say what you think and you do only what you want. Understand?”

“I don’t…”

“Consider it a rhetorical question, Pet. Like I said, it’s not negotiable. You will spend time in this room every day. When and how much time is up to me.”

She nodded, though her teeth had clasped onto her bottom lip and she worried the plush flesh.

“Outside this room, you will make every effort to obey me. Until your ribs have healed, you will inform me if you are physically not able to comply.”

She didn’t even try to argue me this time. She nodded and continued to toy with her lip.

That was it. There was just one more thing.

“This is what you want, Scar?” I needed to hear her say it.

“Yes, this is my choice.”

There was no more putting this off unless I intended to back out like a pussy—and that wasn’t what Scar needed.

“Do you remember the way to the master bedroom?”

She nodded, and I waited patiently for her to remember her training and answer me verbally. “Yes, I do, M-master,” she whispered.

“I want you to walk there now. Sit down on the edge of the bed and wait for me.” I had packages to collect from the car, and a chance to collect my thoughts wasn’t the worst idea.

When I opened the bedroom door a few minutes later, she was sitting perched t the edge of the bed like I’d told her. Her hands were folded neatly in her lap. She looked up at me uncertainly, then to the ground in front of her, and back up at me.

Fuck. She was trying to figure out whether she should kneel, and the heat that shot through me had no business being there. This was for her—I wasn’t fucking supposed to be getting off on it.

I walked to the bed and deposited the parcels and bag on the floor before pulling out the tube of cream. Whatever the hell it was, the cream was amazing. After just a few days, the wound on her cheek had gotten smaller and the edges were beginning to resemble the smooth skin on the rest of her face. She’d be beautiful no matter what, but I was glad she wouldn’t be left with permanent scars as a constant reminder.

“Take off your clothes and lay down on your stomach, Pet.” This was a good place to start. She’d gotten accustomed to me touching her to apply the cream, and though I’d never made her strip down for it, she hadn’t objected to me helping her to shower. I ignored the way my cock twitched when she stood to obey me.

I watched as she stripped. Her fingers shook almost imperceptibly, but she didn’t hesitate. The war in my head surged out of control as she exposed creamy flesh. She was too thin. She’d only gained back a small portion of the weight she’d lost and I could see every rib. But I could also see perfectly shaped breasts, curvy hips and long, lithe legs. All of her perfection was marred by fading bruises and cuts, but perfect nonetheless.

Without looking at me, she climbed up on the bed and laid down on her stomach. I started at her feet, gazing upward over calves and thighs, the rounded curve of her ass. I wanted to fuck her, and I wanted to beat the shit out of me for wanting it. The proof of what she’d been through was right there, so how the hell could looking at her still be making me hard as rock?

Feeling like scum, I sat down beside her and started at her neck, rubbing the cream like she was used to me doing. Her muscles relaxed beneath my fingers but as I rubbed the cream into the deep lash marks where the curve of her ass met her thighs, her muscles began to tense. I’d been applying the cream between her legs at the hotel, but always under the covers. She knew I would see her now and it was already making her breathing come quicker, in panic, not in the anticipation of pleasure.

“Open your legs,” I said because the asshole in me knew she needed to push past this. She wanted to submit—it had been her choice—and that meant offering up every part of her, knowing that it pleased her master—that she was pleasing to her master.

She hesitated this time, but slowly she complied, and when she did, I knew I had to pull myself together. The war in my head—wanting her desperately while hating myself for it—was going to fuck this up. She wanted this, and I’d agreed to it. It was time to man the fuck up and do this right—either all the way or not at all.

“Wider, Pet. I want to see your beautiful pussy.”

Without a sound, she obeyed, though her breathing was still coming too fast.

Blocking out the image of the last time she’d been open to me on Vicente’s god damn exam table, I looked at her. The wounds had almost completely healed. She was…beautiful. Perfect. And so fucking sexy. I rubbed the cream along her slit where it was needed, but damn, I was loath to stop.

So, I didn’t. I ran my fingers along her soft lips and brushed across her clit. Her body jerked in response as a tiny moan escaped her, and it was all I could do to not bury myself balls-deep inside her. Patience was a virtue I was short on at the moment, but I’d wait. For now. I would have her again though—and soon.

“I’m going to make us lunch.” And maybe grab an ice cold shower. “I want you to look through the top box in the stack I’ve brought and choose something to wear. You’re to be on your knees at the end of the bed by the time I return, Pet. Use a pillow for cushioning.”

“Yes, Master,” she breathed and rolled onto her side to get up.

I left then and hightailed it to the kitchen. There were only non-perishable foods in the house at the moment, but that would do for now. And really, who could give a fuck about food when there was a woman like Scar on her knees in the bedroom upstairs?

And when I returned to the room ten minutes later, that was precisely the sight that greeted me. I’d ordered several nightgowns the day I’d agreed to this arrangement, and the one she wore now was semi-transparent. It scooped low in the front but sat high on her back, and came to just above mid-thigh. With her on her knees now, thighs parted, the see-through fabric draped like a veil over her pussy. Her head was tilted down and her hands rested on her thighs. The perfect submissive pose. Damn.

Arousal, rage, need and anguish coursed through me, but in that second when they all collided, it struck me all at once and Scar suddenly made sense. I’d been struggling to understand why she’d asked me for this—how she could possibly want this. Looking at her kneeling so perfectly, I finally got it.

My time with her before had shown me clearly that—at least sexually—she was a submissive. It hadn’t been just an act to avoid punishment. She wanted to be dominated, maybe even needed it as much as I needed to dominate. Those needs were in our blood, no matter what fucked up shit life dealt us. She also liked the way pain enhanced her pleasure.

After the hell she’d been through though, she needed this. Not just new memories to drown out the old, but the chance to reaffirm for herself through what happened here that the things that brought her pleasure were OK. And it would all be by her own choosing this time.

This had been her choice, but now it was mine, too. She was mine. Now. Forever. Mine.

“Touch yourself, Pet,” I said as I put the tray I’d brought down on the bed.

Her eyes peered up through her lashes, but she kept her head tilted down at the floor, and her small hand came up to cup her breast. The firm flesh spilt over her fingers, making my fingers itch to cup her in my own hands where she fit so well.

It took a minute, but eventually, she relaxed enough to graze her thumb over her nipple. It pebbled beneath her touch, and her lips parted on a sigh as she moved her thumb back and forth.

“Use your other hand on your pussy. Lean back against the bed if it puts too much strain on your ribs.”

Her obedience came quicker this time, though her hands still trembled. I unzipped my fly as her fingers slipped through her silken folds. By the time she settled over her clit, I had my cock out. I pumped it slowly, a foot away from her face. I could see her trying to peak up at me through her lashes, but she kept her head tilted down like she knew she was supposed to. Her fingers moved slowly, rubbing in a circular motion while her other hand continued to knead one breast and then the other.

It was clear by the flush of her skin and the quiet sounds she made, she was aroused, but it was coming slower than it used to for her.

“Tell me what you’re thinking, Pet.”

“I’m thinking this is different, Master. That I want this, but…”

She squeezed her eyes shut, and I could feel what it was she needed. It was strange to be so in tune with another person. It was a master’s responsibility to know a slave well, but this was different. It was more. And it was how I knew she needed more of her senses engaged to get higher, to get to the place where her body would take over.

“Look at me,” I demanded.

Heat flared in her eyes as her gaze traveled upward, lingering briefly on my cock, inches from her lips.

“Breathe in deep. What do you smell?”

She breathed in obediently, and the heat in her eyes grew a little brighter. “I smell you, Master, man, and musk, and…salt. And…and me.”

I leaned down and slipped my middle finger inside her, but I withdrew and stood a second later. With my index finger, I gathered the drop of precum that beaded on the tip of my cock, and then slid both fingers into her mouth. She sucked them in deeper and I could feel her tongue licking us off of me. I stifled a grown.

Her fingers had picked up their pace on her clit by the time I withdrew and a moan escaped her lips.

“What do you taste?”

“Sex, Master. Lust. Us.”

Fuck, even her word choices were sexy. I gripped my cock and thrust into my hand. It was a poor substitute for the tight sheath I wanted wrapped around me, but this was as far as it would go today. Yet, there was something seductively kinky about the current scene. I’d never masturbated in front of a woman while watching her bring herself to orgasm.

Her lips were parted as if she was waiting, ready for me to shove my cock between them and pry them open further. So fucking tempting, and I imagined her lips wrapping around me as I thrust into my hand.

Her eyes were alight now, and I could see the fine sheen of sweat on her forehead. Her breasts rose and fell with every heavy breath, and her quiet, breathy moans had grown louder, reverberating inside my head and shooting pulses of heat to the base of my spine.

“Tell me what you’re thinking, Pet.”

“I want your cock, Master. I want to taste you, and feel you inside me.”

It had been stupid of me to ask because it was just too fucking much. Thank fuck she was almost there. Her pace was frantic, and her fingers weren’t just grazing her nipple now; they were pinching, squeezing harder every second. Her back arched and her whole body tensed as she cried out. It sent me over the edge fast, and I groaned through my own orgasm as I spurted white ribbons of cum across her satin-covered tits.

As I tucked myself back into my pants, I kept my eyes on her—not for any particular reason other than I didn’t want to stop looking at her. Her skin still flushed from her orgasm, and her lips still slightly parted as her breathing slowed to something that resembled normal—I could look at her forever.

Unfortunately, she was due for medicine, and it only seemed polite to help her into another nightgown after coming all over the one she had on.

“Stand up.”

She rose to her feet slowly. Her movements were still stilted and she clutched the end of the bed to keep pressure off her ribs, but she didn’t grimace in pain.

Since the nightgown had some stretch to it, I slipped the straps off her shoulders and then kissed a trail down the valley of her breasts as I slid it down below them. Pulling the fabric down lower, I followed it down her ribs and abdomen. Her breathing sped up again, but as I slid the gown over her lips and it fell to the floor, I veered off on a path to her hip and she let out a tiny, frustrated grown.

“Something wrong, Pet?”

“N-no, Master,” she replied, but I could see her fingers flexing at her sides. She was itching to try to move me back where she wanted me.

“Good then,” I said, springing to my feet with a cocky grin. Tease and frustrate—I was good at that game.

I helped her into a fresh nightgown and then retrieved the pills and a bottle of water from the untouched tray. “You need your medicine.”

“I…” she started, but then stopped.

“What is it?”

“I don’t want them, Master. They make my head cloudy.”

“And is it up to you whether you swallow this?” I held one out in my hand.

“No, Master.”

I didn’t want her to be in pain, but I could well remember my own aversion to the painkillers. They’d made my head feel like it was stuffed full of fucking cotton balls.

“You will tell me if the pain increases enough that you become more than uncomfortable.”

“Yes, Master.”

I dropped the pill back in the bottle and set them on the night table. I’d kept them hidden at first, afraid she’d be tempted to down a whole bottle during those first few days. I didn’t worry about that now.

“Sit on the bed with your back against the headboard. You need to eat, but I don’t want you getting up and down more than necessary yet.”

There’s no way to explain what it’s like to feed someone—to hold their very sustenance in your hands. It was enough to make me heady as I slipped the food between her lips and she pulled it off gently, careful not to dig in or scrape me with her teeth. This wasn’t something I would be able to do with Scar forever. Soon, she wouldn’t need me as her master to make her way in the world. Where the fuck I fit in once that happened, I had no idea. But for now, I savored her lips taking the food from my fingers. Hell, I fucking loved it.

3

Derek

Two days passed in much the same way as that first day at the house. And with every hour that went by, I could feel a knot growing tighter in my stomach. I was playing a role. I was playing at being me, and it was starting to make my skin crawl. If it had been working for Scar, then I’d chalk it up as small penance for my sins, but she wasn’t satisfied either, even if she hadn’t come out and said it.

I’d never played at being master before. It had never been a game or an act; it was who and what I was. It ran thick and heavy in my blood. But everything I was doing was cautious, carefully planned, and I was always on guard, waiting for signs I was pushing her too far. Always ready to retreat. Ever-ready to back down. Hell, I was turning into a fucking pussy.

She’d been silently provoking me. She’d make eye contact without permission, or scrape her teeth into my skin when I fed her, and I could feel the challenge to my core, but I’d gritted my teeth and ignored it. She wanted a master, and these were things no master would ignore. I knew it and she knew it. And she wanted what should have come from it. But every time I closed my eyes, I could see those fuckers, whips in hand, flaying open her back and using her body. I was terrified that something I did would bring her back there. So, I wasn’t pushing her to her limits, and I wasn’t disciplining her when she pushed mine.

I needed to do something because I couldn’t live like this much longer, and neither could she.

I walked into the room carrying lunch. I’d left her kneeling on the bed with a blindfold on, but the blindfold was off now, dangling from her fingers where they rested on her thigh. She had the good sense to look chagrined, but it wasn’t going to be enough this time. It couldn’t be. Every fiber of my body said this was what she wanted, and it sure as fuck was what I needed.

I placed the tray on the night table and strode across the room to the closet door. Without a care for the door, I rippled the full-length mirror off it and brought it back around the bed to prop it up on the wall four feet away.

A glance at my disobedient pet told me she was aware she’d pushed it too far this time. Her eyes were glued to the floor, her back straight, and her fingers now trembled ever so slightly. Fear? Anticipation? Excitement?—a conglomeration of them all, I imagined.

“Stand up,” I told her in a calm, cool voice that felt as familiar as an old friend.

She was off the bed in a flash and standing in front of me with her eyes fixed on someplace by her feet.

“Take off the nightgown.”

She grabbed the hem and lifted it up, revealing toned thighs, firm stomach and then luscious breasts. I wasn’t oblivious to the way she thrust out her breasts toward me as she yanked the gown off over her head. A tempting distraction, but I’d get to those later.

I sat down at the edge of the bed and watched her, feeling the surge of arousal and adrenaline course through my veins. I drew it out, waiting a minute, and then two to let the anticipation heighten. If I was going to hell for being me, then I was going with a stinging hand and a rock hard cock because there was no way I wanted to stop this now.

“Come here, Pet.” My voice made her jump, but she crossed the two steps between us. “Is there anything you want to say to me?”

“I’m sorry, Master.”

“I don’t believe you are, but you will be. Lay across my lap.”

She moved to the side of me and bent over to comply. Fireworks were already sparking in my brain, and when her tight ass was in position in front of me, I was about ready to blow sky high. I took the time to run a hand over her firm cheeks, drawing out her wait even more. She shivered when I let a finger trail up the cleft between her cheeks, and the sexy little temptress tried to wriggle her ass higher to keep my fingers on her.

My hand actually tingled in anticipation, but the wait was over. I raised it up and brought it down with a loud clap that was like music to my ears. Her body jolted and she whimpered, but she relaxed her muscles in preparation for the next slap almost right away.

I rained down four in quick succession while her pelvis squirmed and writhed against my cock. Her cries, whimpers and moans fell over top of one another, and I had to fight against the urge to flip her onto the bed and drive into her pussy to the hilt. I knew she’d be wet for me. We were a perfect fit because she loved what I did to her, and she was the most intoxicating drug I could imagine. The way she tried to squirm away from my hand while grinding her clit against my thigh; her cries of pain and moans of pleasure—they were my cocaine and I was helplessly addicted.

Five more stinging slaps, and then I paused, tracing the canvas of handprints I’d laid on top of her mostly healed wounds. Soon, those old ones would be gone, every trace of them, and then there would be only my marks on her soft flesh. Only mine. She was mine. Mine!

“Tell me how sorry you are, Pet.”

“I’m very sorry, Master. I was wrong to provoke you,” she panted between heavy breaths.

Five more slaps and my cock jerked with every one of them. “Tell me again.”

“I’m sorry, Master.”

Five more, spread out so that her whole ass was now a sexy shade of pink. “Why?”

“Because I should have obeyed.”

Five more. “Why?”

“Because I’m yours.”

Fuck, yes—that’s what I wanted to hear. “Say it again.”

“I’m yours.”

I shoved a finger into her pussy. Her soaking wet pussy. Fuck, she was so wet she was dripping down her thighs. I lifted her up as I stood and dropped her on her back on the bed, all in the same breath. I unzipped my pants and shoved them to my knees, not even wasting the time to take them off.

I leaned in and my cock pressed against her wet slit. So fucking wet. I went as slow as I could, fighting the urge to ram balls-deep into her. One excruciatingly exquisite inch and then another. Only seconds had passed, but it felt like hours before her pussy sheathed my whole cock like a tight glove.

Some sliver of conscience tried to poke through, warning me I might be pushing her too hard, but she wrapped her legs around me and I was all in.

“Yours! God, yes, all yours,” she moaned.

I’d had no idea how much I needed to hear it, but each time the words fell from her lips, they mended the shattered edges of something inside me I hadn’t known had been broken. “Mine,” I proclaimed as I thrust in too hard, too deep, but she only tilted her head back and moaned in ecstasy.

Too soon, I was close. I wasn’t sure I could slow it down, but she got there fast, too. Her moans turned to cries, and her fingers dug into my shoulders as she hovered on the brink.

“Yours, always yours,” she screamed, and thank fuck she was already tumbling over the edge because I was done for.

I rammed in deep as the tight walls of her pussy spasmed around my cock, and then I stilled, deep inside her as I filled her full of my come. She milked every drop before I withdrew and laid down beside her.

It was several minutes before I could do anything but lie there, but eventually, I drew her up to the pillows with me.

I probably should have fed her, but she seemed just as content as I was to lie there. What had just happened ran through my mind, and while I should have felt guilty as fuck—not only for what I’d done but for how much I’d enjoyed it—I didn’t. Good or bad—probably bad—I felt like me.

Her body was slack against mine, and her breathing quickly slowed to the steady rise and fall of sleep. I debated joining her, but as sated as my body was, my mind was still sparked up, revelling in its fucked up victory. Thanks to the high, there was no way I was falling asleep anytime soon—maybe ever.

4

Derek

The quiet buzz of the security system sounded sometime later—it was the proximity alarm. The high I’d been on crashed to the floor, and every muscle in my body was taut. The noise of the alarm didn’t wake Scar so much as my quick launch out of the bed.

“Stay here,” I told her, then strode to the closet across the room. It wasn’t a typical closet. Sure, there was Armani and Dior Homme hanging neatly in there. They just happened to be hanging neatly beside Berettas, Glocks, Sigs and high carbon, stainless steel tactical knives. And there was also a wall full of monitors that would tell me precisely who’d been stupid enough to get close to my property.

Thirty seconds later, I watched as a gunmetal grey Mercedes pulled up to the outer gate. The side windows were tinted, but the position of the cameras allowed me to zoom in on the front windshield. The man in the driver’s seat was a nobody—I’d never seen him before, nor was he likely anything more than a well-paid driver. The man who sat next to him was likely no more important. I zoomed in further until the camera lens let me see past them to the man reclining comfortably in the back seat.

Fuck. That man was not a nobody. That was Mateo Lopez. I’d seen him meet with Marcos on more than one occasion. An associate—Marcos had told me, though he would never tell me anything further. But if he was nothing more than an associate, there would be no reason for him to be here. On my property. He would have had no idea how to find me, nor any reason to try.

Marcos’ minions had done a passable job filling in for their missing leader—until that leader could be found, of course—and it was well-known I had my hands full with his little escape artist at the moment. No business would have been directed my way, and certainly not here, and mere days after my arriving.

That left only one option, and I didn’t like it one fucking bit. This man had never been one of Marcos’ associates like he’d said. That was a ploy, probably to keep this man out of the line of fire from rivals. Because this was Marcos’ boss.

Was he here for revenge? No, if he knew I’d killed Marcos, he would have sent his own goons after me. He wouldn’t be making a house-call with anything more than his driver and one guard for protection. That meant he was stepping in where Marcos had left off, and possibly looking for information. Though, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to keep an eye on the driver and the guard, just in case.

I wanted to ignore the buzz that was now sounding from the front gate’s intercom, but a man that high up on the food chain wouldn’t have made the trip unless he knew I was here. So, ignoring it was only going to raise suspicions. There was only one route available to me. One very particular route. And it fucking sucked.

I pressed the button to let them in, tucked a Glock in the back waist of my pants, secured a Beretta in its holster around my ankle and double-timed it back to Scar.

I didn’t want to do this to her. Fuck, I wasn’t even sure if she could handle it, but the only other option meant putting us back on the run. I couldn’t do that to her.

In the bedroom, I found her in the exact position I’d left her, but one surreptitious glance up through her lashes and the expression on her face changed. I couldn’t believe I was actually going to do this to her. Thank fuck for the clothes I’d picked up on the drive here.

“Scar, you need to listen and do exactly what I say. Put on the black nightgown,”—it was the most coverage I could offer her—“kneel at the end of the bed. Don’t use the pillow. Keep your head down no matter what unless you’re told otherwise.”

“What’s…what’s going on?” she whispered, her eyes wide with fear as she hastened to do what I’d said.

I didn’t even have time to explain it to her. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes, Master,” she said and nodded without hesitation.

My heart soared and sunk at the same time. She trusted me without equivocation…but once again I’d led her right into this.

“I’ll die before I let anyone hurt you. Understand?” It was the only assurance I could offer her.

She nodded.

I strode to the door, but I couldn’t stop myself from turning back once I reached it. “I’m so sorry, Scar,” I whispered.

She heard me. I could tell by the way her shoulder muscles tensed, but she didn’t move from her position at the end of the bed.

