Savage Chains: Scarred

by Caris Roane

  “What stamina. I swear I haven’t seen someone of your potential in more than a century. You’ll do extremely well on the block, just wait and see. But you’ll need to rein in your spirit if you want to survive, and don’t ever say I didn’t warn you.”

  Her vision began to blacken. As Angelica slipped into unconsciousness once more, she saw the woman smile, a final image she’d never forget.

  Chapter Two

  On Friday night Reyes straightened immaculate cuffs, held together by black onyx links. His Brioni tux, ordered months ago, fit like a glove and looked like the fortune it had cost. Shoes, Italian leather. Watch, limited-edition Cartier.

  He’d left nothing to chance. What he accomplished at the auction tonight would be the final door he’d use to enter the Starlin world for good. He’d worked toward this moment for a long time, building his bad-boy, player reputation and finally gaining membership.

  But having access to all the Starlin events was only the beginning and he knew that. There could be no easing off. If anything, he needed to work just a little harder to make sure that the front man for the operation, Damien Engles, totally bought his cover, the reason he intended to purchase a slave tonight.

  Once he had Engles’s support, he could begin pushing the boundaries of the corporation to find out once and for all exactly who was behind the Starlin Group. Only then would he know what steps he’d need to take to destroy an organization that had enslaved, tortured, and murdered hundreds of thousands of innocent people, human and vampire.

  His heart thrummed with excitement and with a familiar deep need to pay-it-back-in-fucking-full. The slavery he’d endured himself for a full century had created his profound wish to change the status quo. Slavery had gone on for millennia and maybe that was part of the problem: Time had given it a certain acceptability and tolerance.

  Not that he cared. He had one purpose in his life, and he meant to see it through even if he died in the attempt.

  His reasons were personal since he’d never found his captor. She’d eluded him all this time, staying one step ahead of him, living her life in secrecy, perhaps knowing that once he found her, he’d kill her. However, she had a lot of powers in her arsenal, and one of them was the ability to create intricate disguises.

  She’d bought him at auction, or so he’d been told. He hadn’t been conscious by the time he’d been taken to the actual bidding block. He’d fought his captors hard, something that had appealed to her sadistic nature. The only way they’d been able to manage him was by binding him with a dozen chains, all enhanced with preternatural power.

  Sweet Dove, the only name he’d ever known her by, had offered the highest bid in sex-slave history. Then she’d torn him down, one drop of blood at a time, one inflicted wound after another, depriving him of sleep and of sustenance, until he’d become a mass of incoherent thoughts.

  She’d rebuilt him with sex, chaining him up and making him come repeatedly with every part of her body, until his soul shut off and he became the animal she’d craved.

  He’d engaged with her then, fully and completely, holding nothing back.

  Yet some part of him had remained intact, and began a painfully slow resurgence, a process that took over a century. By the time he escaped Sweet Dove’s cavern lair, he’d had only one thought: to get rid of her kind forever, the sex slavers that used humans and fellow vampires like animals.

  Maybe he hadn’t found her yet, but in the meantime he’d undermine the world she’d helped create and no doubt continued to sustain with her wealth and patronage. As far as he knew she had no association with Starlin, but this arm of the sex-slave trade functioned in a way that felt very familiar to him, with layers of secrecy he hadn’t seen since his time with her. Though he believed that a man headed up this organization, somehow he wouldn’t have been surprised to find she was a major contributor, at least on some level.

  Half an hour later he arrived at the auction site, deep inside the underground cavern system. The large ballroom-sized space was beautifully decorated with carved slabs of polished black granite embedded in the rock walls and surrounded by intricate carvings. The floor was made of the same granite. The house displayed large photos of each of the slaves on easels spread around the room, so that buyers could look over the twenty women who would be auctioned that night.

  Servers came up to him, offering drinks and anything else he wanted, bare-breasted beautiful women and men who always revealed what they had to offer. Some even looked him over and made overtures.

  He refused them all, politely, but carried a whiskey as he moved around the large cavern.

  Given that he’d been gradually making himself known in the darker sex-slave clubs, the presence of so many owners at the auction with their slaves in tow seemed par for the course. Most of the captives wore painful collars with leashes attached and very little or no clothing; they bore plenty of bruises, cuts, and bite marks. Public sexual exchange was a given, part of the allure of the lifestyle, so that couches in different configurations were scattered around the room, as well as wingback chairs.

  Like the club he’d been at earlier in the week, moans sounded through the room.

  The truth was, when he’d first witnessed the overt nature of the lifestyle, he’d questioned his ability to go through with his plans. As sadistic as Sweet Dove had been, she hadn’t taken him to public events like these and put him on display. Of course, she’d held brutal private parties and he’d endured much worse than anything he was witnessing tonight. But what he’d learned later was that because Sweet Dove had feared losing him to an aggressive competitor, who might have done anything to get his hands on Reyes, she’d kept him hidden.

  Now, after decades of being in the clubs while he built his reputation, he was fairly immune to the suffering around him, but only because he made nightly promises to himself that he would get rid of this scourge no matter the price.

