Stolen: The Prequel

by Dani René

  The fact that she’s not dead tells me she’s a fighter.

  I knew she would be. There was a blaze in her beautiful dark eyes that told me she’s going to take everything thrown at her and mold it into something that will eventually allow her to fight her way out of here. The only problem is she’ll never get out.

  We’ll all die in this place.

  My gaze is locked on her body, the way it lifts and drops as she breathes evenly. Her long hair is matted with something. I’m not sure if it’s blood or semen, but it’s sticky, making her dark locks knot.

  I shiver when she does. Her small feet are curled under her ass, the bones of her spine are protruding against her luminescent flesh. It’s a haunting image to see a woman, well, a girl, lie there near death, and even more disturbing to still want her. Still desire her.

  The silence hanging in the air is heavy with the chill the concrete walls offer. There are no luxuries in any of the rooms. Each cell — a gray square space that only has one bucket for bodily functions and a steel bed with a worn-out mattress to offer some form of comfort for the girls.

  It’s been a long while since he brought a boy back. I recall the last boy who came here; he was bought by a man who was in his early fifties.

  They’re all rich. Each of them with more money than God. And darkness within their souls no amount of prayer can expunge.

  “Do you watch?” A voice comes from the bed, startling me. I shift onto my knees, leaning on the edge of the mattress with my gaze glued to the girl.

  She shifts, wincing when her body falls onto her back. I want to touch her, to feel her milky skin, but I don’t dare. I know if I do, I may not be able to stop. The thought makes me hard. My jeans are uncomfortable now.

  Thinking about her pink flesh, open and wet, I cough, hiding the groan that rumbles in my chest.

  “You’re hurt,” I tell her, stating the obvious. I admonish myself silently. I feel almost immature beside her. I don’t know how to be around a woman. Especially one who makes me feel things without being in the dungeon where my father forced the most horrific things on me. The psychological games he plays are for his clients to benefit from. The depraved acts the men and women who come in here to experience are far worse than anyone can imagine.

  With each session he administers on the girls, he ensures they’re no longer able to fight back. That they’re just broken toys. And he made sure I’m as cold as he is, but what he doesn’t know is I still have my heart. He may have darkened my soul, but I’m a lot stronger than he gives me credit for. And he just doesn’t need to find out what I did to Caia.

  The mansion he’s owned all his life, inherited from my grandad, is beautiful, decked in expensive furniture, but what people don’t know is the darkness lurking beneath. The rooms where the girls are held, and the dungeon where the sessions happen, have been hidden from plain sight. When the clients arrive, they enter through a secret door and exit from it as well.

  I look at the girl once more. She offers me a small smile. It’s an honest, sweet gesture which angers me. There’s something about her that makes me weak, makes me want to kiss and hold her.

  I rise to my full height, stalking toward the corner, then back again. I do so a few times, pacing. There’s an ache in my chest, and I hit it with my fist. As hard as I can, I continue the attack, but it does nothing to help my desires.

  “What are you doing?” she questions from behind me. I can’t look at her. I’m so fucked up, the moment I turn I’ll hurt her. I’ll fucking break her just to hear her cry. And it’s not because I like hurting her, but it’s the only way I know how. My mind has been fragmented so many times the only way I know how to get off is by pain, inflicting it, watching someone do it. I hear the springs of the bed creak, and I’m certain she’s going to come to me.

  “Don’t come near me.” My command is harsh, as cold as the room we’re in. I’m dressed in warm clothes, jeans, socks, and boots, with a heavy woolen hoodie. But the girl, the pretty dolly, is only dressed in panties. They’re also bloody. I’d looked at them earlier. I’d traced my finger over them while I’d jerked my dick. I’d stroked myself in my fist while I touched her bloody cunt.

  “Why are you being like this? After what we did?” she questions, but she doesn’t come near me. Her obedience is perfect, just what he’d like. The man who’s now her owner until someone comes along and pays good money for her.

  “Don’t act like we’re a couple, little bird. You’re a good fuck. Don’t go falling in love with me.”

  “I don’t fall in love with monsters,” she says softly. “I have no choice but to be here, it seems. All I wanted was to talk to someone. After what happened between us, I thought—”

  “You thought wrong, so stop talking and just let me finish up in here. Tomorrow, you’re going to be taken back to him. There’s no longer anything I can do.”

  I still, turning to face her. The movement is slow, almost wary because I don’t know if she’s actually there. If she’s real. But I did fuck her. I felt her break around my cock, and I savored it. I reveled in taking her violently, and she in turn moaned my name even though she didn’t come.

  “My father is the owner of a tech company in Miami,” she starts talking again, but I ignore her. “But, I mean, he’s not a good person.” She sighs, the sound sad, but there’s also frustration clear in her tone. “Is this because of him? What am I doing here? Please, talk to me.” She looks at me as she questions me as if I should feel something for her.

  I don’t.

  My nonresponse is met with a gentle gaze. We’re not friends. We never will be. She won’t live long enough to be anything to me, but the way she regards me, it’s as if I’ve known her my whole life.

  A knock on the door has her shooting to the bed, the squeaky springs under the threadbare mattress echo in the room, and I cringe. I don’t know who’s at the door, but all I can hope for is that it’s not my father.

  When I pull it open, I find my best friend standing on the other side.

  “Hey,” he says, his lopsided grin greeting me, and I exhale, allowing the tension in my shoulders to ease slightly.

  “Does he know you’re here?” River shakes his head and glances over my shoulder. I know he can see her, and I wonder if he’s jealous that I’m here and not in bed. “Did you want to head out?”