Fuck, I wanted nothing more than to grab her and make a run for it. Instead, I walked out of the room, closed the door behind me and smoothed my features into an unreadable expression. With any luck, I’d have them out of here without ever laying eyes on Scar—though I’d learned well that luck was a cruel son of a bitch and wasn’t counting on it to lend me a hand.

Down the stairs and across the foyer, I paused for one last calming breath. I was used to dealing with evil fuckers. Hell, I was one too—this was nothing more than an encounter with my own kind. Stay calm and cool, show no fear, and be prepared for anything. I touched my fingers to the steel at my back. Yes, I was ready. I was ready to do whatever I had to do to keep Scar safe.

I disengaged the security on the door and opened it to the two men standing there. The driver had stayed in the car—not surprising, but it meant I’d be re-engaging the system the second these two stepped inside.

“Good afternoon, Mateo,” I greeted the one I knew to be in charge and nodded to the other man. There was no need to feign surprise over their appearance here—they would already know I’d seen them on the security cameras.

“Good afternoon, Derek. It’s been quite some time, hasn’t it?”

I let him take the upper hand in the handshake that ensued. If it appeared I had already been well aware of his supposed superior position, it would give the impression Marcos had confided in me more than he really had.

“Can I offer you a drink? I’ve only recently returned, so there isn’t much more I can offer you, I’m afraid.”

“A drink would be wonderful.”

I stood back and let them in as prickles rose at the back of my neck more with every step they took that put them closer to Scar. Outwardly though, we looked like amicable acquaintances.

I closed the door and re-engaged the security system, then strolled toward the bar at the wall across the room without a backward glance. I wanted to watch them like hawks, but that wouldn’t appear very cordial. At the bar, I poured three drinks, offering one to Mateo, and leaving the other on the bar for his lackey to retrieve on his own.

“I assume you’ve been concerned about Marcos’ disappearance,” I said since there was no point in beating around the bush.

“Yes, quite concerned.”

I motioned for Mateo to have a seat and took the one opposite him once he was seated.

“I assumed at first it was James Garcia who had ambushed him. As I’m sure you’ve heard, he was the man who took Marcos’ slave. But I don’t believe it was him.” It would be a tidy story to say that James Garcia—aka James Donovan—had been responsible for it all, but I didn’t want Mateo to have any more reason to dig into Donovan’s—and by association, Scarlett’s—life. It would be best if he turned his efforts elsewhere.

“I’m inclined to agree with you. Speaking of the slave though, I would like to see her. I understand you reclaimed her successfully.”

Fuck. There was no good, god damned reason he needed to see her, but there was also no plausible excuse to keep him the hell away from her.

“Of course, though I must insist she remains where she is. My pet is learning the importance of staying put.”

It was the best I could do. If she was in the midst of a punishment, it was less likely Mateo would do anything that would interfere with her current master’s course of action.

“I understand, and I commend your dedication, Derek. Marcos spoke often of your diligence to your work and your applaudable success.”

Inwardly I cringed, knowing the man was right. I’d been damn good at what I did. Since Scar though, that had become my shame, not my glory. I’d been a monster—a damn good one.

Mateo stood and I followed suit, leading the way to the stairs and then the bedroom where the only person in the world that mattered was kneeling there, probably terrified. What I really wanted to do was put a bullet in this fucker’s brain. My fingers itched to feel the cool steel of my Glock, to squeeze the trigger and watch as every worthless drop of life drained out of him. I might have felt guilty as fuck for the innocents I’d hurt, but men like Mateo deserved every bit of evil I was capable of inflicting.

Instead, I kept one hand relaxed at my side and opened the door with the other while every fiber of my being railed against letting Mateo anywhere near Scar.

I had no choice, but I knew right then I had limits. I could only let this go so far. If he tried to hurt her, I was going to rip him apart with my bare hands. And make no mistake, I was still a monster because I was going to enjoy every second of it.

5

Scarlett

Two pairs of shoes—no, three. I recognized Derek’s Armani shoes, but the others were unfamiliar. One pair next to Derek’s, the other a few steps back.

Pure terror flooded my veins—it was ice cold and made me want to escape my skin. I was in the dungeon again; two sets of shoes—two monsters. I could hear the crack of the whip. I could feel my tormentor deep inside me, tearing me apart. My whole body shook so hard it made my teeth chatter.

I focused on Derek’s shoes—he was here too—and tried to remember what he’d said. Except, he hadn’t said anything—nothing that explained why there were two men here, why he’d told me to dress in a flimsy nightgown and kneel at the end of the bed.

‘Do you trust me?’—that’s what he’d said. I’d said yes, and now I was facing the biggest test of that I could imagine. But this wasn’t a test. Derek hadn’t arranged this. Someone had found us. But then, why weren’t we running? I wanted to scream, to run, to jump out the window if I had to, but he’d said to stay here and keep my head down no matter what.

Derek’s shoes and the other man’s were right in front of me. They’d been talking, but what had they said? Something about runaway…and punishment.

No. No. No. This couldn’t be happening.

I needed to calm down. My breathing was coming too fast—I was certain they could see the rapid rise and fall of my chest—and I wasn’t going to be able to hear anything else they said over the pounding of my heart.

One pair of unfamiliar shoes walked around me. He stopped somewhere behind me and I swallowed back the sob rising in my chest. Trust Derek—I had to trust him or I was going to fall apart.

“Oh my, Derek, I see you’ve gone to great extents to discipline this one. If you’re this thorough with all your slaves, I can well-understand your success with them,” the man behind me spoke, and then his fingers grazed across my back, tracing one of the fading wounds.

I couldn’t stop the tears that trickled down my cheek, and I would have lost it if Derek hadn’t chosen that moment to lift my chin, forcing my gaze to meet his. A whole conversation passed through that one look. I didn’t even know a person’s eyes could say so much. “Trust. Obey. And I don’t want this either,” his eyes said.

I would trust him, and I would obey because I could see how much this seemed to be hurting him, too, and if he was doing it anyways, that meant this was important. But still, I couldn’t stop the tears. He nodded for me to lower my head, and they trickled down and dripped onto the nightgown.

“Yes, well, it hardly seemed like enough given the crime, but it appears to have made her understand her place, hasn’t it, Pet?”

“Y-yes, Master,” I forced the words out.

“She still seems rather…emotional, does she not?”

“I think anyone would after ten hours of kneeling in one place. I imagine she’s quite uncomfortable at this point, and with two hours still to go, I don’t think it will be getting better with time.” Derek chuckled. It sounded almost completely natural like it wasn’t an act at all. “But you won’t make a mess on my carpet no matter how badly you need to piss, will you?”

“No, Master.”

“And why not?”

“Because it would displease you, Master,” I replied, hoping I was answering correctly. I’d say whatever he wanted me to if it meant the strange men in the room would leave.

The man behind me chuckled, a dark and sinister sound. “Very…inventive, Derek. I see you have things well under control. I’m tempted to come back for her myself when you’re finished with her. I’ve begun to tire of my own crop. Perhaps it’s time for something new.”

“She’s not quite ready, obviously, but when she is, I’m sure you’d be pleased with her,” Derek replied without missing a beat.

If I hadn’t known better, I would have believed him. And even knowing he was acting, the thought of ever finding myself alone with that man made my heat pound so hard I’d swear it was visible through the nightgown. Every wound on my back flared to life when I thought about what this man would do to me, as if the lashes were brand new and he was standing behind me with a whip in hand. My stomach roiled violently. I was going to be sick. If I didn’t find some way to calm down, I was going to throw up right in front of them. What would Derek be forced to do to me to keep up the act then?

Quiet, deep breaths, as I willed my mind to go blank. To think about nothing but Derek’s black, patent leather Oxford shoes. And four breaths later, the three of them left the room.

The second the door closed, the sob that had been trapped in my chest threatened to escape, but I held it back. I couldn’t make a sound and risk drawing them back here. More deep breaths. With no shoes left to focus on, I turned my attention to the carpet itself.

Moments passed, but I didn’t move from the place Derek told me to stay. I waited for the door to open with bated breath. Would he be alone the next time it opened? Would those men still be with him? I couldn’t think about it, so I focused on the carpet. The deep, navy blue that created a flawless surface—there wasn’t a single strand out of place that I could see.

There was no other carpet in the house, only in this room. Everywhere else, there was hardwood and marble, but this room’s floor was plush and soft. I wondered why. If he liked hardwood and marble so much, why hadn’t he had that installed in his bedroom? Or, if he liked carpet so much, why hadn’t he had it installed elsewhere in the house?

The door flew open, but I didn’t stop looking at the carpet, watching the familiar leather shoes tread across it without leaving a single depression.

“Why is there carpet only in this room, Master?” The ridiculous question tumbled out before I could stop it.

He stopped several steps away. “Look at me, Pet,” he said. His tone was harsh, but I didn’t think he was angry with me.

I looked up obediently and met his gaze, but there was no silent conversation this time. In the blink of an eye, I was no longer on the floor. I was in his arms, wrapped so tight I could tell he needed to hold on as much as I needed to be held. The sob that I’d kept trapped in my chest struggled free and escaped, but safe in Derek’s arms, it had lost some of its intensity.

I even became aware of a new feeling inside me. Pride. As terrified as I’d been, I’d done it. How many other women who’d been through what I had could have done what I did? How many of them would have been strong enough to trust another person as much as I’d just trusted Derek?

I was getting better. I was healing. I had known what I’d needed, and I’d been right.

“It’s OK. I’m OK,” I tried to reassure him, meeting his gaze as he lowered my feet back to the ground. And while some of the tension seemed to leave him, much of it didn’t. Something else was wrong—no doubt, something to do with those men. “What’s going on?”

“That man’s name is Mateo Lopez. Marcos had met with him several times before, but I didn’t know who he was until today. Scar, he was Marcos’ boss, and he knows. He didn’t come out and say it, but he knows I killed Marcos. I didn’t think so at first, but I’m sure now.”

Guilt and fear rained down in equal measures. I was the reason Marcos was dead. Derek had killed him for me. And if that man knew it, we weren’t safe. But then…

“Why did he come here?” Shouldn’t that man have wanted to kill us?

“He came here to toy with me and draw me into a trap,” he replied matter-of-factly, as if we were talking about the weather.

The significance of what he said wasn’t lost on me and I swayed on my feet. If Derek’s arms hadn’t still been around me, I would have fallen on my ass.

It wasn’t over. There were still people who wanted us dead. Well, they would want Derek dead. God only knew what they’d do to me.

No, I wasn’t going to let that happen. Not again. If they caught me, I’d find some way to end my life long before they had the chance to turn me into a beaten and broken whore. Maybe Derek was right, and any woman’s body would have responded the same way mine had. That didn’t change the fact mine had betrayed me in the worst way, and I wouldn’t give it the opportunity to do it again.

“What are we going to do?” I asked bluntly. I needed to know the plan so I could also be making arrangements for my own plan if the need arose. I would do whatever he needed me to do. I would do whatever it took to keep Derek alive, just like I knew he would do for me. But I wasn’t naïve and foolish anymore. There were things worse than death, and so long as it didn’t interfere with keeping him alive, I wasn’t going to experience those things ever again.

“You’re not going to do anything, Scar. This is my mess to clean up, not yours.”

He wanted me to do nothing? “I don’t think so,” I said flatly. “You can’t expect me to sit idly by while you get yourself killed. Even if I was fine with that—which I’m not—what do you think is going to happen to me once you’re dead? Do you think they’ll just let me go on my merry way?”

“No, but you’ll be thousands of miles away in case anything goes wrong. I’ve kept myself alive for a long time. I have no intention of stopping. Not now that you’re…” His words trailed off.

“Now that I’m what? Pathetic and broken? Too weak to take care of myself? Is that what you were going to say?” I don’t know why I was getting angry, but I refused to let him do this on his own just because I was a wreck.

“No Pet, that isn’t what I was going to say,” he said. His voice was calm and cold, and it instilled me with the strong urge to lower myself down onto my knees, but I didn’t.

“Then what? Now that I’m…what?”

“My world. Now that you’re my world, I have no intention of lying down and dying. I don’t know how the hell I could ever possibly deserve you. Hell, I’m not convinced you’re not going to wake up one day and realize what a monster I am. But for however long you’re here, I don’t plan on missing it because I’m dead.”

“Oh.” My cheeks flamed hot and I felt like an idiot for exploding like I did. I dropped to my knees. “I’m sorry, Master. But still, I can’t do nothing.”

He chuckled. “You can’t argue with me on your knees, Pet. It still makes you just as defiant.” His fingers stroked my hair. “You’re not going to do nothing. I’m going to keep you quite busy for the next several days, and then you’re going to get on a plane that will put thousands of miles between you and Mateo Lopez.”

I opened my mouth to argue but then clamped it shut. I didn’t even know what he was planning. I needed to know that first, didn’t I? So, I nodded, though there was no punishment he could inflict that could possibly stop me from doing whatever I could to help him—with or without his consent.

“Good. Now, you must be hungry, so I’m going to feed you while I tell you what’s going on. Maybe with your mouth full, you’ll be less inclined to argue.”

He reached for the tray on the night table and came to sit on the edge of the bed where he’d sat not long before. Heat rushed through me at the memory—laying across his lap, seeing our reflection in the mirror, feeling the sting of his hand, every slap sending my body into exquisite overdrive. It was strange and conflicting how my body responded. I should hate it. After the violence I’d suffered, I should loathe it, but I didn’t. It was my choice this time. And nothing felt more right than submitting to both the pain and pleasure Derek could bring. If I wasn’t still rattled over those men and what their presence meant, I’d be tempted to provoke him again.

Instead, though, I knelt patiently and opened my mouth when Derek’s fingers pressed against my lips. Then I had to stifle a laugh at the absurdity of the taste in my mouth. In the midst of finding ourselves thrust into yet another nightmare, he was feeding me caramel corn—my favorite food from when I was a child. How could he possibly remember that?

“There’s a lot I never forgot,” he said, though I hadn’t said a word.

Before I could respond, he’d switched to real food and his tone became serious. “Lopez wants me to fill in for Marcos. At the end of the week, someone important is supposed to be arriving at a private airstrip two-hundred miles from here. He wants me to be there to meet him.”

“But you don’t believe him, Master?”

“I believe he wants me at that location, but I don’t believe it’s for any kind of meeting—not the kind everyone walks away from.”

“Are you sure, Master?” It was a stupid question; I realized it the moment the words were out. Derek wasn’t the type of man who operated on guesses.

“I’m sure. I’ve known men like him for a long time. I am like those men…and it’s what I would do to get an enemy out of his comfort zone and vulnerable.”

“You aren’t like them,” I whispered vehemently.

“And you’re supposed to be too busy eating to argue, Pet.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but he pushed more food past my lips, so I didn’t push the issue. But a moment passed, and he’d said nothing further. Nothing about what he was planning.

“What are you going to do, Master?”

He heaved a heavy sigh. “I’m going to go to that meeting and I’m going to kill them all.” There was no doubt in his tone. He didn’t even sound angry. He sounded…certain.

The rest of the meal passed in silence. I wanted to ask him about how he was going to do it, but if I was going to push my luck with questions, I needed them to find out how he intended to put me on a plane—so I could thwart his efforts. I had no idea how I could help yet, but one thing I knew for certain—there was no way in hell I was going to be on that plane.

“I can see what you’re thinking, Pet. Don’t make me show you what I’ll do to you if you try to defy me on this.”

OK, another thing I knew for certain: I had to figure out how to keep my face from giving away what was going on in my head.

He heaved another heavy sigh and set the empty tray aside. “It seems I’m going to have to give you a small sample of that to help dissuade you.”

Uh oh. This didn’t sound like the ‘put me over his knee and spank me until I come’ variety of punishments.

“Stand up and take off the nightgown.”

Suddenly, I was hopping to my feet to show my complacency, not certain I was going to like this variety of punishment.

“Stretch your arms above your head and stand against the post at the foot of the bed.”

Since the bed was a four-poster, there were two posts at the foot of the bed. I didn’t think it mattered to him which one I stood in front of though.

“Face the post.”

I turned toward the bed, but then he strode to the closet and disappeared inside. When he emerged a moment later, he was carrying a handful of belts. I started to tremble and had to lock my knees to stay upright.

Instead of whipping me with them though, he leaned in close. “Move closer to the post, Pet, until your sexy, little pussy presses against it.”

His breath against my neck made me shiver, but I moved closer until the cool wood of the post rubbed against my clit. A different kind of shiver raced through me. Then he was wrapping one of the belts around my wrists and the top of the post, shackling me in place. I thought he was done when he tugged on my wrists and they wouldn’t budge, but he grabbed another belt from where he’d dropped them on the bed.

I tried to brace for impact, but it never came. Instead, I felt the leather across my breasts, gently wrapping around them. He pulled tight then and fastened the buckle behind my back, and now my chest was strapped to the bedpost. Then another belt, around my hips this time, and buckled so tight the post pressed hard against my clit. It made me throb, but I could barely move, definitely not enough to get the friction I needed, unless, maybe if I moved my thighs…

Another belt wrapped around them just then and strapped them immobile too. Damn it.

“Comfortable, Pet?” he asked as something silky covered my eyes—the silk belt from the robe he’d bought me.

I couldn’t move. I couldn’t see. All I could feel was the press of the post against the valley between my breasts and against my engorged clit.

“No, Master.”

“Good.” His footsteps retreated to the door and then he was gone.

6

Scarlett

I was alone and trussed up with no hope of getting myself free. And while I was nervous about how long he would leave me here and what he would do to me when he returned, I wasn’t terrified. I didn’t fear that he would beat me senseless or that he would make my body betray me in despicable ways.

Moments passed, and then what felt like hours. I had no way of keeping track of time. I strained to hear sounds of him returning, but there was only silence. My shoulders ached from being stretched up, my clit throbbed with my heartbeat and I could feel my wetness soaking my thighs. Just a little friction and I could take care of the pulsing fire between my legs, but I couldn’t budge.

I closed my eyes, willing myself to sleep, but I was too aroused for sleep. When I finally heard the click of the door, I had to bite my lip against the urge to beg. He moved to stand behind me. I could feel him there even though he didn’t touch me. God, I needed him to touch me.

I felt his breath on the back of my neck a split second before his finger slid along my sex. God, yes. I couldn’t stifle the cry that burst from my lips or the way my body jerked against the post.

“You’re very wet, Pet. I should leave you like this more often since you seem to like it so much.”

A whimper slipped out and I shook my head vigorously.

“No? Your pussy would suggest otherwise.”

He slipped a finger inside me and my muscles contracted, trying to draw him in deeper. He withdrew and chuckled.

“Not yet, Pet. We’ll get to satisfying that hole later.”

He grazed through my wetness, but this time he stopped further back and his finger pressed against my anus, pushing inside just a little.

“No, please don’t!” I cried out, trying to writhe away from his finger with no success. “Please Master, it’ll hurt.”

“Shh,” he said, stroking my back with his other hand. “It doesn’t always hurt, Pet. It can feel very good. I promise.” He hadn’t withdrawn his finger from me, but neither had he pushed more than his fingertip inside. “Take a slow breath and relax your muscles.”

The last thing I wanted to do was relax, but I tried to do what he said, taking one tremulous breath and trying to imagine every muscle in my body relaxing.

He pushed further, maybe to his knuckle, and I had to focus on another deep breath. And then his whole finger was inside me. It didn’t hurt. There was no pain. There was only…oh god. He slid out slowly and then back in and the sensation shot straight to my clit, making me throb twice as hard as before. A moan filled the room, and I was so distracted by the unexpected pleasure, it took me a moment to realize it had been my own.

“Good girl,” he said, but then he withdrew.

Part of me wanted to beg him to come back—to put his finger back inside me—but I couldn’t bring myself to beg him for that. It seemed too depraved, too much like the whore I didn’t want to be.

And then it was a moot point because something else was there. It wasn’t his finger. It was cool and at least twice the size of a finger. It glided along the cleft between my cheeks easily, like it was coated in something slippery. And then it was pressing against my anus.

“Big breath and relax your muscles again, Pet.”

I tried. I really did, but my whole body was tensed against the invasion of whatever it was he was holding.

“I said, relax.” At the same time he spoke, I felt the sting of a slap against my backside.

I forced the air into my lungs and tried to focus on how surprisingly good his finger had felt a moment ago, and not on how much I knew this was going to hurt. The tip pressed into my anus, stretching me more than his finger had, but not horrendously so. It felt uncomfortable, but I could breathe through it.

Then he pushed it in further and it seemed to get wider, stretching me more. There was a light burn, but again, it wasn’t excruciating like I’d been expecting.

“This is a medium butt plug, Pet. It’s not too big, and your sexy, little ass is going to take every inch of it. Just keep breathing.”

Another inch and then another. And wider. Stretching me. I couldn’t focus on anything but breathing. A little bit more though, and suddenly the plug got narrower and my muscles clamped down hard.

“Very nice. You look so fucking hot with something in your ass.”

I realized then that I wasn’t in pain. I felt incredibly full, but it didn’t hurt. Then he wiggled the plug just a little, and like with his finger, the sensation shot right to my clit. I moaned, but then he stopped.

“I’m going to give you some time to get acquainted with the toy in your ass, and I’ll be back to check on you later.”

I whimpered when he stepped away, but he was gone seconds later so there was no point in begging him to stay.