  Most of the female slaves paraded by proud owners were vampires, prized because they could outlast their human counterparts by decades. But for those men and a few women who wanted the excitement of the more fragile human slaves, who bruised and screamed more easily, the auctions featuring the best human wares brought almost everyone to the monthly events, if only to watch the bidding wars.

  Some of the slaves sold tonight would die quickly at the two-week mark, a weakness of the human race that couldn’t be predicted or helped.

  Others would perish at a six-month transition, another human phenomenon and one that many who enjoyed the slave lifestyle paid to watch, a sort of snuff version of the vampire world. Fortunes changed hands over the betting that went on during transition weeks.

  When Reyes had escaped, he’d changed his identity, and because Sweet Dove had kept him locked away, and also because he’d shaved off his long hair, no one recognized him now. The facial scruff he wore also enhanced his altered appearance.

  He worked out as well, so that his presence tended to dominate most rooms, so different from what he’d known as a slave. Sweet Dove had kept him in a weakened state. About a decade ago, he’d added a series of tattoos to further establish his new identity. He now sported a hawk with wings that stretched across the top of his back, and a collage covered his upper right arm and shoulder, of foliage and symbols that had great meaning to him.

  Now he was here, playing his role as a slaver and a Starlin member. Many came up to congratulate him and even to offer the use of their slaves. He thanked everyone, his face almost as impassive as the slaves on their leashes.

  He ignored the sex going on all around him and took his time viewing the pictures of the slaves who would soon be auctioned. He paused before each nude image, feigning deep interest, but he barely looked at the women. They were heavily made up, another sign of their enslavement, but even looking felt like a violation.

  The auction had two parts. The first involved the individual slaves; in the second, several groups of five women sold for one price.

  He’d already ma
de up his mind to focus his efforts on purchasing a group of slaves since he’d save five women instead of just one.

  He continued to move slowly, sipping his whiskey. The auction had become a time to preen, something popular among this wealthy set. Most would go to Engles’s after-auction party to celebrate the purchases that would take place tonight. Those who successfully bought a slave, or even a group of slaves, would be expected to show off the prize, and especially to demonstrate dominance.

  He’d made a complete circuit by the time he reached the last photograph, a woman with dark-brown hair and, as he’d come to expect, heavily made-up eyes. For a moment, however, as he stared at the portrait, his mind filled with flashes of Angelica at the Ocean Club, of her red dress and soft lips as she kissed him.

  He stepped closer to the photo, frowning now. He wasn’t focusing very well, and a strange red haze had started to flow over his eyes. His arms tensed up, then his thighs, his body reacting to what he was looking at before his mind could catch up to what he was actually seeing.

  The woman in this photo looked like Angelica.

  A terrible sinking sensation grabbed his heart and pulled hard. He shook his head once. He couldn’t believe it was true, this couldn’t be true, couldn’t be her.

  Angelica.

  He’d told her to leave the place and never come back. Then she’d kissed him. He could still feel her lips on his, a soft humming against his mouth.

  Afterward, he’d watched her leave the club.

  Angelica.

  He wanted to be mistaken, but he would know those eyes, that nose, the shape of her lips as well as his own. She’d been captured by the Starlin Group despite his efforts. How the hell had this happened? How had he not known?

  “She’s the one.”

  He turned, his mind still free-falling, to stare into Engles’s face. “Pardon?”

  The man narrowed his gaze, then took a sip from his tumbler. “Just thought I’d let you know that she’s mine. The Starlin acquisition team who found her somewhere in the States said they had a live one, a real fighter.”

  Angelica would have fought her captors. He knew that about her, knew her spirit would be part of her appeal. She might seem innocent and have a kind, even vulnerable appearance, but she also had strength of will and courage. Hell, she’d kissed him despite his abrasive attempts to get rid of her.

  He needed to adjust quickly to this reality, to pull himself together, because the man claiming Angelica for tonight’s auction was Damien Engles. He was the one man whose good side Reyes needed to cultivate above everyone else in this soul-sucking room.

  Taking a deep breath, he reordered his senses.

  He shoved his hand out and Engles took it. “Brogan Reyes and you’re Master Engles. Very nice to meet you and I want to thank you for my membership. I look forward to many years of, shall we say, pleasurable association.” He even smiled.

  His mind might be in turmoil, but yes, he could smile. Decades of service to Sweet Dove had built up a fine skill set.

  Engles held his gaze. The man met him eye-to-eye, straight on, putting him at a similar six-five. His grip was solid. He then added a bit more pressure before he released Reyes’s hand, a familiar signal that he considered himself top dog and wanted Reyes to know it.

  Starlin’s front man wore a tailored tux, finely cut but of a shimmering dark-blue silk that made him stand out, no doubt by design. He had dark-brown wavy hair that he combed away from his face, thick arched brows, and round, almost innocent brown eyes. His nose was large and aquiline, giving him the look of a predatory bird. He had a deep cleft in his chin. Oddly, he looked like the man he was, as though even his features had conspired to reveal a man of violent intention with just enough innocence to lure his victims into a false sense of safety.

  Reyes turned back to Angelica’s photo and he sipped his drink. “She’s very beautiful.”