I still felt the panic of the past several minutes, but I couldn’t deny that so far he’d been right. It wasn’t painful. Every minuscule shift of my thighs moved the plug inside me just a little and reminded me it wasn’t pain I was feeling. It was pleasure. I wanted to be disgusted with myself, and eventually, I knew I would be, but right now, with my clit throbbing, my sex desperate to be filled and my ass wanting to feel the thing filling it move, I was a sparked up mess.

I tried once again to move, to try to create the friction I needed against my clit. It only served to shift the plug, adding to the fire, but not doing a damn thing to make me think I could reach the brink with these little movements alone. I tried anyways—I was that desperate. My wetness dripped down my inner thighs, but my orgasm remained just outside of my reach no matter what.

When the door opened, it flickered through my mind that those men could be here with Derek, but I forced the thought away. He would never let them near me like this. So, I sagged against the post in relief. He couldn’t possibly leave me here like this any longer.

He was going to untie me. This had to be over. He had to be done ‘giving me a taste of what he’d do to me if I defied him’. I’d admit it would have been effective. If I’d been contemplating anything else—anything that didn’t have to do with keeping him alive—I’d be effectively dissuaded. He couldn’t find that out though. Somehow I needed to convince him I planned on doing exactly what he said.

He was behind me again. I could feel his warm breath on my neck and my skin tingled from his proximity.

“Please let me down, Master,” I whispered, and I felt his hands at the backs of my thighs, unfastening the belt that had held my legs immobile.

Relieved, I sagged even more. But he didn’t unfasten any of the other restraints. Instead, the plug in my ass moved. He wriggled it back and forth inside me and then started to withdraw it. I didn’t think it was possible, but my sex felt even hotter. Could I literally be on fire?

He didn’t take it out though. He pushed it back in, and I moaned against the post. Then the belt around my breasts fell away. I could angle my body differently now. I could…oh god, I could press my clit more fully against the post and, with my legs free, I knew I’d be able to rub enough to quench the flames.

He withdrew the plug again, but like before, not all the way. And then he thrust it back in, faster this time, and I couldn’t stop myself from writhing against the post.

“That’s it, Pet. Keep it up. I want to watch you come while I fuck your ass with this.”

I should have told him no, that I didn’t want to come like this, but I didn’t. I never got the chance. My body rubbed of its own volition against the post, and all I could get out was a wanton moan. After burning with arousal for so long, I was so close. He withdrew the plug and I actually pressed back against him to hasten his plunge back in, all the while grinding my clit against the post.

“Yes, Master. It feels so good. Faster, please.” I couldn’t believe I was saying those things, but it was my voice, rising in volume with every word. I was so close. So god damned close.

It hit me all of a sudden, like a tidal wave. He stopped fucking me with the plug and just held it there deep inside me as the wave crashed through me from head to toe. Before it had even receded, the rest of the restraints were gone. He withdrew the plug all the way this time, and then he was pushing me down over the bed.

I feared for a brief second he was going to try to force his cock in my ass—there was no way that would fit. But I felt the tip of him pressing against my sex, and he started to thrust in with minimal resistance—thanks to god knows how much time I’d just spent sopping wet.

He rammed into me hard and fast. I held onto the covers and he grabbed my hips for leverage.

“You look so fucking hot when you come, Pet. Your lips parted…your eyes closed…your head tilted back… and you flush all the way down to your gorgeous tits. So…fucking…hot,” he groaned between labored breaths.

Once was apparently not enough, because my body was already on a fast climb to the top.

He slipped one hand under me and rubbed my clit. Hard. Fast. So good.

“Come for me again.”

I was so close. Almost there.

“Now, god damn it. Let me see you come.”

Even that part of me was helpless to resist him. I toppled over the edge, bucking back against him, and I could feel him pound against my cervix. Pain or pleasure, I had no idea. Just so freaking good. I was still screaming when I felt him swell. One last thrust and he was shooting his come deep inside me with a loud shout. So deep. So good.

I collapsed. One big bundle of satisfied nerve endings. When he withdrew, I was aware of an emptiness even more profound than usual. I was empty. There was nothing in any part of me. But I was sinking too comfortably into the mattress to care.

7

Derek

Her body was slack against me. Soft, and relaxed in sleep. And while my body felt sated—she’d been fucking incredible—I couldn’t relax. I couldn’t sleep. I had five days. Five days to make sure Scar would be OK.

I intended to be the one to walk away from Mateo’s ‘meeting’ on Friday, but the road to hell was paved with good intentions. And there was a decent chance I’d be on my way there soon.

I wanted to scream at that fucker fate, who was probably sitting up in the sky laughing at me, but I deserved this. As long as Scar was safe, that was all that really mattered.

Unfortunately, if I was being honest with myself, even that was going to be a long shot. I couldn’t be meeting with Mateo and putting Scar on a plane at the same time. And the sooner I put her on the plane, the more time Mateo had to figure out I’d gotten her the hell out of here. Her best chance at escaping was to be boarding the plane at the exact time Mateo was busy with me—obviously not something I’d be able to accomplish on my own. Who the fuck was I supposed to trust with Scar’s life?

No one—that’s who. But I didn’t have much of a choice. Not one of Marcos’ goons, obviously. Vicente Fuentes, maybe. Assuming he was trustworthy—which was not definite. If I handed her over into his care though, I had no doubt he’d do his damnedest to make sure I never laid eyes on her again if I happened to survive this. I’d do it if I had to, but it would be a last resort—not that there were many other options to consider.

Fuck! I knew what to do…except the guy was probably already dead. Still, I slipped out of the bed as quietly as I could and grabbed the cell phone out of the back pocket of my pants. He couldn’t be dead. He couldn’t be. God damn it, I needed him to be alive. There was someone I could trust to help make sure Scar escaped safely. I could trust him because I already had. Without him, I might never have found Scar in that fucking basement.

Michael.

If he was still alive, I’d gladly hand over everything I owned. Of course I would, because none of it—not the house, the cars, or the seven-digit figures in my bank accounts—was worth anything in comparison to her.

It only took me a minute to find the text conversation I was looking for. And believe it or not, I actually had to steady my hand before I could send the text that might very well safe her life.

“Alive?” I wrote simply.

I was tempted to pray to whatever deity might be out there, but I thought better of it. If there was a god out there, he’d never done me any favors. After what I’d become, I didn’t think he was likely to start now. It was probably better to just stay under the radar.

I stood there clutching the phone like a lifeline, waiting for it to vibrate and save her life. Waiting.

A minute passed, and then another. Still waiting. My eyes were fixed on the screen, and I willed a god damned response to appear.

Nothing. Fuck.

I wanted to keep standing here, waiting, but I didn’t. I slipped the phone into the pocket and slid on my pants. I didn’t have time to waste waiting for a reply that wasn’t going to come. A glance at Scar to confirm she was still fast asleep, and I ducked into the closet and opened the laptop on the table there. Needing to acquaint myself with the place where Mateo wanted me, I pulled up maps of the area.

Really though, I was just stalling. I needed to get in touch with Vicente, even if I wasn’t certain he was trustworthy. He was my only option, so I needed to make the arrangements that would guarantee I’d never see Scar again. And if I was going to do that, what difference did it make if I died? It meant one less monster in the world, and if I happened to take a few of them with me, all the better.

My thigh vibrated and I yanked out the phone.

“Yeah,” it said.

Four letters. I’d never imagined the power of four, simple letters. Relief flooded my veins, but I pushed it back. It was too soon. Michael was alive, but that didn’t mean he would help me again. I would be forever in his debt for the last time. What I was about to ask him, I had no business asking, but how could I not?

“Up for more trouble with the same product? A transport issue. Substantial compensation for a successful delivery.” There. Yeah, I felt like shit for calling Scar a product, but the coding was necessary.

And now, what more could I say? My whole world depended on a few text messages on a phone with a man I didn’t know. If I thought begging would make him any more likely to help, I’d do it. Yes, me—Derek Vaughan—would beg and plead if it would make a difference, but it wouldn’t.

“Why not,” he wrote, and I was automatically suspicious.

That was too easy. Far too easy. Why would he agree with nothing more than my world he’d be compensated? It was precisely the response I’d been hoping for, but nothing came that easy. Not for me. But what the fuck was I supposed to do?—turn down his help, after I’d just finished asking for it?

The only other option was Vicente, and there was no guarantee he was any more trustworthy than Michael. At least I knew why Michael had helped Scar. I knew nothing of Vicente’s motivations. All I knew for certain was I would never see her again if I handed her over to Vicente, but that also meant I’d never know for sure that he got her away safely.

All right, so I would proceed with caution with Michael.

“Meet?” I texted. If I was going to do this, I wanted to meet with him first, alone.

“When? Where?”

I typed the GPS coordinates of a nearby location, along with 9 am and tomorrow’s date.

“I’ll be there.”

It just felt too easy. I had to ask. “Catch?”

“No money. I want your contacts. Every. Single. One.”

Hmm. That might explain it. And knowing what the man had to gain put me more at ease. Perhaps this was why Michael had not perished in the fire that had burned down Filipe Ruiz’s estate. He wasn’t satisfied taking out a handful of guards and nobodys. He wanted to kill them all.

He’d never succeed—for every monster who died, two would rise up to take his place—but I couldn’t help but commend the effort. Too bad the new vigilante wouldn’t make it anywhere close to the top before he was taken out.

I would get there though. I was going to stand face-to-face with Mateo Lopez, and then I was going to blow his brains out. Maybe I’d give Mateo Michael’s regards.

“Deal.”

That was it. In exchange for betraying everything I’d known for the past ten years, Scar would be safe. It was an easy trade. Maybe too easy. I should have felt some remorse for offering up the lives of men I’d known for a long time, but I didn’t. They deserved to die just as much as I did.

Now all I had to do was make Scar understand this was the only way. I felt like shit for lying to her, making her think I was confident I’d be joining her when it was over, but it wasn’t a complete lie, I reasoned. It was entirely possible I’d survive this. It just couldn’t be a priority.

There was no chance she’d be able to follow me tomorrow without a car of her own, but I wouldn’t put it past her to try. I’d have to make sure she was restrained before I left the house—not an entirely unpleasant prospect. OK…not an unpleasant prospect at all. And after how well her most recent session in restraints had gone, I knew exactly what I was going to do. I smiled evilly. At least this part was going to be fun. Well, it was going to be exquisite torture for her. But fun for me.

* * *

The rest of the day passed too quickly. As much as I was anxious to meet with Michael, and looking forward to what I had in mind for Scar, I was still painfully cognizant of how little time we had left. I’d tried to savor every second, waking her from her nap with my lips on her thighs. I breathed in her scent, and when her eyes were wide open, I delved in and committed the intoxicating taste of her to memory. In my head, I recorded the sight of her writhing beneath me and the sounds she made as my tongue drove her higher. And I decided that the last memory I would play before I died would be of her coming for me—her slim hands in my hair, her cries filling the air and her eyes alight with fire and love.

Over and over again, we brought each other to climax, giving and taking as if we both knew these were the last memories we would ever get to make. When morning came and I awoke to her lips sliding over my cock, I was anxious and hesitant at the same time—not about the blow job. That, I was fine with. And I was immensely looking forward to what I would do to her in a few short hours. But after that…

I refused to think about it. Not yet. Instead, I focused on Scar’s talented, little tongue as it circled the sensitive ridge of my cock. My hips jerked, and it was all I could do to resist the urge to force her mouth down lower. Then again, why the fuck was I resisting?

I wrapped my hand in her hair and pushed her down slowly. Her lips opened wide and I could feel her tongue continuing to move against me as I lowered her further. Inch after inch until I felt her throat constrict around the tip. Fuck, her mouth felt good.

On the second plunge, she wrapped her hand around the base as much as she could and pumped it in rhythm with her mouth. So good.

I watched her work my cock to the back of her throat over and over again. I couldn’t think of a hotter sight to start the day. But as tempting as it was to let her continue and watch her throat work as she swallowed every drop I gave her, I wanted to fuck her even more. Instead of pulling her up on top of me though, I wanted to see her cross the distance.

“Come here, Pet.”

She released my cock reluctantly and crawled up my body, her hips swaying and her nipples grazing across my flesh as she kept her body low. It seemed my temptress had learned a lot. But she didn’t get the chance to keep up her teasing because the second she’d crawled far enough, I grabbed hold of her hips and thrust up into her tight, wet heat. So fucking good.

She seemed a little pale, but when one of her hands splayed across my chest and the other moved to her clit, I chalked it up to the lighting and focused my attention on her wicked fingers, moving in provocative circles over her clit.

“Give me your breasts,” I demanded after a moment.

Between the two of us, we had her pussy covered. Her nipples though, looked like they were in need of attention. When she arched her chest forward, I suckled one into my mouth, sucking hard and then grazing the taut peak with my teeth. She cried out and I could feel her finger moving faster on her clit. I switched to her other nipple and her cries grew louder.

“Yes, Master. God yes, please harder.”

I was happy to oblige, ramming in deep while I sank my teeth into her flesh, not enough to draw blood, but enough that her body jerked and a long, low moan escaped her lips. Fuck, she was incredible.

She sat down hard as she threw her head back and screamed. Her pussy spasmed around me but I held on just long enough to watch the intense waves of her orgasm rock her body.

“Fuck, I’m going to come.” My balls drew up tight with one last thrust, and white-hot pleasure jolted through every part of me.

She collapsed against my chest and I wrapped my arms around her, thinking this was how I wanted to wake up every morning for the rest of my life…all four days of it.

I was just about to roll her beside me when she darted right off the bed and made a mad dash for the bathroom. Apparently, it would be a good idea to let her pee before morning sex from now on.

I stood, intending to get dressed and see to breakfast when the sounds coming from the bathroom had me darting in after her.

What I saw made me freeze on the spot.

8

Derek

My fucking pathetic paralysis only lasted a second. It was a shitty thing to do, but horror and anguish had stayed my feet.

Now though, I was kneeling behind her, pulling her hair back and stroking her healing back.

Crouched over the toilet, violent spasms rocked her naked body as she vomited everything she’d eaten yesterday…and maybe the whole week prior.

I’d fucked up big time. Huge. Bigger than any fuck up before.

When she’d been brought to me by Alejandro and Vito, I’d given her a combined contraceptive injection to make sure she didn’t end up pregnant. One month. The shot was good for one month. It had been more than a month before I’d fucked her that first time in the motel room, which meant the injection had long since worn off by then.

But that wasn’t the worst part. Not by far. It would have been bad enough to send her away while I went to die, knowing she was carrying my child. That would have been heart-wrenching. But it was much, much worse than that because if the injection had worn off when we’d had sex, it most certainly hadn’t been doing a god damned thing to protect her from the fuckers who’d raped her.

She wasn’t sick. It wasn’t the flu, and she hadn’t eaten anything that had done this to her.

Scar was pregnant.

Who had fathered the child, I had no idea, and there was a decent chance I wasn’t going to be alive long enough to find out. And she’d have to deal with it on her own. Fuck. Yet again she was going to suffer because of me. If I’d never had her abducted…if I’d even just used my fucking brain and been smart enough to keep up with her birth control injections, she wouldn’t be dry heaving into the toilet now.

Eventually, she leaned back against me, exhausted. I sat back on the cold floor and wrapped my arms around her.

“I’m sorry, Master. I must have eaten something…”

Oh hell, she didn’t know why she was sick. She didn’t know, and she was fucking apologizing to me. I debated telling her—of course, she had a right to know—but I couldn’t. Not yet. I had to get ready to leave, and I wasn’t going to dump this on her and drive away. So, I’d tuck the information away for now. Just until I returned.

“There’s no reason for you to apologize, Pet.” Understatement of the century. “I’ll help you back to bed.”

I carried her there, but by the time I laid her down, color was already returning to her cheeks. She looked ninety percent better by the time I’d dressed, and it seemed almost foolish to insist she lay there and rest when I leaned down to kiss her forehead.

“I’m feeling much better, Master. I could help with breakfast…if you’d like.”

“Tomorrow. I’ll have you cook breakfast for a change then if you’re feeling up to it.”

She nodded, but already she was beginning to look restless. Since I was short on time though, I strode out of the room and tried not to think about anything but the meeting with Michael today. I couldn’t let anything distract me, not when Scar’s life, and now the life of an unborn child, depended on what arrangements I could make.

Unfortunately, Scar was not aware of the day’s agenda—obvious by the sight that greeted me when I returned to the room. She’d shoved off the covers I’d draped over her. Her hair spilled like a fiery halo around her on the pillow and her arms were stretched high above her head. Her naked body was positioned at a slight angle toward me, displaying every one of her tantalizing curves. With one of her knees bent, I could just barely see her deep pink clit, and I felt the urge to spread her thighs open wide so I could see every inch of her.

I dropped the tray on the night table, pleased I’d had enough thought not to drop it on the floor. But a small, irritating voice in my head reminded me I didn’t have time for this. I was so tempted to ignore it, but then the idea I’d planned to keep Scar out of trouble while I was gone came to mind. Yeah, I could delay my own gratification for that.

Grabbing one of the untouched boxes I’d picked up at the post office that first day here, I strode to the bed, already envisioning her sexy body trussed up like it was about to be. Opening the box, I pulled out several long lengths of rope first. I took one of her wrists with an evil smile and stretched her arm toward the post at the top of the bed. A knot around her wrist and one around the post would keep that arm secured where I wanted it. I repeated the restraint with her other arm.

Heat and trepidation filled her expression and my cock throbbed to my heartbeat. I adjusted myself and then moved to the end of the bed. This time though, when I’d knotted the rope around her ankle, I lifted the rope and secured it higher on the post to keep her leg up off the bed. When I’d secured her other ankle the same way, I stepped back to survey my work. She looked sinfully enticing, tied spread eagle with her open and elevated legs providing an uninhibited view of her pussy and anus. So fucking sexy.

I debated telling her I’d be going out but decided against it. I didn’t want her worried about being left alone in the house. Firstly, I didn’t have a choice. And secondly, nothing was getting in here. What she didn’t know was that the glass on the exterior of the house was bulletproof glass, and in the rare chance the security alarm to the house was ever tripped, the bedroom where she was currently restrained would lock down like a panic room.

So instead, I said, “I have a few things to tend to but don’t worry Pet, I wouldn’t leave you here bored while I’m busy. You’ll be quite occupied.”

She nodded, and though she still looked more than a little nervous, her eyes were filled with arousal, and with her legs wide open, I could see the wetness that was making her pussy gleam in the sunlight.

Bringing the box with me, I grabbed the butt plug and lube from the night table before sitting down next to her, just below her hips.

“You remember this, don’t you?” I held it up for her to see and proceeded to drench it in lube while she watched.

Her muscles had gone taut, but she remained silent. Though she’d obviously derived a substantial amount of pleasure from having a toy in her ass, she still seemed uncomfortable with the premise. I’d have to remember to question her about that later. For now, though, I leaned back so I could watch as I pressed the slippery head against her rosebud hole. Her muscles were still tense, so I used my free hand to rub her clit, hard and fast, and it distracted her quickly.

As soon as her muscles had relaxed, I shoved the plug in an inch. She gasped and her body tried to push it out, but I kept up with slow, even pressure on the plug while rubbing her clit faster. In less than a minute, she’d taken the whole thing, and she was moaning and writhing in pleasure.

Leaving the toy in her ass, I released her clit and grabbed the last part of my plan from the box. She eyed it dubiously, and I couldn’t blame her. Three small, padded clamps, each one protruding from a wire, attached to a single wire that ran into a control box. Yes, I’d planned for everything when I placed all those orders from the hotel. I was a man who liked to be prepared.

“These might be a little uncomfortable at first, but you won’t even notice that soon.”

I opened the first clamp and teased one nipple into a hard peak. When I placed the clamp on it and let it grip her, she let out a small squeal. Her face confirmed it was nowhere near too much for her, so I kept going, teasing her other nipple and securing another clamp. Another little squeal, but her cheeks had begun to flush with her arousal.

Picking up the third clamp, I held onto it for a minute while I tugged lightly on the wire between the clamps on her nipples. She moaned, but she was eyeing the clamp in my hand with wary confusion. I would have laughed if my cock hadn’t been throbbing beyond painfully now.

I grazed the clamp down the valley between her breasts, down between her ribs, watching her face the whole way. I saw it in her eyes the second she clued into the purpose of the third clamp. Her lips parted on a gasp and her breathing quickened. By the time I hovered above my destination, I could see the pulse in her neck.

Her clit was already engorged, but just for good measure, I rubbed it some more before securing the clamp onto her. Another small squeal, but it was overshadowed by the moan that slipped out half a second behind it.

It would be cruel enough to leave her like this, so worked up and with no way to satisfy her own body. But I wasn’t finished. I’d definitely saved the best for last.

Adjusting the dials on the control box, I got them right where I wanted them and then turned it on. Her body jerked and she tugged hard against the restraints as the vibrations from the clamps stimulated her sensitive places.

Ten seconds—she stopped pulling and started to moan. Fifteen seconds—her body writhed, making the plug in her ass wriggle inside her, and her moans grew louder. Twenty seconds—the vibrations stopped. She groaned in agitation.

I chuckled, knowing the machine was going to torment her like this the whole time I was gone, turning on for twenty seconds at random intervals that ranged from two to four minutes apart. It would drive her body wild, stimulating her over and over again, but never enough to send her careening over the edge.

I leaned back to get a better look at her, and I hadn’t been so close to coming in my pants since I was a teenage boy. She was soaking wet. Her juices coated the base of the plug that protruded from her ass. And her muscles were clenching spasmodically, trying to draw the plug in deeper while searching desperately for something to fill her empty pussy. I wanted to give that gorgeous pussy exactly what it wanted and ram my cock deep inside her, but now I really was out of time.

Forcing myself to my feet, I moved to the end of the bed and watched as the control box reached its random interval and intense vibrations shot through her nipples and clit. Her back arched off the bed, but then instead of trying to pull out of her restraints this time, her hands clenched in fists as she tried to lift her hips as if that could somehow increase the strength or duration of the vibrations.

Precisely twenty seconds after it had begun though, the vibrations stopped, and she flopped back with an even more frustrated groan than the last one. So fucking sexy.

“I’ll be busy for just a couple hours, but I’m sure you’ll be too distracted to notice Pet.”

I turned to leave—it had never taken so much effort to turn away from any sight before.

“Wait, master. Please, you can’t leave me like this. What if…what if I need to pee?”

I could tell the excuse was an afterthought, but a valid one nonetheless. I strode to the ensuite and came back with two big, thick towels.

“Lift your hips,” I demanded and she did her best to comply, though her eyes had gone wide, realizing what I had in mind. I slid the folded towels beneath her.

“Master, you don’t expect me to…here?”

“If you’re going to argue with me, I’m going to demand you piss right now with your legs wide open while I watch. Are you sure you want to argue?”

“No, Master.” She barely got the word out before the vibrations started again. “Oh god. Please, Master, don’t let it stop.”

“I love it when you beg, Pet, but it’s not going to do you any good this time.”

I walked away while her moans filled the room. The second I closed the door behind me, I took deep, calming breaths. They did nothing to calm my raging hard-on or to cool the fire in my veins. I’d thought this would be exquisite torment for her, but I knew now that the sight of her tied up and writhing beneath the clamps was going to torment me for the next several hours. I’d be surprised if I didn’t end up with permanent damage from a three-hour erection.

9

Derek

By the time I left the house—after checking the security system three times—some bit of sense was coming back to me. This wasn’t a Sunday drive through the country that had me leaving the most tantalizing woman in the world tied up and desperate to be fucked. That thought sobered me though; at least enough that I could slide into the driver’s seat of my car without worrying about breaking my cock.

It was time to secure Scar’s future. As I drove out of the driveway, the image of her leaning over the toilet this morning flashed through my mind. Fuck, I was not looking forward to that conversation with her. But I let myself think for just a moment what it would be like if I actually survived this. Would she choose to keep the baby? Would she want me to have any involvement in raising the child?

Fuck, what the hell did I know about babies? Fathers were supposed to teach their children all the things they knew. What was I going to teach the kid?—how to shoot a gun? How to tear a person apart? How to take an innocent woman like Scar and put her through hell?

Yeah right. Obviously, I had no business teaching a child anything. I’d make sure Scar and the child never wanted for anything, but I’d leave the parenting to her. She would be a good mother. I could so easily picture her with a baby in her arms. But what would that baby look like? Like me? Or would it look like one of the fuckers I’d killed? How would I be able to look at the child if it looked like one of them? And would it be a constant reminder to her of what I’d let happen?

Maybe it would be best if she didn’t keep the child. Vicente could take care of that. Except, I already knew she wouldn’t want that. And maybe, as fucked up as it sounded, I didn’t want that either. Whatever else this baby was, it was half Scar. How could I want to destroy that?

Nearing the meeting spot, I forced every ounce of attention on my surroundings. I had to make absolutely certain I wasn’t being followed. Mateo had to have no idea what I was up to. So, taking a convoluted route, I wove in and out of streets, looking for any sign of a shadow. Nothing.

That wasn’t surprising, I supposed. Mateo wouldn’t be expecting me to seek outside help. Hell, the cocky son of a bitch probably thought I had no idea what was going on. Still, I drove past the meeting spot, looking for any signs Michael had been followed. Still nothing.

Circling back, I pulled off the road and into the wider cluster of brush that would keep us hidden from the main road. Michael was already there. I knew he would be, which was why I’d passed by to look for a tail.

Two deep breaths and I got out of the car. Michael was standing by his driver’s side door, windows not tinted and his hands visible. He was doing everything to show me he wasn’t up to anything, and now it was my turn.

I pulled the guns out of the holsters on my chest and tossed them onto my seat before approaching him. Since I wasn’t the trusting type though, the gun at my ankle was staying where it was.

“Hello Derek,” he greeted when I stopped four feet away.

“Michael,” I nodded back.

“She’s still alive?—she recovered?” His concern seemed genuine.

“She’s alive. The recovery is a work in progress.”

He nodded. His eyes looked guilty as hell, but I understood it. At times I still wanted to rip him apart for standing idly by while they’d tortured her, but I couldn’t. We both knew he wouldn’t have been able to do a god damned thing on his own. They would have killed him for trying, and then he wouldn’t have been there to help me get her out.

“Then, pardon my bluntness, but what’s going on?” he asked.

Blunt was good. I didn’t have time for anything else. “Marcos Caballero—he wasn’t the top of the totem pole. I killed him, and his boss wants me a little bit dead.”

“I never knew Caballero answered to anyone.”

“That was the idea. No one was supposed to know.”

“So, where do I come in?”

I explained the basics of my plan, that I was planning to walk into the trap, but I needed him to be getting Scar the hell out of here at the same time.

“I want to help, Derek, but you should know I’ve ended up with a few shadows the past couple of weeks. Not everyone has liked what I’ve been up to.”

“That’s why you’re going to come home with me now, and stay there until you take off with her.”

It wasn’t actually part of the plan, but hearing he might end up with people following him, I couldn’t take the chance. It was going to complicate the time I had left with Scar, but it was the only safe option. He’d seen her there in that basement though, and she had to know it. This wasn’t going to be easy on her.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

I scoffed. “Of course not, but what choice do I have?”

He nodded again, though he didn’t look any happier than I was. “When I was in that room…watching on the monitors…I’d never seen them like that before—not brutal like that. The things they did to her…she looked so much like my wife…” The man’s voice was cracking and his eyes were brighter than they’d been a minute ago. “Derek, does she know…about me…the monitors?”

“She’s never asked, and I haven’t told her, but…”

He nodded once and then dropped the subject. Neither of us wanted to be remembering Scar in that basement.

“All right, let’s do this then,” he said. He opened his car door, grabbed a bag off the passenger seat and then moved to the trunk.

When he opened it, I couldn’t help but laugh. This was definitely a man after my own heart. The entire trunk was filled with a small arsenal.

“Can you give me a hand?”

I nodded and grabbed the duffel bags of guns and ammo nearest me. My own weapons filled my trunk, but there was plenty of room in the back seat. Between us, we could easily fend off a small army.

“Who’s Caballero’s boss?” he asked as he slid into the passenger seat after we’d finished loading the back seat. If we got pulled over, we were fucked. Fortunately, my car could outrun just about anything else on the road.

“Mateo Lopez,” I answered. There wasn’t any reason to hold the name back. He’d have every one of my contacts soon. But the way his shoulders stiffened had me wondering about his response. That name meant something to him. Not that it mattered. Whatever Mateo had done to piss off Michael was too fucking bad. That kill was mine.

Back on the road, my thoughts turned to what was waiting for me at home. Heat flared through my body, but I tamped it down. Now that Michael would be there, my plan to keep Scar out of trouble didn’t seem like such a wise one. She was going to be beyond delirious with arousal when I got home, and there would be a strange man in the house.

Fuck it. I’d keep him locked in the garage if I had to. I now had less than four days left with her and filling my head with thoughts of what I was going to do to her super-charged body sure as hell beat thinking about all that had happened to her.

The meeting spot had only been thirty minutes from the house, so even with taking a convoluted route just to be safe, we were pulling up to the outer gate forty-three minutes later. I was curious how much Michael knew about me, so I watched surreptitiously as I scanned and typed, and proceeded up to the house.

He didn’t look the least bit fazed by the property. Had he researched me? How much did he know? And why had he been looking into me? An image of the young woman who’d been his wife flashed through my mind. I was in this man’s debt. Did I perhaps owe him this?

I paused in front of the garage and shifted to neutral. “Michael, I know you put a lot on the line to help Scar…to help me the way you did. I’m not used to being indebted to someone. Actually, I make it a rule to avoid it, but…”

“Derek, it’s fine,” he cut in.

I was not used to being cut off, but I swallowed my aversion to it. “It isn’t fine. Alicia…she was delivered to Caballero eight years ago. If she looked as much like Scar as you say, then I’m certain of it. I tried to help her, but it wasn’t enough.”

Michael was silent for a moment, but then he looked me directly in the eyes, “You were just a kid, and Caballero was a monster. There isn’t anything you could have done. Thank you though. I could never be certain where she ended up.”

I sat there. I knew I should open the garage door, but it felt like there was more to this conversation than had been said. And by the sudden stunned expression on Michael’s face, I’d guess I was right.

“Derek, why did Marcos have you take Scarlett? Did he ever tell you?”

“He didn’t have to tell me,” I sneered, remembering the scene I’d walked in on what felt like a lifetime ago—Marcos, with his whip raised behind Scar and deep lashes cut into her skin. “He let me think it was for me, for my revenge against James Garcia, but it was never about me. He’d wanted her all along. He wanted to torment Garcia for running off with a woman he’d claimed as his own—Scar’s mother. The twisted fuck apparently didn’t give a damn that it was his own daughter he was torturing to try to make Garcia pay.”

Michael closed his eyes and put his head back against the seat. I wondered why that particular information was affecting him—until the pieces started to come together. Scar’s mother. Scar. Alicia—a woman who bore a striking resemblance to Scar.

Fuck. None of it had been random. Marcos had known exactly what he’d been doing. The mother. The daughter. The aunt—Scar’s aunt.

“Eight years ago, Scar’s mother was already dead. He couldn’t have her back, so he went looking for the closest woman to her—Alicia.” I put the puzzle pieces together out loud.

“Alicia was Scarlett’s aunt,” Michael said slowly. “Maybe only by marriage, but that means Scarlett is…my niece.”

Yeah. Hopefully, Michael wasn’t the fanatical uncle-type, or else he really wasn’t going to approve of the way I had his niece restrained on my bed at this very moment.

“Fuck!” Michael shouted and slammed his fists on the dashboard. He managed to collect himself quickly though. “I’m sorry, it’s just…it was bad enough when the girl on the monitors had been a stranger, but now…fuck, it just never ends, does it?”

“No, it doesn’t.” I wish I could have said otherwise, but it would have been a blatant lie.

We both nodded, silently acknowledging the truth.

I shifted opened the garage then and pulled in. Now all I had to do was explain to Michael it would be best if he waited here. Not expecting him to be accompanying me back to the house, I hadn’t even closed the bedroom door when I’d left her there, writhing in agonizing pleasure. I’d wanted to walk in the front door when I got back to hearing her moans and cries reverberating off every wall in the house.

No way was Uncle Michael getting to hear those sounds. They were for me. Mine—and I was a selfish son of a bitch.

All mine.

10

Scarlett

My world had shrunk. Nothing existed but my body and the god damned clamps attached to it. No past, no future. There were only the twenty seconds of torturous pleasure, and the intervals in between where I vacillated between begging for more, and pleading with it to stop for good. No more. I couldn’t take anymore.

I cried out as the vibrations started again. Never enough to get me there. Only enough to keep my body reaching for it. I focused on the most erotic thoughts I could imagine, trying to urge my body over the precipice. I was shameless; I didn’t care anymore how dirty or wrong those images were. Nothing mattered but putting me out of this exquisite misery.

I conjured images of Derek fucking my ass, ramming into me from behind while he buried his fingers in my sex. Then I saw me on my knees, hands tied behind my back and my backside stinging from a spanking while my mouth stretched to accommodate his incredible cock.

So close. I was so close. And then the vibrations stopped. I screamed in frustration while impotent tears slid down my temples. I couldn’t take anymore. I was exhausted to the core and desperate for a release that wasn’t going to come.

I’d tried to use the intervals in between to think about things that would kill my arousal, but it refused to subside, and every time the vibrations started up again, it threw my body into overdrive.

My heart was pounding, I was drenched in sweat and I hadn’t been able to breathe normally since Derek tied my ankles and wrists to the posts. Could I die from this? It was possible, wasn’t it? How long could a body possibly stay revved up like this before it conked out?

My body clenched tight, toes curled and hands squeezed into fists. A minute passed, maybe two. It was going to turn on anytime now.

Maybe seconds. Maybe minutes.

Anytime.

Oh god. My whole body jolted as the vibrations shot through me. I was crying out. I could hear it, but it was white background noise. There was only the fiery heat blazing in my sex. I was so close. Please, just a few more seconds.

“No!” I screamed as the vibrations stopped for what felt like the thousandth time.

“You don’t sound like you’re enjoying yourself, Pet.”

He was here. I hadn’t noticed the door open, but he was finally here.

“Please. Please make it stop, Master. I can’t…I’m going to die.”

He chuckled as he approached. Chuckled! I was dying from the damn thing he’d hooked up to me, and he was laughing. I wanted to slap him. First I wanted him to let me come, and then I wanted to slap him.

He whipped off his shirt, and my greedy, horny eyes took in every inch of his hard torso. Chiseled chest. Broad shoulders. Thin veins that stood out on the sinewy muscles of his arms. Washboard abs. Narrow hips peeking out above the waist of his pants. God, he was sex personified. I wanted to taste every inch of his flesh.

“Would you like to come?”

“Yes! God, yes.”

“I want you to tell me the naughtiest thing you’ve thought about since I left, and I’ll consider letting you come.”

I was vaguely aware that I should be embarrassed, but I needed this too much to care. “I thought about you, Master. Your enormous cock in my ass while you fingered me.”

I cried out as the vibrations started again while his eyes got brighter, even fierier than they’d already been.

“Is that so? I like your thinking, Pet.”

“Please, Master,” I moaned.

He removed the clamp from my clit, but before I could breathe a sigh of relief, his fingers replaced it, rubbing soft and slow. I tried to press my clit harder against him, but he wouldn’t allow it. The fingers on his other hand slid along my sex, so slippery it felt like I was covered in the lube he’d put on the plug. And when he held his fingers up in front of me, I could see they were soaking wet.

I watched as he slid them into his mouth and sucked off my juices. Then his fingers were back, gliding along my sex. He lifted them to my mouth this time. I offered no resistance when he pushed them past my lips. I sucked just as greedily as he had.

As if in reward, he replaced his fingers on my clit with his tongue. God yes, it was all I needed.

I only just managed to avoid biting down on the finger still in my mouth as an orgasm tore through my body with the force of a hurricane. Wave after wave after wave. I wasn’t sure if it was ever going to stop.

When it finally did begin to subside, his tongue left me, and I thought I might just fall asleep in the blink of an eye and not wake up for a week. But then he was untying me and stripping off his pants. My mouth started to water and the flames that had only just barely been squelched flared to life.

He gripped his massive erection and stroked it slowly while he looked down at me. When his eyes settled between my open legs, I started to worry that he intended to do the thing I’d thought about. Suddenly, I wanted the plug out of me, as if that could somehow make him forget all about that part of me.

“Relax, Pet. I’m not going to fuck you there…yet. But I am going to keep that plug in your ass while I fuck your pussy.”

Now that he’d put that worry to rest, arousal surged through me at full force. He was on top of me in seconds, and his cock slid through my wetness up to my clit. I jerked beneath him as I lunged for his mouth. He let me slide my tongue between his lips and it was strangely erotic to know we were both tasting me.

He thrust in all of a sudden, hard and deep. God, so freaking deep. Though he only filled one part of me, I could feel him everywhere, from my fingertips to my toes. Connected. Joined. Possessing every fiber of my being.

I wrapped my legs around his hips and reached for his shoulders at the same time, clinging to him as he withdrew until only the tip of him remained inside me. He lingered there, and I arched my hips, trying to draw him back in deeper.

“Tell me what you want,” he demanded against my lips.

“I want you to fuck me, Master. I don’t want you to ever stop.”

He groaned and plunged in, but just a little. “It seems this morning has made you greedy, Pet.”

Was that a good or bad thing? I had no idea what the right answer was. Had it even been a question? So I just nodded against him.

“Good. I like you this way,” he said as he slammed in deep.

I cried out as he thrust against my cervix. It hurt in the most sinfully exquisite way. The pain burst outward and electrified every nerve in my sex.

“You like that?” he asked as he withdrew and rammed back in.

“Yes,” I cried. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”

And he didn’t. He drove in deep, over and over again. I climbed so high, so fast, I had to look down to see heaven by the time he sent me careening over the precipice.

“Fuck!” he shouted as shockwaves pulsed through my own body, and he swelled deep inside me.

I imagined his liquid heat filling me as I continued to spasm around him, forcing every drop of come from him before he collapsed on top of me.

When he withdrew, he leaned up to watch as he removed the plug from my body. I felt empty, but I was too tired to care.

I closed my eyes the moment he rolled onto his back and I was nestled in the crook of his arms. I could feel his heart beating against my hand on his chest, and the steady rhythm brought me under fast. I was so tired. It felt like I’d spent the past hours running a gruelling marathon with a fifty-pound weight on my shoulders. So tired.

“Scar, I need you to get dressed.”

His words seemed muffled and I had to struggle to make sense of them. And once I had, I wanted to ignore them and continue to drift off, wrapped in his arms. Something in his tone kept me there though. It wasn’t urgency exactly, but he wasn’t happy about something.

“What’s wrong, Master?” I asked, trying to will my arms to push me up.

“I went to meet with someone—someone who’s going to help us. He’s come back with me.”

I bolted upright and looked around, my tiredness forgotten. Someone here? No, I didn’t want anyone but Derek here. Derek was safe. I could trust him.

“Breathe, Scar. It’s OK.”

I grabbed onto his words. I breathed in and out slowly, and I tried to believe it was OK. He was rubbing my back, but it made me cognizant of the wounds there, and I wanted him to stop.

He did stop, without me asking, and he sat up, too. “Do you remember the man who helped us escape?”

I thought back to that day, though it was the last thing I wanted to do. I remembered the men who had whipped me. I could see Derek’s big frame appearing there outside my cell, and felt the overwhelming urge to make him leave me there. I saw my father and the man holding the gun to his head. I could recall grabbing the gun Derek had placed on the floor for me, and I remembered shooting my father.

Another man, though?—one that had helped us? There was no help in that place. There was no help in hell. But wait, I vaguely recalled another figure standing there. He’d led the way out of the basement and then disappeared to unlock the doors.

Oh god, the doors. He was the man who controlled the locks? He was the one who’d unlocked my cell to let those monsters in over and over again? He was here, in Derek’s house? No, please no. He couldn’t be here.

“Please, I don’t want him here. He was there. He saw…everything. He let them…”

“Scar, I wish there was another way, but there isn’t. Michael—that’s his name—he hated what happened to you. He wanted to help, but there was nothing he could do, not until I showed up there.”

I nodded, trying to accept what he was saying, but it wasn’t just that he hadn’t stopped them. I wasn’t stupid—they would never have let him interfere. But he knew everything. He’d seen everything. He’d watched my wretched body respond to the things they did to me.

“I know you don’t want this, but there’s more I have to tell you. OK?”

“OK,” I whispered, though I wasn’t sure if I was acknowledging he had more to tell me, or that I was OK to listen—I wasn’t sure about the latter.

“Your mother had a sister. Her name was Alicia. Marcos took her—eight years ago. Before that, Alicia was married—to Michael. In a roundabout way, that makes him your uncle.”

My uncle? I dimly recalled my mother talking about a sister, but I’d never met her. I had an aunt?—married to a man who was apparently my uncle? I’d never had an uncle before, and I didn’t want one now. It made it worse, didn’t it? It wasn’t some stranger who’d borne witness to my depravity. It was a man who’d been married to my own flesh and blood.

“You don’t have to come meet him if you don’t want to. I just thought if he was going to be in the house, you’d prefer it, so it didn’t feel as much like a stranger was here.”

What Derek was saying made sense, but he didn’t understand. He still thought there was nothing dirty or wrong about how my body had responded. He didn’t understand that of all the things they did to me, that was the worst. The wounds on my body, they would heal, but the ones in my soul, the ones that had torn bigger with every orgasm they drew from my body, it felt like they would fester forever.

They’d changed my perception of myself. I’d always been terrified of turning into a whore like my father had accused me, but I’d always fought it, too. I’d known that part of me existed, and worked damn hard to keep it buried down deep.

If I was being brutally honest though, in that dungeon, I’d stopped fighting. It didn’t take long before that twisted part of me looked forward to it because there was no pain when he forced me to feel pleasure. No whips. No fists. No tearing me apart. For those few minutes, there was only pleasure.

How could I face the man who’d seen me become a whore? Would he scoff at the feelings I had for Derek? Would he think someone like me was incapable of loving a man with every piece of my heart when I had willingly given my body to someone else?

I was about to tell Derek I didn’t want to see him, that I couldn’t possibly face him when another thought—a much more important thought—struck me. Derek had said this man was here to help. Help, how? Help Derek confront Mateo Lopez? Or help get me far away from here? If it was the latter, I needed to meet this man. I needed to get to know him—fast—so I could figure out exactly how to manipulate him into ignoring Derek’s plan.