  “Yes, but it’s the expression in her eyes, don’t you think? I know what they put these women through to get them ready for auction, yet in this photo just look at the glint of rage in her eyes. Yes, she’s the one.”

  Reyes took deep breaths. He knew Engles’s preference for fighters, just like Sweet Dove. He wanted someone he could break to his will.

  The thought of Angelica falling into Engles’s hands nearly undid his resolution. He didn’t want her hurt like that, her mind and soul destroyed, her body tortured. In addition, Engles’s human slaves never lived very long.

  But he had a job to do, a big one, that went way beyond what would happen here tonight—and that included Angelica’s fate.

  He had to stick to his plan, he had to remember that he was working to save thousands of women from the fate she would soon endure. Whatever happened tonight would be a tragedy for her, but he couldn’t jeopardize his mission for a lone human female.

  And if she survived her captivity, he’d make it his mission to find her and take her out of her hell, but right now, he needed to stay tough. More than just Angelica’s life was at stake.

  He lifted his drink to Engles. “I’m sure this woman will be all that you’re hoping for.”

  He’d intended to walk away, but Engles held him back. “Are you bidding tonight?”

  Reyes smiled, a broad comprehensive smile he’d learned to offer all those years ago. “I came for no other purpose, but I’m looking for more of, shall we say, a group experience.”

  Engles clapped him on the shoulder. “Good man.”

  He took one last look at Angelica’s photo and saw what Engles had meant and what would make her tonight’s star. She had a defiant expression in her eye. A slave with spirit always tempted the most sadistic owners. Angelica would have done better to have appeared broken and submissive because she would have gained one of the more humane owners. Her chances at survival would have increased tremendously.

  He felt sick in his gut suddenly, that the woman who had kissed him, who had for a brief moment filled him with something like hope, would be sold to Engles tonight.

  He cursed mentally as he signaled to one of the servers.

  “What can I get for you, master?”

  “Maker’s Mark, neat. Make it a double.”

  #

  Angelica feigned a drugged-out state in the hope of finding her way out of captivity. For the first time in a week, she was outside her prison cell, all her attention focused on her surroundings, on trying to figure out where she was. She searched every wall, looking for a doorway or some kind of access to the outside world. The trouble was, she seemed to be in some kind of cavern system, which severely limited the number of ways out.

  She stood in a long line of women, each dressed differently in strange costumes that left very little to the imagination.

  She now understood that she’d fallen into some kind of sex-slavery ring, operated within a very strange secret society, that kept its women inside a kind of prison. She didn’t know where she was or even what part of the world. She’d been one of dozens of women in the same situation, all held in separate cells in the same prison-like facility.

  Her captors had put her through hell over the past several days. She’d been stripped of her clothes and tied down, then beaten for screaming that she wanted out. To her surprise, none of the other women had put up such a racket, but then maybe her screams when tortured had taught the rest to keep quiet.

  In the end they’d drugged her. At least then, she’d slept.

  But a few hours ago the male servant assigned to her had prodded her awake and forced coffee down her throat. The final prepping had begun, as she was bathed, manicured, coiffed, made up, and finally adorned with her costume, such as it was. She wore only a headdress, draped with a long gauzy floor-length scarf in a leopard print. She could appreciate the artistry, except that she was otherwise completely naked.

  All the other women had adopted submissive attitudes, which pissed her off. If they all fought their captors together, maybe they’d have a chance of escape.

  The li
ne moved intermittently, and the several male servants in charge spoke quietly into headphones, prodding the women as needed. No one talked. No one dared. The men carried Tasers with them.

  At the same time a number of shirtless men, real bodybuilder types, who wore black leather pants and carried whips, lined the walls. She didn’t need to be a genius to understand the threat. Even so, she kept looking for a means of escape.

  If only she could find a doorway, anything she could slip through, no matter where it led; she’d take the chance. Every instinct screamed that this would be her only opportunity to escape.

  Hope dimmed, however, when the line reached what looked like the backstage area of some kind of theater. She hadn’t seen a single door or hallway—nothing that could have taken her away from this.

  But what were they doing in a theater? Would each of them be required to perform in some kind of strip show?

  She glanced down at her breasts, beaded in the cold cave air, and she would have laughed if her situation hadn’t been so horrific. If she was supposed to strip, what would that involve? Taking off the scarf?

  As she moved by the wings of the stage, past several rows of curtains and backdrops, she saw the first of the women walking down a runway of some kind followed by applause.

  Definitely a show of some kind.

  But the next words froze her heart. “We’ll begin the bidding on this fine Chinese ware at ten thousand dollars. Do I hear ten thousand? Yes, the gentleman on my left. Do I hear eleven? To the gentlemen in the green blazer. Very nice. Twelve?”

  When she’d first realized that she was being held a prisoner, she’d had many thoughts about what was happening to her. But not one of them had involved being called “ware” by an auctioneer, or hearing an audience applauding each bid.

  #

  Reyes sat at a small glass table, one knee crossed over the other. A server hovered nearby just for him. On the other side of the stage, Engles sat directly opposite and had already raised his glass, making it clear to Reyes yet again that he expected no competition for his bid.