I couldn’t get on that plane. I needed to follow Derek so I could help him. I could distract Lopez’s men, or even Lopez himself. I could shoot them if I needed to—I’d shot the man who’d been my father for years without hesitation when he’d threatened Derek’s life. So, I knew I could do this. And this man who knew all my darkest secrets was going to help me.

“All right,” I whispered.

He nodded and stood up, striding across the room to the closet bare naked. I loved that he was so comfortable with his body. There was something immensely appealing about that kind of confidence. So, I didn’t try to avert my gaze when he came back to the bed with a sweater in one hand. He grabbed one of the other unopened boxes and my breath caught in my throat. I’d seen—and experienced—the things in those boxes. What could he possibly have in mind now?

“Don’t worry, Pet, there are no surprises in this box. Just clothes.”

Thank god. He opened the box and handed me a pair of tights and a t-shirt, along with basic underthings. I hadn’t worn anything like these since before…before I’d been taken from Derek. It felt strange to put on clothes that covered up so much of me, but I couldn’t deny these were better than those old clothes. They were soft against my skin, obviously expensive fabric. And covering up made me feel a little better about meeting the man downstairs.

It wasn’t cold in the house, but Derek helped me put on his sweater, and though the arms hung down past my fingertips, it was better. Like armor.

He brushed my hair back and gathered it into a ponytail at the nape of my neck and then brought me a damp cloth for my face before he turned his attention to his own clothes. He could be so gentle when he wanted to be. It was strange, in the most wonderful way. He could tie me up, pin me down and spank me with just as much ease as when he brushed my hair or held me in his arms. I’d seen every side of him, and the way he embodied them all was fascinating.

He took my hand when he was dressed and lingered only long enough to drop a light kiss on my forehead before he led me out of the room and down the stairs. My hands trembled, but I kept steering my thoughts back to the task at hand—finding a way to get that man to help me. It was all that mattered.

11

Scarlett

We were down the stairs and across the house to the den in what felt like seconds. It was too fast. I needed more time. Except, looking around, there was no one here. Where was the man?

“I left him in the garage,” Derek said with a sexy grin, and my cheeks grew warm thinking what the man would have heard if Derek had brought him in the house when I was still tied to the bed and writhing in rapturous misery.

What difference would it have made? I thought glumly. That man had heard and seen everything in that dungeon.

“Ready, Scar?”

I nodded because I didn’t have any choice but to be ready.

Derek left me with a kiss while I stood, staring at the floor. The hardwood was dark, so dark I had to look closely to see the grain in the rich stain. Mahogany, I thought, but it was only a guess. The planks were narrow. Thousands of them ran together to cover the floor space, though the stairs to the sunken den broke up their continuity. I wasn’t sure when I had become so fascinated with flooring. I suppose after spending a great deal of time with my head lowered, there wasn’t much else to notice down here but the floors.

I heard two sets of footsteps returning. They moved almost in tandem, but just slightly out of sync. As they came closer, both sets slowed as if they were nearing a frightened animal and they were afraid of spooking it.

I was the frightened animal, I realized, and that was precisely what they were doing.

I saw Derek’s shoes first, and I felt the urge to kneel, but I didn’t. I wasn’t supposed to here. Besides, I somehow had to convince the other man I wasn’t a basket case. I took deep breaths and exhaled slowly, trying to ignore the way my heart pounded harder with every step the unfamiliar shoes took toward me. Thankfully, he stopped at least ten feet away. Derek kept coming though and I felt a little calmer when he was in front of me.

“Scar, this is Michael Ramos,” he said. He tilted my chin up, but to look at him, not the other man.

“Hello, Michael,” I said, still looking at Derek. That made it easier. But I couldn’t care about easy. Strong. Competent. That’s what I needed this man to see.

So, I forced my gaze across the room to where he was standing. He looked the same as he had that day. His short, messy-styled hair with just a few strands of grey at his temples, his handsome features and cautious expression. The same. Is that how he always looked? When he watched me on the monitors, is that how he’d looked?

I didn’t realize how badly I was shaking until Derek urged me to sit down with a gentle hand at my back. A tear trickled down my cheek as I lowered myself onto the sofa, and I brushed it away, angry with myself for being so weak. I had to pull myself together—fast.

“You knew my aunt?” I said, voicing the first thought that came to mind. Anything had to be better than sitting here crying, right?

“Yes.” His lips curved up into a small smile.

I think my aunt—whoever she was—probably liked his smile. It was nice. It wasn’t powerful enough to ripple through me like Derek’s smile, but it was pleasant. I hoped he smiled at her a lot.

“I never knew her. My mother didn’t talk about her often. Maybe you wouldn’t mind telling me about her sometime?”

His smile grew a little bigger. “I would like that, Scarlett.”

Derek went and retrieved a bottle of something and three glasses while Michael and I remained a frozen tableau. When he returned, he filled two glasses. Then he splashed a small amount in the third one and handed it to me before giving Michael one of the fuller glasses. Both men quickly downed the liquid—scotch, according to the bottle. I sat staring at my glass. I’d never had scotch before. I’d never had any alcohol before, actually. And something about it made me think I didn’t want to start now. Maybe I was just offended I was getting a kid-sized drink in comparison to theirs. Either way, I just held the glass, staring at the golden yellow scotch that covered the bottom.

“Michael is going to be driving you to Phoenix in three days. He’ll make sure you get on the plane safely the next morning,” Derek explained what I’d already suspected, but Phoenix? Was he driving me back to the U.S.?

It didn’t matter. There was still no way in hell I was going to Arizona or getting on any plane. I nodded but kept my head down though so he couldn’t read what I was thinking.

“You’ll be safe, Scarlett. I promise you,” Michael said, and though he spoke with well-meaning vehemence in his voice, I wanted to tell him not to make promises he couldn’t keep.

“Thank you,” I said instead.

I must have been convincing them both because Derek sat down and started going into detail about the plan—the part where he gets me out of here, not the part where he goes to face Mateo alone. I didn’t even know where he would be meeting him. I needed to find out without raising his suspicions.

“Why can’t I stay with you? How far could it possibly be to the airport? And then you and I could go together—safe.” It sounded kind of lame once the words were out, but it was too late to take them back.

“Scarlett, it’s an eight-hour drive from where Lopez is expecting Derek,” Michael replied—unknowingly helpful.

Derek growled and slammed his glass down on the coffee table. “Can I have a word with you, Michael?” It might have been phrased as a question, but it wasn’t a question.

“I only meant that it would be a long distance for the two of you to travel—possibly with his men after you the whole time,” Michael continued, thinking he was on the right track.

“A word. Now,” Derek barked, and the two of them left the den, but the damage had already been done.

Sure, it wasn’t a hand-drawn map to the meeting spot, but I also knew from what Derek had told me that the meeting would take place at a landing strip. All I needed to do was figure out what landing strip near here was eight hours from Phoenix.

When they returned, Michael looked appropriately contrite, and I felt a pang of guilt for getting him into trouble. He couldn’t have known I had no intention of going along with Derek’s plan.

Derek’s eyes were on me as he crossed the room and sat down next to me.

“Scar, get it out of your head. I know you want to help, but I need you to live. Do you understand? There isn’t anything in this world more important. Not Mateo Lopez, not me. Nothing. I’d walk away from this and fly with you to the other side of the world if I could, but I can’t. I have to end this. No matter the cost, you have to be safe.”

I looked at Michael, then back to Derek. They wore the same determined expressions. Damn it, Michael wasn’t going to help me. Maybe neither of them cared if Derek died, but I did. And it looked like I was going to have to do this on my own.

We stayed in the den for another two hours, though there was no more talk of escape plans. After a few minutes of tense silence, Michael had turned the conversation to his wife, telling me about how they met, how she spoke of my mother often—their childhood together and my mother getting caught up with the wrong people. I told him what I could about my mother, how she spoke of her family on occasion, how we’d moved a lot, though I didn’t know why until recently. Whether it was James or Marcos she’d been trying to hide from, I’d never know for sure though—probably both of them.

I didn’t want to talk to Michael. I still wanted him to leave, especially since this man who knew too much about me wasn’t going to help me. But I couldn’t make myself get up and leave the room. He knew about my family—family I had never met. He knew my mother had taken ballet classes when she was six years old and that she’d fallen out of a tree when she was nine and broken her arm—things I’d never known. Things nobody else in the world could tell me. I shouldn’t care. What difference did it make? My mother was dead, and so was the aunt who I’d never met. But I was hungry for it anyways.

Two hours through though, I was having trouble keeping my eyes open. After hours of Derek’s torture device, it was a wonder I’d stayed awake this long. Apparently, though, I did end up drifting off because the next thing I knew, I was in Derek’s arms and he was laying me down on the bed. He stripped off my sweater, t-shirt and pants, then tucked the covers up over my bra-clad breasts. I felt his heat beside me, and then his arms around me, but I was going under fast.

“I love you,” I whispered. I don’t know why I said it. We didn’t say things like that often because it was unnecessary. It was intrinsic in everything we were, everything we said and everything we did. But it seemed important now. It was the reason I was going to defy him, and he needed to know that. I could only hope he’d understand that when it came time to dole out my punishment for it.

I had no choice, and in this, that didn’t bother me one bit.

12

Scarlett

The moment I opened my eyes, I was off the bed and across the room. I wasn’t going to make it. Ten more steps, but it seemed like a mile. My stomach roiled violently and the back of my throat burned.

I lunged for the toilet just as my stomach heaved its contents, convulsing my body and making sweat bead on my brow and trickle down the back of my neck.

Seconds later, Derek’s fingers were there, sweeping my hair off my neck and holding it back. I could do nothing but kneel there, gripping the toilet seat as my body expelled everything.

When the worst of it had subsided, I took a deep breath. And then I gasped as it hit me—the truth, the reason I’d made a mad dash for the toilet two mornings in a row. Why for mornings before that I’d woken to nausea brewing in my stomach. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a period—not since before those two men had grabbed me and changed the course of my life irrevocably. But Derek and I only had sex a few times before I was taken. A few times before I was raped over and over again.

I was pregnant. Pregnant, with no idea who the baby belonged to. Except, I knew, didn’t I? What were the chances the baby was Derek’s?—that fate hadn’t found another way to make me suffer? I was gasping and sobbing, and I couldn’t seem to catch my breath.

Derek drew me back against him. Even when I tried to wriggle out of his arms, he held me there. “Shh, it’s OK, Scar. It’s going to be OK,” he whispered, holding me firm with one arm while he stroked my hair back with his other hand.

The sob rising in my throat got stuck. It was the way he’d said it like he knew why I was freaking out. Oh god, he knew. He knew, and he hadn’t said a word. That wasn’t the worst part though. If he knew I was pregnant, then he also knew the baby inside me could belong to another man—man who’d tortured me, used me.

The sob worked itself free and several more rose behind it, wracking my body. If the baby was Derek’s, I’d be rejoicing. I’d find some way to make sure he survived and we’d live happily ever after. But now, when we walked away from Mateo Lopez, what would happen? How would Derek look at me when my belly grew big with another man’s—a monster’s—baby? And once he was born, how would Derek be able to look at him with anything other than hatred? A baby, half me, and the other half, not him.

“It’s not fair,” I sobbed.

“No, it isn’t fair, but you’ll get through this.”

Not “we’ll” get through this. He’d said I would get through this. Was he saying that because he didn’t think he was going to be alive, or because this was too much?

I cried. Misery, fear and anger, all mingled in my tears. They drained me dry, but when they finally dissipated, a strange calmness settled over me. It wasn’t acceptance. It wasn’t numbness.

It was certainty. A certainty that Derek and I had both suffered enough, far more than any person ever should.

I’d hit rock bottom. I’d seen a glimpse of a future without Derek, either because he was dead or because he couldn’t bear to look at the baby I was carrying, and I refused to accept it.

I was done being afraid. I was done wondering what was going to happen. I was going to find some way to keep Derek alive, and we were going to be together. And somehow, he wasn’t going to be reminded of where the baby came from every time he looked at him. No more fear and no more uncertainty.

“You’re right, I’m going to get through this,” I said, and it felt good to hear so much determination in my voice.

The nausea had already subsided. I moved to stand, but Derek wouldn’t let me. He carried me back to the bed and left me sitting there to retrieve a glass of water from the bathroom. I drank it down obediently, keeping my head down as a plan began to formulate in my mind.

Derek had weapons in the bedroom closet and a computer. I’d caught a glimpse of them when he’d opened the door to get his clothes yesterday. I would have to find a way to get a hold of one of the guns. I’d sneak it with me when I left with Michael, though hopefully, I wouldn’t have to use the gun on him.

Instead, I’d insist on stopping for food at some run-down diner an hour or two into the drive. From there, I’d excuse myself to go to the bathroom and slip out the back door. I’d have to get onto Derek’s computer to learn how to hotwire a car. It would be best if I could hotwire Michael’s car so he’d be stuck there, but any car would do. Then I’d drive close to the meeting spot, walk the rest of the way and still have hours to wait for Derek—and Mateo Lopez—to arrive. Even if Michael informed Derek I’d ditched him, there would be nothing either of them could do about it.

No doubt, it wouldn’t be easy, but it was simple.

Now all I had to do was keep Derek from realizing what I was up to. I’d continue to object, pose alternative ideas—whatever I could think of—to keep him from cluing in. I had to pull it off. Derek could not know what was going on in my head this time.

That was precisely what I did. I told him I didn’t want to worry about the baby until after this was over, and he didn’t press the issue. And then I proceeded to object to his plan and pose ridiculous ones of my own over the next three days. I even managed to earn myself a spanking twice for unruly behavior—followed by incredible sex, of course.

He was buying it. On the last day, I slowly transitioned to begrudging and teary-eyed acceptance of his plan. It hurt him when I cried, but I couldn’t risk raising his suspicions now. The sun had already begun to set, and there were just a few hours left before it would be time for Michael and I to leave.

Michael—I felt bad for what I was going to do to him, too. Though I was still uncomfortable around a man who’d seen every dark side of me, I couldn’t bring myself to hate him. Actually, I was kind of starting to like him. He’d kept his presence as unobtrusive as possible, but when I did see him, when he told me stories about places he’d been or things he and my aunt had done, well, he was a rather difficult person to dislike. Derek was going to be angry with him when I escaped, but hopefully, he’d forgive him when everything turned out OK.

“Lie down on the bed, Pet,” Derek’s voice cut into my thoughts as he walked into the bedroom.

I’d been kneeling, naked, at the side of the bed. I thought he’d gone to get food, but there was no food and no tray in his hands. Perplexed, I hurried to obey, wondering what he had in mind.

He approached until he stood next to the bed, but he didn’t join me.

“As your master, you have to obey me, correct?”

Uh oh. He couldn’t possibly know. I’d done such a good job hiding my plan. “Yes,” I answered with as little guilt in my tone as I could.

“When I tell you to do something, you have to do it, right?”

“Yes, Master.”

“And when I tell you not to do something, you have no choice but to obey?”

Damn it, this wasn’t good. “Yes, Master.”

“Good. I’m glad we understand.” He sat down next to me and his hands glided over my body from my shoulders to my ankles. Light, teasing strokes that made my body relax into the bed.

When his hands moved to palm my breasts and his fingers grazed across my nipples, I moaned languidly. Maybe all those questions were just because he needed to hear the answers. Because he thought we only had a few hours left and he needed to know I was his.

His grasp became firmer and he caught my nipples between his fingers, squeezing harder and sending shocks of heat through my body. His mouth replaced one of his hands and he suckled my nipple into his mouth, gently at first and then harder. My hands moved of their own volition to the back of his head, holding him there against me. I wanted to hold tighter when he released me, but his lips began to travel downward and my whole body shivered in anticipation of where his mouth was heading.

Lower, past my ribs. Still lower, down my stomach. When he’d left a trail of kisses over my mound and I could feel his warm breath on my clit, I tilted my hips up, urging him closer.

It took me a bit by surprise when he gave in and closed the distance between us. His tongue flicked back and forth across my clit before he sucked it into his mouth. Gentle, and then harder, making me writhe beneath him as I dug my fingers into the mattress.

His hand left my breast, but a second later I felt him gliding down my sex, parting me, opening me. His finger thrust in, bent, stroking the front wall slowly. He knew exactly where and just how to touch me. So intense. He wasn’t moving fast. Slow enough I could feel every miniscule move he made, but it was just right. So freaking right. Between his mouth on my clit and his fingers inside me, I was already a wet mess on a fast climb to heaven.

He continued to stroke and suck, and I could even feel his tongue flicking across my clit in his mouth. I was panting and moaning and writhing. So good. So close. Just a few more seconds.

“Don’t come,” he released me long enough to say, though his finger kept up its work inside me.

“What?” He couldn’t be serious.

“You heard me. Do not come. You do not have my permission, and I’ve expressly told you not to come.”

He sucked my clit back into his mouth. Hard. So damn good. My fingers dug into the mattress, and I tried to squirm my hips away. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t make my body feel like this and then tell me not to come. God, no, I wasn’t going to be able to stop it.

He kept thrusting and sucking. I clenched hard, trying to resist. I tried to pull away, but he held me there. How could he expect me to obey? How? I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t make my body stop. What he was doing just felt too good. So much pressure. So much heat. I tried to fight with everything inside me, but the first hot waves of my orgasm burst out from my core, and I screamed as they carried me away.

I hadn’t even come down from the high when panic gripped me. What was he going to do? It wasn’t my fault that I couldn’t stop it, but I’d disobeyed nonetheless. I envisioned another round with the torture clamps—he would think that a fitting punishment, wouldn’t he? To torment me for hours while the damn thing made sure I didn’t get to come.

“I’m sorry, Master,” I whispered, not that I expected it to do me any good.

“What happened, Pet?”

“I couldn’t stop. I tried, Master. I did.”

“You didn’t want to come, but what I was doing to your body made it impossible to stop, didn’t it?”

“Yes.” I’d only just gotten the word out when I realized what he’d been doing, and why he’d been doing it.

“In your mind and your heart, you would not have disobeyed me, correct?”

“Yes.”

“It was just your body that couldn’t stop. Just nerve endings and receptors.”

It wasn’t a question this time, but I nodded anyway because I desperately wanted him to be right. He’d been doing this to show me that I wasn’t a whore, that it had been nothing more than nerve endings responding in that dungeon. Not me. Not any of the parts of me that mattered.

“Understand?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Good, because I have something else in mind. Get on your hands and knees, up by the headboard.”

I felt lighter like there was actually less weight pressing me down as I rolled over and crawled up near the headboard. He stood up and came around to where I was. I didn’t see the rope in his hand until he was looping it around my wrists and securing them to the headboard.

Then he was stripping off his clothes as he walked back the way he’d come. I turned my head to watch him. My mouth was already watering by the time he’d yanked his shirt off over his head. Absolute male perfection. Then he stripped off his pants, unleashing his massive erection, and I was surprised I wasn’t salivating like a dog. My tongue darted out to lick my lips, imagining him there, feeling his steel encased in velvet between my lips.

“Eyes forward, Pet,” he demanded when he caught me staring.

I tore my gaze off him while my body thrummed in nervous anticipation. I felt his weight depress the mattress as he climbed up behind me. My clit was already pulsing, waiting for his touch, or to feel him filling my sex. But seconds passed, and he hadn’t touched me. He was looking at me; I could feel his gaze blazing a trail up the backs of my thighs and setting my sex on fire.

When I finally felt him graze his fingers along my open lips, my body jolted from the fiery contact.

“I love how sensitive you are, how you respond every time I touch you,” he said as he dipped a finger inside me.

I didn’t panic when he slipped it out and his finger glided with my wetness up to my anus. He circled me there, and I waited with bated breath for him to penetrate me. It would feel good. I knew it would. Instead, though, he returned to my sex, dipping in and then gliding back up to my other hole. Again and again. I was moaning and pressing back against him. I needed to feel him inside me, somewhere—anywhere.

“Do you want me to finger your ass?” he asked, circling my anus.

“Yes, Master.”

His finger pushed inside slowly, just the tip, and then further, all the way to his knuckle. When he withdrew, he added another slick finger, stretching me slowly. I panicked when he withdrew and started to add a third finger. I thought it would be too much, but he grabbed my hip and continued to press forward. I moaned. It didn’t hurt at all. It felt good. So good.

Then he slipped right out and I actually whimpered at the loss, but when I felt him press against me next, I shot forward, trying to get away. It wasn’t his fingers pressed against my anus. It was his cock. Massive and hard.

His arm wrapped beneath my stomach, drawing me back to him. “Just relax, Pet. I’m going to fuck your ass, and I want you to enjoy it.”

I wanted that too. I just didn’t see how it was possible. I was still struggling against him when he thrust forward and the head of his cock penetrated me. He was so big. I was stretched to the max. I could feel the burn and it made my body shake over what was to come.

“Trust me,” he whispered, and then his fingers were on my clit. Firm, slow circles. Trust him. I did trust him. So I took slow, deep breaths, and focused on his fingers rubbing my clit. He pressed forward, a little at a time. So stretched. Still shaking. Further and further, inch after slow inch until his hips pressed against my cheeks.

“I’m inside you,” he said reassuringly, but it was the possessiveness in his voice that shocked through my body.

I was full. So full, but it didn’t really hurt. Maybe a little, but it was the good kind of pain, the kind that shot straight to my clit and made me feel like I was on fire.

He withdrew, so slowly it was as if he was reluctant to leave for even a second. I willed my muscles to relax when he thrust back in slowly and a moan rolled effortlessly off my tongue.

With every thrust, his pace increased and the scorching heat inside me grew brighter. I couldn’t believe it could feel so good, so intense. His fingers left my clit, but when he shoved them in my sex seconds later, I bucked back against him, ramming him into the hilt as his balls slapped against me.

This had been my fantasy, the dirty fantasy that had terrified me, but Derek was fulfilling it and turning it into something else. Not dirty, but erotic. Not terrifying, but hot and driving me wild with pleasure.

“Come for me, Pet. Now. I want to watch you come with my cock in your ass.”

As always I was helpless to resist. Two more thrusts, his fingers working in time with his cock, and I collapsed forward, muffling my screams in the pillow as he took me over the edge yet again.

His own shout a minute later as he thrust in one last time must have been heard from miles away.

13

Derek

“Wake up, Scar,” I whispered against her ear.

It was time. I didn’t want it to be. Fuck, I would have given just about anything to be able to crawl back into bed beside her. But what I’d be giving would be any hope of keeping her safe, and I couldn’t do that. I wouldn’t, no matter how much it killed me to let her go.

She opened her eyes as her face went pale, and I moved my ass out of her way as she flew off the bed and made a mad dash for the toilet. I followed her and held her hair back, knowing this might be the last time I could do this for her. After this morning, she would have to face this and everything that came after alone.

I hadn’t given up hope that I’d survive, but let’s face it, the odds hadn’t ever exactly been stacked in my favor. I’d found Scar though, even if I’d had no right to take her the way I had. Still, all the shit I’d lived through, it was worth it to have had this bit of time with her.

She sat back hard against me when her stomach had finished revolting, and I held her. I just held her because, in a few minutes, I was going to have to let her go. I’d been up most of the night, but I’d let her sleep until the last possible minute. She’d looked so exhausted, and honestly, I was half-afraid she’d find some way to talk me out of this.

That meant this was goodbye. So, I did what I always did. I buried it down and smoothed my features into an unreadable mask—though it was more difficult to do than ever before.

When her stomach had settled and she’d washed her mouth out, I helped her get dressed. She probably didn’t need my help, but I didn’t want to stop touching her. Not yet. Just not fucking yet.

I even kept hold of her hand to retrieve the envelope I’d set aside for her in the closet. It contained the bank account information she’d need to access my accounts, money, deeds to the properties I owned, and a will that bequeathed all of my worldly possessions to her. I wasn’t going to need them where I was going. No doubt, far wealthier men had tried to buy their way out of hell and failed.

She didn’t ask what was inside when I handed it to her. She was looking past it, to the wall inside the closet. There was one picture tacked up there—my wall of family portraits, I supposed. A single picture of Marcos and I outside one of his private estates in the Cayman Islands. She reached for it without a word, and I didn’t stop her when she pulled it down and slipped it into the envelope.

My eyes stung though, so I released her hand and turned to busy myself with random shit. Not only was it a pussy thing to do, but I didn’t get to cry. I’d created this mess, and I deserved this, to have to force her to leave and watch as she drove away with my fucking hard in her hands. I deserved this.

She stepped ahead of me and grabbed one of the boxes from the floor by the bed. I had no idea what was in it, but I didn’t care. Maybe she intended to make good use of the wicked clamp toys after I was gone. Who the fuck knew, but aside from the sexy image it put in my head, what difference did it make? It was all hers—everything I owned.

“Time to go, Scar,” I said. My voice actually sounded hoarse. Maybe I was coming down with something.

She nodded, though she made no move toward the door. She stood there with the envelope and box hugged tight to her chest. I could see the tears dripping down her cheeks, and I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her so close despite the box and papers between us.

Eventually, we made it down the stairs. Michael was waiting there. I’d given him her boarding pass, and one for him—in case he wanted to go with her and leave Mexico behind to deal with its own messes. He was tempted—I could see it. Scar had that effect on people. And it brought me comfort to think she’d have him there to help her.

“I’ll join you as soon as I can,” I told her, brushing her hair back from her brow. I wanted to be able to see her whole face one last time.

“You better,” she said, her voice fierce.

It made me smile. She was going to be OK. Scar was strong. I didn’t know anyone stronger. Hell, I wasn’t sure a stronger person existed.

When I kissed her, her lips were just as fierce as her voice had been. I was glad. As much as I loved her submissiveness, I didn’t want that right now. I needed to feel her strength, to know she was a fighter. To know she was going to be fine without me.

Then she was gone. I led her to the garage and watched as Michael drove off with the most important person in the world. The woman with my heart in her hands disappeared down the drive, and she was gone.

Gone. Pain tore through the empty cavity in my chest. She was gone.

I watched the gate close through blurry eyes. Tears—fucking tears!

But with my heart now gone, it was time to be the cold motherfucker I was deep down. I wiped my eyes and strode back into the house. There was no fucking way Mateo Lopez was walking away today. I might die too, but I was taking that son of a bitch with me.

I brewed coffee and made breakfast. Showered and dressed. Then I sat on the sofa with a scotch in my hand and waited. No last-minute planning. No going over the plan again and again in my head. I knew the plan. I wasn’t nervous. I was ready. Ready to kill, and ready to die. It was for Scar, so I was ready.

Three hours later, my phone rang from where I’d placed it on the coffee table. I expected it to be Mateo or one of his goons confirming the time.

It wasn’t.

“Derek, I don’t know what the fuck happened, but she’s gone.”

Michael’s words didn’t make sense at first. Gone?—of course, she was gone. I’d put her in the car and watched her drive away.

Fuck, I caught up fast. “What do you mean, she’s gone? Gone, where?”

“I don’t know. We stopped at some shitty diner because she was starving and because she was dancing around on the seat like she wasn’t going to be able to hold it a minute longer. She made a mad dash to the bathroom and never came back out. Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m already back on the road looking for her, but I don’t know where the fuck to look. If they got her…”

“They didn’t,” I said with absolute certainty. Maybe I hadn’t wanted to see it. Maybe I just hoped she’d see reason once Michael had her away from here. But now, I knew exactly what had happened.

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I know Scar. I should have seen it, but I was so busy making plans to keep her safe, I wasn’t paying attention to what I should have seen all along. She never intended to go along with it. She’s on her way back here, Michael. She’s going to be there when Mateo shows up, and he’s going to…”

I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t say out loud what I knew. That if Mateo got his hands on her, he’d rip her apart before my eyes just to make me suffer. “Fuck!”

This wasn’t fucking happening. My heart pounded so hard I could feel it in my fingertips, and all I could see was red. The entire world had been shrouded in a red gaze. Even my mind was shrouded by it, making it impossible to think.

I needed to get it together. Right. Fucking. Now.

“Michael, head back here. You know where Lopez will be. Meet me there in two hours, behind the rear hangar. If you run across Scar on the way back, get her off the road. Ram her car into a fucking ditch if you have to. Whatever you have to do.”

The guy hadn’t signed up to go head-to-head with Lopez. For all I knew, he was going to drive off in the other direction, but I didn’t think so. Hell, I knew he wasn’t going to do that. He genuinely seemed to care about Scar, and beyond that, he had a personal bone to pick with Lopez. What it was, I didn’t know, but I hadn’t forgotten the way he’d responded when I’d told him his name. Between his affection for his long-lost niece and his hatred for Lopez, Michael would be there.

“I’m on my way,” he said, as if in confirmation with my thoughts.

I was racking up debts I’d never be able to pay, but if it kept Scar alive, I didn’t give a fuck. I’d play his personal errand boy for the rest of my life to keep her safe.

I hung up the phone and ran through the modifications I was going to have to make to the plan. And entertained for the briefest of seconds what I was going to do to her when all this was over. When thoughts of what Mateo would do to her crept in though, I lost all interest in disciplining her. Alive. I just wanted her to live. That was all that mattered.

14

Derek

I paced the living room floor, waiting for the moment I could go roaring out of here. I couldn’t sit anymore—Scar’s little escape artist stunt had effectively squelched my calm.

When the moment finally arrived, so much adrenaline was coursing through my veins that I felt like I could have run there at twice the speed of the car, carrying my whole damned arsenal on my back.

Thinking better than to let the adrenaline guide me, I slid behind the wheel and mentally checked my body one last time. Two guns on my chest, two at my back and two ankle holsters. I had steel-toed boots on, and I wore brass knuckles on both hands—a gift from Marcos as a reward for taking out a rat. The only thing I needed now was a miracle. Yeah, I wasn’t holding my breath on that one.

The drive passed too slowly as if the whole world was moving in slow motion. I needed to get there. I needed to get to Scar, but I had to shut that part of me down. It wasn’t going to help her.

When I neared the site, I slowed, taking in my surroundings. An abandoned car, three hangars, two empty planes on the tarmac and an admin office on the other side. I rounded the airstrip and pulled in behind the third hangar.

Michael was there. His car was nowhere in sight, but the sun caught the steel of his gun from in the brush. He stood once I’d shifted the car into park, telling me there’d been no sign of Mateo or his men yet. I waited with bated breath, hoping Scar would stand up beside him.

She didn’t. She wasn’t here. Where the hell was she?

“I’m sorry, Derek,” Michael said as he approached. Either the wind had blown sand into his eyes, or he was feeling rather choked up over what had happened too.

What was I supposed to do?—say it was OK? No worries? Yeah, fucking right. Of course, this was all my fault, but things weren’t OK and I was more than a little worried. So, I just nodded and turned my attention to the hangars. There didn’t seem to be any movement in any of them, but my gaze kept shifting back to the abandoned car. Fifteen yards from the first hangar. It was out of place. It didn’t belong in this scene. So, why was it here? It was obviously empty—the driver’s side door had been left wide open.

Scar. It was the only logical explanation. But if she was already here, where the fuck was she? I wanted to go charging through every hangar searching for her, but I resisted the urge. Something wasn’t right.

“She’s here,” I told Michael, who’d come to stand beside me and his gaze focused on the same abandoned car. Not abandoned. She hadn’t left it there out in the open. She was too smart for that. She’d been corralled there and dragged out of the car.

I was shaking. I was shaking because I didn’t know if she was alive or dead, or what they were doing to her at this very minute. The scene in the basement where I’d found her before flashed through my mind, and I turned just in time to hurl into the bushes instead of on Michael’s shoes.

I debated swallowing a bullet just to end this because I wasn’t sure I could survive it if she’d been hurt like that again. But I couldn’t do it. If there was any chance she was still alive, I wouldn’t abandon her. Never.

Michael sat down hard on the dirt ground, his knees bent and his trembling hands hanging loosely over them. I remembered him asking me just days ago if it ever ends. “No, it doesn’t,” I’d said, not knowing just how true those words had been.

“Pull your shit together,” I told him, though the message was probably just as much for me since I was the one who’d been puking in the bushes. “We need a plan. Now.”

“I have these pills…cyanide, in case I ever got captured. I’d thought about giving her one…I should have…” he said as his eyes grew brighter with unshed tears.

“Don’t fucking talk like that. Do you understand me?” I was standing over him and my fingers itched for any one of the guns concealed beneath my clothes for what he’d just said. But then...maybe he was less selfish than me. I wanted to find Scar and save her no matter what. He didn’t want her to suffer.

“Let’s just find her and kill every one of those motherfuckers,” I said.

He nodded and got to his feet. “Sweep the buildings?” he asked.

No. If she was here, she was in the first hangar. It was the closest one to the car she’d been dragged out of, and the furthest from the main road, making it most difficult for me to escape with her. But was she still here?

Yes, I decided, not just because I wanted it to be true, but because Mateo would want me to see what he did to her.

He probably knew I was here then, and it was best to assume he knew Michael was here too.

“She’s in the first hangar,” I told him matter-of-factly.

“How can you be so sure?”

How? Because I wasn’t so different from the monsters in there, and it was precisely what I would have recommended to Marcos not that long ago. And maybe, just maybe, because I could feel her. Here. Close. “I just know.”

“We’re going to be outnumbered,” he said.

“Yeah.”

“You still want to go in there?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Fuck, yeah. Let’s go get her back.”—Definitely a man after my own heart.

We moved fast, keeping close to the buildings. We made it to the hangar without interference, and no one was there to intercept outside the door. That meant he wanted me inside.

And I was happy to oblige him.

“Stay here,” I told Michael—there was no sense in giving them two targets. “Take out what you can from here, and then wait until you’re sure you can get to her.”

With a nod, I withdrew the guns from the holsters at my back. It was show time—and bullets and blood had always been some of my finest masterpieces.

I charged in and took aim at every living target. No one would have been expecting that. They would have been waiting for me to try to creep in. No fucking way. Everybody was going to die until I had Scar safely out of here.

A bullet grazed my arm, but I barely felt it—a flesh wound at best. Two men went down in front of the Challenger plane. Two more rushed out from behind it. They didn’t make it three steps, and the bullets they’d managed to fire ricocheted off the wall somewhere behind me. No, they definitely hadn’t been expecting me to come in with guns blazing.

I strode forward, cognizant of what was to the left and right of me, but I had my sights set on the destination in front of me. Beyond the empty space behind the plane, there was a car parked. I could see two pairs of shoes behind it, but they were just Lopez’s goons. Lopez was in the car, and Scar was in there with him. She had to be. There was nowhere else to hide her in here.

A staccato of loud bangs and suddenly my shoulder was on fire. It should have hurt. It should have been fucking excruciating, but all I felt was heat. No pain. The adrenaline would keep it at bay.

I found the source of the gunfire and took aim. The guy scrambled back, but it didn’t matter. My bullet burrowed into his forehead in the blink of an eye.

I kept going, shooting while bullets flew past my ear and the prickle of heat told me another shot had grazed through the flesh of my thigh. Stupid fuckers couldn’t kill a target if it walked up to them with a bull’s-eye on its chest.

I was five yards away. Michael and I had nearly cleared the room, aside from the guy cowering far off in the back corner. He was maybe eighteen years old. New at this. Probably had never fired a weapon in his life. Did I let him live to become a monster like me, or did I kill him now to make sure he never did?

He was young, like Scar, not just in age but in the terror and innocence in his eyes. Before Scar, I wouldn’t have hesitated. Now, I kept a watchful eye on him as I strode closer to the car.

Two more feet though, and the passenger door flew open. Scar stumbled out in front of Lopez. He was using her as a shield—the fucking coward—and he had a gun pressed against her temple.

But that wasn’t all I noticed. A puffy, purple bruise marred her skin just above where her cheek had all but healed, and blood trickled slowly from a cut on her soft lips. Her shirt was torn right down the center, and another angry bruise peeked out below her bra.

My stomach churned violently, but I met her gaze and my breath caught in my throat. Her eyes…like I’d never seen them before. Not terrified. Not hopeless. They were red and puffy from crying, but within their green depths, angry fire shined bright. It was as if she was burning with it from the inside out, and if Mateo stood close for too much longer, he was going to go up in flames.

I had no right to feel proud—whatever contribution I’d made to her life hadn’t ever been positive—but I was so fucking proud of her.

Still, I was going to tear Mateo apart forever laying a hand on her.

“Let her go, Mateo, and I’ll consider killing you quickly,” I told him, pleased that my voice was as calm and cold as ever.

He cocked the gun and my heart leapt into my throat. He wouldn’t do it. He couldn’t possibly be that stupid. If he shot her, there was nothing stopping me from tearing him apart one slow piece at a time.

“She killed three of my men, Derek. Obviously, I can’t let that slide.”

The evil glint in his eyes made me worry. Could he possibly be that crazy? I couldn’t risk it.

“Take me. I’m worth far more than three of your useless lackeys.” I looked around at the dead bodies that peppered the floor to emphasize my point.

“That is an interesting proposition,” he replied as his fucking hand grazed over Scar’s breasts and down her ribs. When his hand settled on top of the apex at the top of her thighs, I wanted to cut off every one of his fingers and shove them down his fucking throat.

“But you see, the men she killed were the ones I had lying in wait for you. You never would have seen it coming, but instead, they had to go chasing after your disobedient, little slave. It’s all right though; I do understand why you like her. She has so many…charms,” he said, using the hand between her thighs to press her back against him. “In fact, I wouldn’t mind sampling her right now. Here. While you watch. Try to stop me, and I’ll blow her brains out.”

She tried to jerk away from him, but he pushed the gun harder against her temple and she went still.

Good girl, I thought, begging her with my eyes to just stay still.

“Take me. You know you want it. And you know the second you kill her, you’re a dead man.”

“Like I said, it’s an interesting proposition, Derek.”

He let up on her a little and I immediately had to wonder why. What was he up to?

“But what are you going to offer me for this one?”

A woman tumbled out of the car, followed by a big, burly hulk of a man. How he’d even fit in the damn car, I didn’t know.

But the woman. Her eyes weren’t empty like the last time I’d seen them. Red hair. Her face older, but so similar to Scar’s.

Alicia.

What the fuck was Lopez doing with Alicia Ramos?

“He’s good at finding things,” Michael’s hoarse voice spoke from somewhere behind me. “That’s what you’re renowned for, isn’t it? Anything in the world, Mateo Lopez can find.”

“When it serves my interests. Unfortunately, when you came to me, Michael, finding your wife wasn’t worth my while.”

Michael growled, but his eyes were fixed on Alicia. There was a good chance he wasn’t thinking clearly—not that I could blame him.

“After seeing Derek’s little pet though, well, I’ve always been a collector of sorts. It’s really too bad Garcia had arranged the car accident that killed your pet’s mother, Derek. What a collection that would have been, wouldn’t you say?”

Scar was looking at me, but she wasn’t just looking. She was trying to tell me something. Her eyes met mine, then dropped to the ground in front of her, then back to me. Then again. Yeah, I got the message. She was incredible. Now, I just had to do my part.

I took a menacing step forward to draw Lopez back to his current predicament. His grip on Scar tightened and he smiled menacingly.

I took another step.

“That’s far enough. I think you’ll have a fine view right there.”

He lifted his hand and pressed down on Scar’s shoulder. “On your knees, slave. You have three murdered men to atone for, and you’re going to start right now.”

She struggled, but I could tell it was fake, and eventually, she went down to the ground. Lopez lowered his gun long enough to unzip his fly, but it was all I needed. I took aim and fired a bullet right through the wrist of the hand holding the gun. Even when he fired reflexively, his gun was pointed away from Scar.

At the same time, she reached for the gun he had concealed at his ankle and fired into his knee without hesitation. Fucking incredible.

He stumbled back against the car at the same time I shot the man holding Alicia, straight into his head. It was unnecessary though. A bullet from Michael’s gun lodged into the man’s chest, straight through his heart, and he fell to the ground, lifeless.

Scar scrambled away from Lopez, toward Alicia. Michael was there with them a second later, but this wasn’t finished.

I reached for the long, menacing knife between my shoulder blades. I envisioned cutting Lopez up into tiny pieces, starting with the pieces that wouldn’t kill him right away and working toward his vital organs. But the thirst for blood didn’t compete with the need to hold her, to feel her in my arms and know that she was finally, truly safe.

Lopez was trying to scramble back and up into the car as I approached, but he was too slow—not that it would have mattered anyway. I reached down when I loomed over him, lifted him up by his hair, and slashed the knife across his neck. Blood spurted and he made a gurgling noise in his throat. And then, in the blink of an eye, he was dead.

It was over. She was safe.

I dropped the knife, turned toward her, and then she was in my arms. Alive. Safe. A sob wracked my chest, but I forced it down and focused on the warmth of her body, her heart beating against my chest and the softness of her lips beneath mine.

“I’m sorry. I just wanted to help. I couldn’t let you die,” she whimpered against my lips. “I couldn’t let you die.”

I remembered what Lopez had said about the three men he’d planted here ahead of time. Foolish or not, I hadn’t been expecting them. And that made me wonder…had she saved my life?

She’d already saved me in so many ways. How the hell was I supposed to repay that debt? I had no clue, but I was going to spend the rest of my life trying.

“Where have you been, mi querida?” I heard Michael whispering to Alicia.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “The man who took me, he said you were dead. He said he killed you, and I believed him.”

My gaze went to the corner where the guy was still cowering to try to give Michael and Alicia a quasi-private moment. Tears were streaming down Michael’s cheeks, and I figured that was probably something a guy didn’t want another guy to see.

But what was I supposed to do with the bundle of nervous energy in the corner? He was a loose end. Six months ago, I would have slit his throat or put a bullet in his brain without a second’s thought. I didn’t want to be that monster anymore.

“He’s that man’s son,” Scar whispered, pointing to the worthless lump of flesh who had been holding Alicia. “The man kept hitting him because he wouldn’t…help.”

All right, that was a point in the guy’s favor, but there was one more thing I needed to know. “Did he touch you, Scar?” I didn’t give a fuck how many times the guy’s father had hit him; if he’d hurt or violated her in any way, he was dead.

“No, he didn’t.”

“Come here, kid,” I yelled over to him. I wasn’t entirely sure what I was going to do with him yet, but I had to do something.

He stood up and approached cautiously, though his eyes darted around the room, probably searching for a way out. The guy had no fucking idea how lucky he was.

He stopped a couple yards away. “I didn’t…I didn’t do that, Senor,” he said, nodding toward Scar. “I no want to be here, si?”

“The only reason I’m letting you live is because you didn’t hurt her. Do you understand?”

Surprise lit his dark eyes as he nodded vigorously. “Si, I understand, Senor. I no hurt her.”

“Money? Do you have money?”

He scrambled into his pockets and held out a handful of coins, thinking I was…what?—going to let him live for the five bucks he had? He wasn’t the brightest, was he? It did help answer my question though—the guy had nothing.

The most ridiculous idea of my life came to me then. But hell, I decided to run with it. I was turning over a new leaf—and this guy was about to come along for the ride.

“You’re coming with us. You work for me now. A job. Money. A real future—but on one condition.”

The guy’s eyes were as big as saucers. I wanted to laugh, but I held it back.

“Si, Senor. Condition, si.”

“If you ever hurt these women, or do anything your father did—to anyone—I’ll kill you. Understand?”

More vigorous nodding and his expression was…happy. It felt good to know I was the reason for it. Strange as hell, but good.

And now I had my own full-time employee. For what, I had no fucking idea, but the way Scar was smiling up at me for what I’d just done for the guy made it more than worth it. I’d figure out something for him to do…I never could garden worth shit.

Scar would like nice gardens, I thought. And if, in between gardens, the guy happened to devote himself to making sure Scar was always safe…well, who the fuck could argue with that arrangement?

Epilogue

Scarlett

I woke with a start and bolted upright in bed. Derek was already awake too, staring up at me through sleep-bleary eyes. He needed rest, I decided, but before I could swing my legs over the side of the bed, he was already up, padding barefoot across the room in all his naked glory.

His footsteps fell silently on the plush carpet, though I finally knew why this was the only room with carpeting. He’d told me that during the years he’d spend locked in his foster family’s basement, the ground had been hard as rock and cold as ice. As ridiculous as he still thought it was, he used to dream about waking up in his old home, getting up in the morning and feeling the soft, thick carpet beneath his bare feet. It was a small dream, but he’d vowed that if he ever got out of there, he’d never get out of bed and feel the bite of a cold floor ever again.

I still ached for the boy who’d been trapped in that basement, but I was so glad to know he would never feel that biting cold—in his feet or in his heart—ever again.

“Do you want me to try walking with him for a little while so you can get some sleep?” he asked as he lifted our son from his bassinet and cradled him in his arms.

Our son. Michael—our beautiful, baby boy with dark hair and vivid blue eyes. Just like his father’s.

Even before Michael was born, I’d come to realize Derek would love him no matter what. He would love the child I’d carried inside me because he was a part of me. The day Michael was born though, I knew life couldn’t possibly get any more perfect. Our son looked so much like Derek, there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that the fates had finally conspired in our favor.

Or maybe fate had been on our side all along. We’d been through so much, but as I laid there—in the top maternal care ward in the country—staring at the two most important people in the world, I’d known it was more than worth it.

“I’ll take him,” I said, lowering my nightgown to my waist.

He placed Michael in my outstretched arms and then sat down on the bed in front of me as I put our son to my breast. Derek trailed a finger along the side of my other breast as he watched Michael latch onto my nipple.

“Our son seems to be occupying these a great deal of the time,” he whispered.

“I suppose I’ll just have to make it up to you, won’t I?”

Heat flared in his eyes and I felt a corresponding heat ignite between my thighs.

“Don’t worry, Pet. I’ve had plenty of time to think about all the ways you can make it up to me.”

A shiver of anticipation rippled through my body. I couldn’t wait to see what he had in mind…for now and for the rest of our lives.

The rest of our lives. Neither of us had ever thought we would be able to look forward to such a thing with so much excitement. It wasn’t so long ago that Derek’s future was dark, and mine was empty. Now, it isn’t. I filled his with a kind of brightness he’d forgotten even existed, and he filled mine with a kind of love I’d never known.

My lover. My friend. My husband. And late at night, behind closed doors, my master.

It was a long, dark road that we traveled to get here, but who wouldn’t be willing to walk through the fires of hell to have what I found? I know I’d do it all again if I had to, but there is no more darkness or emptiness in our lives, and there never will be again. Brightness, hearts brimming with love…and all the handcuffs and spankings a girl could want.

- THE END -

Have You Read My New Reverse Harem Romance Series?

Book 1: Two Billionaires in Vegas - A Menage Romance

“This is your last chance to back out. You sure you’re ready?”

“Yes, I’m ready.”

“Then it’s time for your first scene.”

Erin

I let out a sigh when I see Greer smiling so happily in her wedding dress. Everyone seems to be getting their happily ever after, except me.

At least, that’s what I thought.

Until I meet them.

Two sexy, domineering, utterly irresistible alpha males. Ex-Marines. Best friends. Intimidating and powerful.

Jackson and Caleb. The owners of the dungeon.

One sets my body on fire. Charming, rugged, and rock-hard.

The other makes me tremble. Dominant, intense, and damaged.

When the elevator doors close, I know there’s no coming back.

They tell me something that makes me weak in the knees – they want to share me. Pleasure me. Together.

1

Erin

My shoulders slumped as I hung back, watching my friend Greer walk up to the front desk of the hotel and ring the bell. She looked back at me with a cheery smile while we waited and I did my best to return it. I just hoped she didn’t notice how fake my smile was.

I so did not want to be there, but none of that was Greer’s fault. She was getting married. She had every right to be happy. As one of her best friends, I was supposed to be happy too, happy for her that she met such a great guy she wanted to spend the rest of her life with.

And I was happy. Mostly, anyway.

No, the fact that I struggled to be in a good mood was my own issue. Like my best friend Sascha said, I needed to just put my own shit on hold for the next week and a half and celebrate Greer and John.

Besides, Sascha had her own stuff going on and she’d managed to temporarily compartmentalize with ease. Outwardly, at least. I knew she was hurting, but she could put on a brave face for the people she loved. Still, Sascha wasn’t a bridesmaid and didn’t have to be here for the entire week and a half either.

“You know she’d do the same for you if the roles were reversed,” Sascha told me earlier in the day when I called her. I could just picture her sitting there with that apprehensive expression on her face, brows scrunched and mouth set in a line. She always got this when she was worried about something and I’d born witness to it more times than I could count. Thankfully, it wasn’t usually directed at me.

Sascha had known me forever and always knew exactly what to say to me. Usually her words didn’t exactly make me feel better, but they were often what I needed to hear.

“That’s very true,” I replied, “but a Halloween wedding? Why on earth do Greer and John want to have a Halloween wedding?”

“You got me there, Erin,” Sascha said. “I know it’s Greer’s favorite holiday, but it does seem a bit silly.”

It had been Sascha’s chuckles from my complaining that finally put me at ease. Yes, I was hurting, but I hadn’t lost my ability to make my best friend laugh. That meant I’d be okay. Eventually.

It was a calming thought.

Greer looked so happy when she began walking back towards me. Actually, she was radiant, her smile so wide, her eyes bright and full of hope. I felt a little guilty for my dark thoughts, but a therapist once said, “We feel what we feel,” and that seemed right. I couldn’t help how I felt, but I didn’t have to be a drag on Greer. No way was I going to spoil her time.

“We’re all checking in!” she said. Her dark blue eyes were filled with such happiness that I was suddenly glad I’d sucked up my sour mood and forced myself to come. Greer really did deserve it.

Greer and I first met in college in one of our classes during Freshman year. She sat down next to me and immediately began chatting like we were old friends. I remember sitting there in that 8 a.m. class, nursing a large coffee, a little hungover from the night before, and feeling sideswiped by this woman who sat down next to me.

Pixie was my first thought of her, and it wasn’t just because she had her dark hair styled in an adorable pixie cut. No, it was her entire demeanor. Sure she fitted the description of a pixie--a small build, pale skin, an undeniable effervescence about her--but it was so much more than that. It was her personality, her bubbly demeanor. I was a little jaded, cynical, but it didn’t take long for Greer to break through my walls and befriend me. Eight years later, we’re still great friends and I value that relationship, Greer’s presence in my life.

“All checked in!” Greer said. She handed me my keycard and I slipped it in my pocket.

My smile began as fake, but quickly became real at witnessing Greer’s joy. “Awesome,” I replied, “thank you!”

“Of course,” she said, slinging her arm around me as we walked out to the car to grab our things.

Our rooms were on different floors, so before we went our separate ways, Greer wrapped me in a hug, squeezing me tight. “I really appreciate this, Erin,” she said. “So much.”

I knew Greer meant every word of it too. No one was more sincere than Greer.

We reached her floor and she grabbed her things and get off. “Don’t forget about tonight!” she said merrily.

“I won’t!” I replied before the elevator doors closed behind Greer, though I was already dreading it.

It was easy to slip back into my dour mood once I was out of Greer’s presence. My resolve to be there for her was still strong, but that didn’t really help my moodiness while I was alone.

I unlocked my hotel room and slipped inside, looking around. My temporary home away from home was adorable, decorated in creams and medium blues. In the past, I’ve stayed in hotel rooms that were decked out in ugly patterns, but this was tasteful, almost gentle and calming rather than cringeworthy.

My eyes lit up when I spotted the mini-bar on the other side of the room. I quickly dumped my suitcase and bag on the floor, slipped my sandals off, and made my way over. Tequila, rum, whiskey, and more: there was an array of small alcohol bottles. I selected the small bottle of vodka and screwed off the top.

Taking a swig, the vodka was surprisingly good, especially compared to all that cheap vodka I drank in college. Still, it made me make a face with each sip. I didn’t mind. The bitter liquid matched my mood.

I sipped the small vodka bottle until it was gone, poking around the room like I liked to do when I stayed at a new hotel. It didn’t take long to finish the bottle. It was just enough to take the edge off a little, but not enough to actually make me drunk. That was for later at Greer and John’s party.

Maybe I was still feeling cranky, but it was better to be out of my place where I’d first caught my ex, the source of my bad mood, fucking another woman on my bed. It was hard to escape the ghost of his presence there.

Lying down on the bed, I set an alarm on my phone and closed my eyes. I really was exhausted and a nap would help me get through the party later.

* * *

The worst sound in the world, the shriek of an alarm signifying it was time to wake, broke through my thankfully dreamless sleep. Looking at the time, I had about an hour and a half to get ready.

Snatching my toiletry bag, I trudged off to the bathroom. I stared at my reflection for a long moment. In the past, I’ve been told I’m pretty. Between my tall figure, toned figure from karate and cycling, I supposed it was true. Despite all the exercise, I hadn’t lost that little bit of curve in my hips or modest breasts I’d suddenly sprouted at ten. I was tan from all the time I spent in the sun and had naturally pale blonde hair and dark green eyes, a killer combo Sascha told me more than once.

Still, I didn’t feel very pretty right now after what Braxton did. It was a huge hit to my self-confidence, and more than once, I’d wondered what I’d done wrong, what was wrong with me for Braxton to do what he did.

Sure we’d hit a bit of a rough patch in our relationship, but he’d never once given me any indication he was a cheater. And he wouldn’t give me a straight answer whether it was the first time he’d messed around or not, or even if she was the first woman he messed around with.

He’d shown his true colors when he tried to turn it around on me, blaming me for putting my law career before our relationship.

I knew what he’d done wasn’t my fault, I didn’t make him cheat, but that didn’t help that voice in the back of my head telling me I could have done more, done something different. That I could have prevented it in the first place.

It was the inspiration for my strike from men for the next year. No dating, no hookups, no flirting, or flings. I was taking a break. Even Sascha, ever the romantic, thought it was a good idea as I’d moved from one relationship to another since high school. I once thought having a boyfriend helped make me complete, but I’d come to realize that wasn’t the case at all. I was complete on my own. Whole.

This vow to temporarily forget about guys was my way of proving to myself I could be just fine without a guy trying to define me. Weirdly, I was actually a little excited about it. Sure, I’d miss sex and even the companionship a boyfriend could provide, but I knew I didn’t need it to thrive in this next chapter of my life.

After dolling myself up, I met Greer in the lobby to share a car to John’s hotel. By that time, Greer’s other bridesmaid, Hanna, had checked into the hotel and joined us.

If I had to choose, I’d say Hanna was my closest friend after Sascha. I met her in college too, introduced by Greer who’d been her Freshman year roommate. Hanna was a gorgeous African American woman who liked to wear her curly hair natural. Despite her spunky nature, her eyes were big and dark brown and always seemed to be deep in thought about something. Though I was taller than average for a woman, standing next to Hanna always made me feel gigantic from her five feet, one-inch stature. Eight inches taller than her, I supposed I probably was gigantic in her eyes.

Hanna studied criminal justice and law like me and after that, we’d shared several classes together, bonding over legal research and methods and, eventually, grad school and studying for the bar exam. She’d studied corporate law like I did. The funny thing was that we’d each gotten hired by the law firm the other really wanted to work out. Despite not getting our first choice, we both ended up extremely happy with our jobs.

Sometimes it’s funny the way the world works.

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen you two!” Hanna said squealed, rushing forth to hug me and Greer.

“I’ve put in so many hours at work lately I hardly have time to sleep,” I joked, smiling at her.

She laughed. “I hear that! I can’t remember the last time I did anything for myself. Greer, I just want to thank you for getting married so I had an excuse to take some time off.”

Grinning, Greer replied, “Anytime.”

The three of us walked outside into the heat and piled into Greer’s car. Though it was nearly six o’clock and it wasn’t nearly as warm as earlier, it was still warm enough that I was nervous my makeup would sweat off my face. It wouldn’t be the first time.

It didn’t take long for us to drive to the restaurant John and Greer’s party was to take place. They’d rented out a party room to fit us all and had it catered by the restaurant.

We parked and walked inside. Dread filled me as the hostess lead us back to the party. Yes, I wasn’t exactly keen on being surrounded by so many people, particularly all the couples, but I really wasn’t looking forward to Greer trying to set me up. I just knew she was going to.

I probably should have told her about my vow to stay away from men for the next year, though I wasn’t entirely sure she’d listen. Ever since John popped the question, she’d been trying to set all her friends up with the potential love of their lives, determined we would experience the same happiness she had.

We took our places around the table and Greer and John introduced everyone to each other. A friend of John’s stared at me longer than what was considered appropriate and I just knew he was one of the guys Greer told about me. Looking down, I cringed into my glass of wine and took a large gulp.

After a delicious dinner of smoked chicken, braised haricot verts, and a side salad made of arugula and shaved parmesan, we all got up from the table to mingle and get to know each other. I chatted with one of John’s sisters for a while before the guy who’d stared at me earlier came.

I held back my grimace, knowing it wasn’t his fault Greer likely put him up to it.

“I’m Chad,” he said.

Patiently, I told Chad that, while I was flattered, I wasn’t looking for a relationship. He seemed to be a little bummed, but thanked me for being honest with him.

Not five minutes after Chad walked away, another guy, one I hadn’t noticed earlier, walked up to me and asked what I was doing later. He was harder to shake off.

When a third guy began walking toward me, I excused myself from my conversation and practically ran to the bathroom. For the second time that day, I stared at my reflection. It was a little flattering that men still found me attractive but I wasn’t in the mood for it.

I buried my face in my hands and sighed. It was going to be a long night.

2

Jackson

I was breathing hard by the time I slowed my jog into a walk in front of my condo. Pulling the keys from the small pouch I wore on my bicep, I unlocked the door and stepped inside and went straight for the kitchen.

Grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, I walked into the living room and nearly had a heart attack. Sitting in the dark was my best friend and business partner, Caleb.

“Jesus, man,” I said, grabbing my heart with my free hand. Adrenaline shot through me, making my heart beat quickly in my chest.

I flipped on the lights and saw he had a small smile on his face. It was the biggest smile I’d seen on his face in ages.

“Sorry, Jack,” he said. He raised a glass to his lips and swallowed. I raised my eyebrows at him. “I like scotch,” he said, shrugging.

I glanced at the clock large decorative analog clock on the wall. “Dude, it’s only three o’clock,” I drawled.

He shrugged again and, in a dry voice, said, “It’s six o’clock somewhere.”

I rolled my eyes and unscrewed the lid of my water bottle and took a drink. I hoped the delay would give me a chance to think of something to say to him, something useful, but drew a frustrating blank.

More days than not lately, something with Caleb had been off. Sure, he still looked sharp in his expensive suits and still kept his dark blond hair as carefully groomed, but I knew better. I knew him, and could easily see something wasn’t right. I was one of the few people in the whole world that Caleb actually let in enough to see who he really was. Maybe even the only person.

The two of us met in the marines more than ten years ago. Initially, we hated each other’s guts. I thought he was pompous jackass who believed he was superior to everyone around him. I didn’t discover until later that was how he protected himself from getting hurt.

It wasn’t until our squad was on a hike and I’d sprained my ankle so badly I couldn’t walk on it that we became friends. He’d been ahead of me and turned around to help me limp to the finish line. Caleb could have finished the exercise with the best score, but he didn’t believe in leaving anyone behind, even someone he disliked during a training exercise.

We didn’t become close overnight, but we did gain mutual respect for each other. He realized how much I appreciated his help and how hard it was for me to accept after growing up the runt of five boys. Over time, he became my best friend and knew me better than anyone. I moved from Texas to Las Vegas for him when our service ended and even opened a business with him because he believed in it so much.

And now, I knew Caleb was suffering. We’d seen a lot of bad shit overseas, nightmare-inducing shit, Caleb never quite learned to deal with it the way I did. He dwelled on it all, while I developed a live and let live kind of attitude. First hand, I saw how short life was and I wanted to live it to the fullest while I still could.

Caleb’s diagnosis with PTSD wasn’t a surprise to me, though after living in denial for so long, I think the diagnosis surprised him.

We sat in silence for some time during which I saw his depression settle back onto him like a heavy snowfall. He sat slumped back on the couch with his eyes downcast and brow furrowed, staring down into his drink like it was a cure.

This wasn’t the first time I’d found him in my house like that. It’d been happening more and more. Caleb always attempted to cover it up with a smile and a joke, though I’m pretty sure he knew I could see through it. I tried to tell myself that meant he wasn’t too far gone, not if he still cared what I thought about him.

“Do you want to head to the club?” I asked, breaking the silence.

It took Caleb a moment to look up, but when he did, his face was lost until he could mask. “Nah,” he said, “I think I’m just going to take a nap. I’m pretty tired.”

“It must be tiring having the ladies throwing themselves at you all the time,” I joked. It was an old inside joke from back in the marines, just something stupid we’d say to each other. I hoped it would make him laugh.

He didn’t, though he did manage a smile. “It’s the blond hair. They can’t resist.”

“Why don’t you sleep here?” I suggested. “You can take my room. I won’t be using it for hours.”

I prayed Caleb said yes. Though I didn’t know if he’d ever do anything to himself, I still didn’t like the idea of him being locked in his house, a slave to his own mind.

Caleb thought about it. “That’s a good idea,” he eventually replied. “I’m too tired to drive right now.”

“Cool. I’m going to the club for a few hours--I have a mountain of paperwork waiting for me--and when I get back, we can order some food. How does that sound?”

His mouth spread in the approximation of a smile. “Sounds great.”

We headed to my bedroom and he stripped down to his undershirt and boxers before flopping on my bed. “Thanks for everything, Jack,” he said, closing his eyes.

“Of course,” I replied. “You know I’d do anything for you.”

He didn’t say anything, probably uncomfortable by the sincerity of my words, but he nodded and settled in.

I walked into the bathroom right off my bedroom and turned the shower on and disrobed, tossing the dirty clothes in the hamper.

The shower was divine. As a six-feet, four-inches tall weightlifter, I’m a pretty big guy and tend to work up a huge sweat running in the afternoon Las Vegas heat.

The warm water soothed the ache in my muscles, loosening them up. I lingered in the shower a few minutes longer than I needed to before forcing myself to get out. After drying off, I wrapped a towel around my waist and walked back into my bedroom to grab clean clothes.

Caleb was sound asleep by that time, snoring softly with his arm flung over his head. Thank God, I thought to myself, happy he was able to escape his thoughts for a time. I hoped that by the time he woke, he’d be feeling a little more like himself.

Ten minutes later, I was dressed, my hair was styled, and I was out the door. Before I locked the door, I’d left Caleb a water bottle on the nightstand. I didn’t know how much he’d had to drink before he got to my place, but he’d surely need some hydration by the time he awoke.

* * *

Parking behind the club, I walked through the back door toward the elevator. Thankfully, I didn’t run into anyone on the way. Not that I’d ever tell him, but Caleb’s mood brought down my own enough so that I just didn’t feel like dealing with anyone at the moment.

Reaching the elevator, I punched in the code only Caleb and I knew, and waited for the doors to open. When they finally did, I stepped inside.

Once on the second floor, I unlocked the door to my office, walked in, and locked it back up. I didn’t worry about any of our employees coming up here, but locking doors behind myself was a habit. I hadn’t escaped the marines totally free of paranoia. A locked door helped me feel secure. Sort of.

I glanced around the office, taking in the two desks at either side of the room, the small sitting area between them. We’d decorated in dark browns and the room felt distinctly masculine.

I sat down at my desk and looked at the stack of papers piled high before me. It was unlikely I would get through them all by the time went home, but I could at least make a dent. There were plenty of perks that came with owning a successful club, but the more successful something was, the more work you often have to put back into.

Our club, the Overground, hadn’t even been open a year yet and we were already wildly successful. It nearly gave us whiplash just how successful it was. We’d somehow managed to triple our investment in the first month and a half, bringing in higher revenue each week since then. It was unprecedented.

Granted, Vegas was the perfect place for our particular club, the kind of club people loved to visit while on vacation, far from anyone who knew them.

After about two hours of staring at invoices and inventory lists and a ton of other things, I rose from my chair and stretched, my joints popping as I did so. At thirty-three, it wasn’t too surprising I sounded like popcorn when I stood, especially after spending so long in the marines. However, it did remind me I wasn’t getting any younger, that as time passed, more and more problems with my body would inevitably arise. I didn’t plan to fight aging, but between eating well and exercising, I hoped to put it off a little.

I headed down the stairs and walked through the hallway that led me out to the club. Despite being a weeknight, the club was bustling with people. That certainly put a smile on my face.

One of our bartenders, Seth, nodded at me when he saw me approaching the bar. “How’s it going, boss?” he asked.

“Good,” I said, “I’ve just been upstairs working.”

Seth’s dark eyes took in the exhaustion on my face and grabbed a bottle of our finest scotch. “You need a drink, yo.”

Chuckling, I said, “Why do you think I came over here?”

Seth grinned and poured my drink, sliding it across the counter to me. It stopped right in front of my hand and I grabbed it.

“Thanks,” I said, raising my glass to him and drinking.

“No problem!” he said and moved on to take another order.

I did a lap around the club, stopping to chitchat with some of the regulars.

About twenty minutes later, I walked back to the hallway. Rather than heading upstairs, I opened another door and began to descend the stairs. A familiar anticipation filled my stomach just as it did each time I went down to the crowning jewel of our club, the real moneymaker.

* * *

Caleb was awake by the time I got home, redressed and looking through a stack of menus I kept in my kitchen drawer. He looked up when I walked in, and I was relieved to see he looked well-rested and more like himself.

“Hey, man,” he said when I slumped into a chair across from him. “How’d it go at the club?”

“It was good,” I admitted. “Really good. It was packed, both the upstairs and downstairs.”

He smiled at me, nodding. “Good, that’s what I like to hear.”

“The numbers are all looking good too. Strong. We’re looking at another record-breaking month.” I leaned forward and flipped through the menus spread out on the coffee table.

“I still can’t believe how well we’re doing,” Caleb said, looking thoughtful. “I’ve always heard businesses are lucky to break even their first year and here we are killing it.”

Selecting the menu from a nearby Chinese restaurant, I replied, “Yeah, that’s what I’ve heard too. But you were totally right when you said Vegas needed something special, something we could provide for them.”

The smile Caleb gave me was pleased. I was happy to see it.

“How about Chinese?” I asked.

“That sounds good.”

We both looked over the menu and I called in our orders. While we waited for the food to arrive, I flipped on the TV and turned it to a boxing match I knew was tonight. My stomach was just starting to rumble when someone knocked at the door. I handed the delivery man a fifty dollar bill and told him to keep the change.

The menus brushed aside, boxes of Chinese food covered the coffee table. I liked ordering a lot so I’d have leftovers on the nights I came home too tired to make something myself or even wait for food to be delivered. I also liked to send Caleb home with leftovers, knowing he’s a lot more likely to remember to eat if he already has the food in his fridge.

At some point, I dozed off in my chair, not waking until silence replaced the buzz of the TV.

“Sorry,” Caleb said, setting the remote back down on the coffee table. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“That’s alright,” I said, scrubbing a hand down my face. When I looked up, I noticed he had his wallet, keys, and phone gathered in his hand. “Why don’t you just sleep here?”

“I already slept here today, Jackson,” he said, faux-exasperation in his voice.

“Yeah yeah,” I said, “but it’s getting late. You know I have the room.”

“I know, but I’ll be fine.” His face grew serious. “I’m feeling a lot better now. Thank you for putting up with me today.”

“You’d do the same for me,” I said simply, knowing it was true. “You have before.”

“In a heartbeat.”

I knew I had to let him go. I snatched a few of the containers of Chinese food and put them in a bag, handing it over to Caleb.

Following him to the door, I said, “I’ll call in the cavalry if you don’t call me when you get home.”

“Sure thing, Dad,” Caleb retorted, rolling his eyes and slugging me playfully on my arm.

After Caleb left, I headed to the bathroom and got ready for bed. Stripping out of my clothes, I saw that Caleb remade my bed after he slept in it, in perfect military fashion. Sighing, I could only hope he’d learn to extend the same care and kindness that he showed me to himself.

One day, I told myself, one day.

3

Erin

After only three days of wedding festivities, I was ready to run away as far and as fast as I could. Unfortunately, if I wanted to keep my friendships intact, that wasn’t exactly an option.

So far, each night had been filled with group outings, hardly giving me the chance to enjoy my first vacation since I graduated from law school and was hired by a law firm. The activities were really weighing on me. It was hard being surrounded by happy people when I felt like roadkill. Given there was still a week of it, I didn’t know how I’d survive.

Tonight, we were all out to dinner at a nice restaurant, one I’d never been to before, but I found it impossible to enjoy myself. Somehow I’d ended up sandwiched between Greer, who couldn’t stop hugging and kissing and whispering sweet nothings to John on her other side, and one of John’s groomsmen and his wife. Neither couple was purposefully ignoring me and I didn’t blame them for being so wrapped up in each other--after all, when Braxton and I were still together, we did the same thing--but it didn’t prevent me from being miserable.

But I sat there quietly and ate my dinner, wishing the night would end. After dinner, we all headed back to the hotel John and the groomsmen were staying at for a game night in their suite.

Normally, I loved game nights, but I found nothing could improve my mood. A half hour into a game of Sorry! with Sascha, John, and one of John’s friends, I’d reached my limit.

I leaned over to Sascha and whisper, “I have a headache. I think I’m going to take a car back to the hotel and call it a night.”

Worry crossed her face and I suddenly felt guilty for lying to my best friend. “Do you want me to come with you?” she asked.

“Oh, no, I’ll be okay. I’m just going to put on my sweats and go to sleep.”

Still frowning, Sascha said, “Text me if you need me, okay?”

My face softened. “Of course.” I kissed the top of her head and snuck out of the suite as quietly and quickly as I could. I thanked my lucky stars that no one tried to stop me.

The hotel had been stifling, but with the night air on my face, I felt my mood immediately lifted. Thankfully, John’s hotel was near the Strip where I could find a place to grab a drink.

I began walking toward it, relishing in the night air and smiling at the people, mostly drunk, I passed along the way.

Though I lived in Las Vegas, I rarely made it to this side of town and really only came down here when I had someone from out of town visiting. It was fun seeing all the lights by myself for the first time, just taking in the ambiance that made Vegas a truly unique city.

After about ten minutes, I found a bar and slipped inside and was immediately disappointed. Mellow jazz music filled the air from the band up on the small stage. People sat at small circular tabled, chatting with each other or simply sitting there, enjoying the music. Weirdly, the place was decked out in Halloween decorations and had small pumpkin centerpieces on each table, skeletons and bats hanging from the ceiling, and fake cobwebs decorating the corners.

While it was a place I’d love to visit any other time, perhaps on a date that wasn’t during Halloween, it just wasn’t what I was looking for at the moment. After spending time with Greer and my other friends for the last few days, I wanted something different, a place I could lose myself in. Somewhere I could be just another anonymous woman in the crowd, drinking and dancing to the loud music.

My friend made me sorely tempted to break my no-guys-for-a-year rule just to have a meaningless hookup. Maybe if I met someone interesting enough.

I made my way to the bar and waited for the bartender. He finished up with a customer and walked over.

“Hey,” he said, “what can I get you?” He was kind of cute in a former football player sort of way.

“I was actually wondering if you could help me.”

“Sure, what do you need?”

“I’m looking for a club, somewhere I can dance.”

The bartender thought about it for a moment. “I know just the place,” he said. “The Overground on Fremont St.”

I frowned, hoping there was somewhere closer. Going to Fremont St. would mean I’d have to call a taxi or an Uber.

“Is there anywhere closer?” I asked.

“There probably is, but the Overground is the place to be,” the bartender replied. “It’s fun. You’ll like it.”

“Okay, thanks!” I said and left the jazz bar.

Once I was outside, I contemplated my options. I could look for another club on the Strip or I could head to the club the bartender recommended. Unsure, I pulled out my phone and looked up the Overground on Facebook to see the reviews. They had tons of five-star reviews with people raving about how fun the club was.

That cemented my decision. I wanted someplace fun to kill a few hours.

Opening the Uber app, I requested a ride. Not quite four minutes later, a driver pulled up in a small white car and I hopped in.

“How you doing tonight?” the driver asked. He had a New York accent and looked to be in his early thirties.

“I’m good,” I said. “How about you?”

“Not nearly as good as you’ll be in a few minutes,” he joked.

I wasn’t entirely sure what he meant by that. Was it because he knew I was headed to a club and would likely be drinking?

I smiled and looked out the window while he drove.

A few minutes later, he stopped the car in front of a typical looking club. The building was black and had the words “The Overground” in flashing bright lights.

I thanked the driver for the ride, tipped him, and was halfway out of the car when he turned to look at me and said, “Have a good night.” There was something weird about the way he said it, like he knew something I didn’t.

Not responding, I got out, slammed the door, and walked into the club.

Once inside, my first thought was yes! This place was exactly what I was looking for. The Overground was dark but for the flashing lights, illuminating all the people dancing. It took me a second to realize the lights flashed images of witches and skeletons and jack-o’-lanterns on the walls.

“I guess I’m not going to escape Halloween after all,” I muttered to myself.

I walked forward and paid my cover charge. A woman dressed as Catwoman held a tray of cheap plastic masks thrust it out to me as I walked by.

“Take one!” she said enthusiastically.

I gave her a wane smile, but did what she requested, slipping it on as I looked around for the bar. It took some effort to get through the crowd. I had to dodge flailing elbows and thrusting hips along the way. Along the way, I saw that many of the dancers wore costumes too, dressed as vampires and devils and superheroes.

After several minutes, I finally made it to the bar and waited for the bartender to notice me. He was dressed as a ghoul, his face covered in green and yellow makeup to give a sickly, haunted look. I gave him my drink order and looked up at the Overground sign that hung on the wall.

When the bartender handed over my drink, I slipped him a ten, wondering why the bar was called the Overground.

“Is there a reason this place is called the Overground?” I asked, shouting above the music. “Is there something under it? A downstairs?”

The bartender smirked at me. “Yeah, there’s another club downstairs called the Underground Dungeon. It’s invitation only.”

“Dungeon?” I asked, my interest piqued. “What does that mean?”

The bartender smiled again. “Sweetheart, I’m not at liberty to tell you that.”

“But I am,” a deep voice said from behind.

Whipping around, I saw a man in a sharp gray business suit that was tailored to perfection around his broad shoulders and big arms. He wore a navy button-down shirt beneath his jacket tight enough I could see definition in his stomach. His pants were also tight around his body in a way that gave a hint at strong, muscular thighs. I couldn’t stop myself from lingering at the slight bulge pushing against his pants.

He must have noticed because he was smirking when my eyes finally traveled up his body to meet his. This guy was tall, very tall, with dark hair cut and styled into a fade. A black mask covered the upper part of his face and seemed to be made of felt. Each time the strobe lights flashed our way, the small red stones that studded the eyes of the mask gleamed. I couldn’t quite tell what color his eyes were in the dark lighting, but were light.

He was still smirking at me when he leaned forward and asked in a drawl, “Are you sure you really want to know?”

A brief flash of fear shot through me at his question, of danger, but I pushed it away. I was curious, more than I probably should be, and was looking for a little excitement after the last half-week.

In a shaky voice, I replied, “Yes, I really do want to know.”

The man’s smile widened. “I’m Jackson,” he said. “I’m one of the owners of the club.”

“Hi Jackson,” I murmured. He was still standing close enough to hear me, close enough for me to smell whatever intoxicating cologne he wore. God, he smelled so good.

“If you really want to know what the Underground is, you’re going to have to come with me upstairs.”

I frowned a little. “Why would I need to go with you upstairs if the Underground is downstairs?”

“Everyone has to be vetted before they get to go downstairs,” Jackson replied. “It’s members only.”

Everything in me was saying no! Run! but my feet stayed planted where they were. Any other night, I would have walked away without another word, but I couldn’t fight the growing excitement in my stomach. And I was just so damned curious. I really wanted to know what was downstairs.

Besides, if worst came to worst, all my black belt in karate would protect me.

Steeling myself, I said, “Okay.”

Jackson raised his eyebrows. “You’re sure?”

I took a deep breath and nodded. My hand shook, making the ice cubes in my drink clank together. “I’m sure.”

“Alright, let’s go then.”

I quickly downed my drink, grimacing a little, and put it on the bar behind me. Jackson rested his hand on the small of my back and began to guide me through the crowd. I could feel the heat of his hand through the thin material of my dress and it helped put me at ease.

We made it to the edge of the crowd, through a door, and walked down a hallway. When we reached an elevator, Jackson punched in a code and the doors opened. He gestured for me to step inside.

I hesitated, knowing this was my last chance to back. But did I want to back out?

No, I thought, no, I want to see this through. I want to know.

My feet moved of their own accord, stepping inside the elevator. Jackson followed me and pressed the button for the second floor.

He smiled at me.

Last chance! There’s still time to run through the doors!

But I didn’t. Instead, I returned Jackson’s smile and watched the elevator doors closed.

4

Caleb

For the past hour, I sat at my desk, doing nothing but staring off into space. Right before Jackson went downstairs to walk around the club, I told him I planned to look through the stack of papers that have been waiting on my desk for two days, but as of yet, I hadn’t even made it through the top page.

I really needed to get it together. I couldn’t let Jackson catch on to how bothered I’d been lately. He’d catch on if I let the paperwork sit any longer. After growing up the child of a businessman who imparted a lot of business wisdom to me, I was the one who loved doing the paperwork. I took pride in it.

Having flings that were mutually beneficial to both me and the ladies I had them with used to make me feel great. I never had much luck with long-term relationships. Things never lasted long and it just became easier to have flings.

Besides, it was fun to date around. I liked meeting new women and felt good each time one took interest in me. But dating became exhausting and it just wasn’t exciting the way it used to be. Dates became less and less frequent until it was practically non-existent. Many of the dates I did have, I canceled at the last minute, simply too exhausted to do more than go home and veg in front of the TV.

Dating wasn’t the only thing I’ve let fall by the wayside. I used to love to go running. Jackson and I would go running together at least once a week, if not more. Now I was lucky to run once or twice a week. I had to force myself to get to the gym, something I once loved. Lifting weights made me feel alive, like I was working my way toward becoming the best version of myself.

And then there was my first love, mixed martial arts. As a young kid, I was a huge fan of MMA and couldn’t wait until I could start training for it too. I begged my parents for nearly two years before they finally relented and found a program for kids for me.

At first, I figured my interests were just changing because I’d reached my mid-thirties, but nothing interested me. I tried reading, video games, restoring furniture. Hell, I even signed up for a sculpting class and only made it to the first class before I gave up.

The club was the one thing in my life I was still able to lose myself. The one thing that still made me feel good about myself. I’d work for hours in the office pouring over reports and researching ways to keep up the club’s prominent growth. Then I’d treat myself by walking around the first floor, immersing myself in the crowd and all the people enjoying themselves, before I went downstairs.

But now even work, my solace, drained me of the little energy I had. It killed me.

I couldn’t help but wonder if it was because I’m damaged. Defective. Nightmares plague me each night, images of explosions and blood and death.

I found myself wanting something real in my life, someone who loved me and accepted me for the way I am. But why should I bother putting the energy into something that could never happen? I’d feel too much guilt foisting all my problems on a girlfriend. Why should they have to suffer through my PTSD episodes and the OCD that tormented my life? It wouldn’t be fair to them, or to myself when they finally had enough and left me.

I could never force someone to tie themselves to me. Sometimes I still had trouble believing Jackson willingly wanted to be in my life. For whatever reasons he stayed, I was grateful for it. I don’t think I’d make it if it wasn’t for him.

After I visited Jackson at his house the other day, it took him two nights before he was able to drag me into the club. He put up with me so much.

I sighed, leaning forward and burying my face in my hands. Why couldn’t I just keep it together? Why did I find it so hard?

I hadn’t even been down to the Dungeon yet, the place I normally looked forward to visiting most. Maybe I’d force myself down there before I took off for the night. I hoped the atmosphere would infect me, calm me down.

The office door banged open, startling me from my thoughts. Jackson walked in holding the hand of the most gorgeous woman I’d ever seen.

God, even with a mask obscuring her face, I could see she was a true beauty. The woman was tall and slender, wearing a black dress that hit her a mid-thigh. It showed off her shapely thighs. A flash of those thighs wrapping around my waist filled my mind.

I could see lean muscles in her arms and legs and instantly knew she was a fighter of some sort. I’d seen that body type on other women at the MMA gym I was a member of. That intrigued me.

She played with her blonde hair while she looked around the office, a gesture that was typically seen as nervous, but I saw suspicion in this woman’s eyes. I appreciated her shrewdness, admired it.

Jackson looked over her head at me and cocked his head as if to ask what do you think? I nodded and stood from my desk. Perhaps this night was destined to be better than recent ones.

Jackson let go of the woman’s hand and shrugged out of his jacket. He laid it on the back of his chair and took his mask off.

“Who do we have here?” I asked, walking around my desk. I leaned on it and crossed my arms over my chest.

The woman looked me up and down. She seemed to like what she saw by the way her eyes slightly widened.

She met my eyes and held them. “I’m Erin.”

Erin reached up to take off her mask, revealing a face more beautiful than I was expecting. Her green eyes were fathomless. I felt myself growing a little lost looking into them.

Clearing my throat, I pointed to a chair. “Please sit.”

Erin complied, gracefully sinking into the plush chair.

“Would you like anything to drink?” I asked, pointing to the bar cart we kept in the office.

“I just had one downstairs, but thank you for the offer,” Erin replied. Even her voice was lovely. “I actually came up here because I was curious about what goes on in the basement. Jackson said he was in charge.”

“Actually, we both are,” I said. I walked toward Erin and put out my hand. She stood up and took my hand, shaking it. Her skin was so warm and smooth, and the feel of it against mine made my hand tingle. “I’m Caleb.”

“Nice to meet you, Caleb,” she said, giving me a wry smile. “I’m curious about what makes the Underground so exclusive.”

“It definitely isn’t for everyone,” Jackson said, chuckling and joining us over at the relaxing chairs we kept in the office.

“Okay,” Erin said with some suspicion. She was right to be suspicious.

“We have to personally assess everyone before they’re invited downstairs,” Jackson said. He had that smirk of his plastered across his face.

I touched her arm and said, “I don’t know if it’s a scene for a pretty sorority girl like you.”

“I’m not exactly Mother Teresa,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Besides, I’ve never been in a sorority.”

I liked her response. I liked her.

I stepped closer, invading her space. “What do you know about BDSM, Erin?”

Erin appeared to think about it for a moment before she said, “Honestly, not that much.”

“What do you think of being bound or whipped? Of completely submitting yourself to another person?”

Erin’s eyes widened and I watched her cheeks flush. She definitely appeared to be interested. “I’m open to new experiences,” she said, keeping her voice even.

I cupped her cheeks in my hands. “Jackson and I like to personally assess all our applicants. Do you understand?”

I felt Erin nod between my hands.

Lowering my voice, I said, “If you aren’t ready or aren’t interested, you have to leave now. But after this, Erin, there is no going back.”

** End of Sneak Peek **

Get Your Copy of Two Billionaires in Vegas HERE

(FREE in KU!)

Love by Numbers

- A Reverse Harem Romance Series

2 Billionaires in Vegas

3 Bosses’ Assistant

4 Ranchers’ Bride

5 Mafia Captors’ Virgin

…to be continued

Also By Nicole Casey

All my books are either FREE or available in Kindle Unlimited!

Love by Numbers

2 Billionaires in Vegas

3 Bosses’ Assistant

4 Ranchers’ Bride

5 Mafia Captors’ Virgin

Temptation Next Door Series (COMPLETED)

Hot Dad Next Door

Doctor Next Door

Mr. Fixit Next Door

Author Next Door

Prince Next Door

Firefighters Next Door

Beauty & The Captor Series (COMPLETED)

Her Beast: A Dark Romance

Her Savior: A Dark Romance

Her Dom: A Dark Romance

The Viera Triplets (COMPLETED)

Dirty Pleasures: A Dad’s Best Friend Romance

Come Closer: A Romantic Suspense

Six Years Later: A Second Chance Romance

Baby Fever Series (COMPLETED)

Leaving to Stay: A Rock Star Bad Boy Romance

Accidental Soulmates: A Vegas Accidental Marriage Romance

Can’t Get Over You: An Enemies-To-Lovers Romance

Marrying The Wrong Twin: A Billionaire Marriage Mistake Romance

Deep in the Mountains: A Mountain Man Romance

Standalone

A Weekend with the Mountain Man

Snow and the Seven Men

Romance Collection

Love, Again

Mercury Billionaires

Sinful Like Us

About the Author

Nicole Casey is a Contemporary Romance Author born and based in The City of Angels. She writes steamy contemporary romance with a happily ever after.

When she isn’t penning sultry scenes, Nicole Casey loves getting lost in her daydreams, going for long nighttime walks, and fine dining. She is also a red wine aficionada and bookworm. Above all, she enjoys nothing more than spending quality time with her loved ones in both human and cat form.

Subscribe to Nicole Casey's newsletter to get her steamy romance story and be the first to hear about new releases: https://dl.bookfunnel.com/lzcjb30i6u