  I shake my head no. I should want to go, but the thought of leaving Caia alone here only sets my nerves on edge.

  “Hi.” Her voice is sweet behind me as she greets River.

  He pushes by me, entering the small space, and I grip the handle of the door in fear, hoping my father doesn’t decide to walk down to the girls’ cells to check up on them this morning. I glance at the time on my wristwatch and note it’s almost five in the morning. He’ll be here soon.

  “We can’t stay long.”

  River nods in understanding. We both watch Caia for a moment as if she’s the show and we’re paid attendees.

  “Will I see you tomorrow?” Her question jars me. None of the other girls who have been in here have ever asked me that.

  “Maybe.” I tug open the door, leaving enough space for River to exit, and I follow him out. I don’t look at her again when I click the door shut behind me.

  “You like her,” he observes.

  I shrug, not looking at him as I respond, “She’ll be dead tomorrow.”

  10

  Caia

  Alone.

  I’ve been alone for a long while. I can’t tell if it’s night or day. The space I’m in offers some artificial light, but I can’t see outside. The thick concrete walls have kept me prisoner. My back aches. It stings as I move, and I try my best to recall what happened when I was bound to the metal bed.

  “You’re such a pretty little toy,” a gruff voice from behind me speaks. A small trolley is rolled closer. On it is a computer, which is currently black. The screen is dead, and I wish I was.

  I’m still sick from the images I saw earlier. Fro
m the girl being beheaded. There was a sick satisfaction on the man’s face as he did it, as if he found pleasure in doing what he did.

  I don’t speak now. I know it’s pointless. A cold device is pressed against me, and I feel my body opening, the object slipping inside my core.

  “She’s a virgin,” the man says. I can’t tell the difference between the two anymore. There’s no distinct change in tone, and I wonder if I’m losing my mind. A small sharp prick against my shoulder shoots something warm and languid through me. My muscles are limp, and I find I can no longer move my limbs.

  “There, there,” a voice coos. Then a large, hairy hand reaches for the computer, and the screen lights up with images. Scrolling from one to the next of similar scenes to earlier, it plays on a loop, and I can’t move my eyes. They’re watering from tears, but I can’t close them.

  That’s when a vibrating object is placed at my entrance. Against the spot of my body that sends pleasurable tingles through me.

  “You’ll learn to play the game, little one,” the man tells me with confidence. A click sounds behind me, but I can’t move. Frozen. Captive. A prisoner. I’m stolen.

  When the screen changes, a video appears full screen, and the tears I’d been blinking away burn a path down my cheeks onto the cold metal gurney.

  Once more, a man walks on screen. As he undresses, something is pushed inside me, tearing through me so harshly I cry out, the sound ricocheting off the walls.

  The sound is turned up on the computer, and I’m met with the old man grunting inside the throat of a girl who looks so familiar. A girl whom I’ve known my whole life. And I recall the moment the man moves to offer us a view of her pretty green eyes—the image of my sister.

  There’s blood dripping from her nose, but she’s lying upside down, and I watch in horror as she’s violated once more by the man who turns to the camera and chuckles as his cock is lodged in her throat.

  My heart catapults wildly when his face comes on screen, and the vibrator against my clit is turned up harshly, causing pleasure and pain to skitter through me like a ten-pound weight.

  An orgasm rocks me when I look into the eyes of my father, and all I can do is succumb to the force of agony that I’m thoroughly fucking broken. I’ve been torn from a normal life.

  I’m severed.

  The door creaks open, and I’m met with the deep blue eyes of the man who has been my captor for the past few days . . . weeks? His dark hair is a stark contrast to the asphalt color walls. He doesn’t say anything, merely shuts the door and heads to the bucket in the corner. It’s empty. I haven’t eaten anything in the past few days. I don’t recall drinking anything either. My body is weak, and I know there’s no way I can fight my way out of here.

  “You’ll get lunch shortly,” he bites out coldly. There’s something strange about him, something I can’t place my finger on. When he turns to regard me once more, he sees my face is glistening in the low light of the oil lamp he’s carrying. “Are you crying?”

  I don’t want to tell him I am. I don’t want to admit to feeling broken, shattered. I don’t want to tell him what I saw. But something tells me he knows. Surely, he does.

  “I asked you a question.”

  “Yes, of course I’m crying. I’m locked in hell with the devil and his foot soldiers, and I am wounded beyond repair.”

  He stalks toward me, and I’m certain he’s going to hurt me, but he stops just short of my bed. He leans in close, his face right in mine. I meet those eyes that remind me of freedom, of the clear blue sky and the cool ocean waters.

  “If you cry, he’ll only make it worse.”

  “What do you care?” I bite out in frustration.

  “Did you come when you watched the video?” he smirks. A cold, cruel grin curls his lips. “Did your little cunt get all wet and achy?” He leans in closer, his mouth almost on mine. “And when you came, did you cry out for God?”

  “Fuck you!” I spit, the clear saliva hitting his face just below one of his beautiful eyes. The man is sinful, like the devil in disguise.

  “Your next training session is today. After lunch, you’ll learn just how much worse it can get.” With that, he spins on his heel, and I want to crawl to him and beg him to free me. My mind is awash with confusion, everything is blurry and cloudy. The door opens. Another young man walks inside carrying a tray. He sets it on the bed beside me and they leave me alone.

  I don’t know what to do, but the food on the tray is my only sustenance, and I wolf it down in the hopes it will strengthen me. I need to fight. I have to get out of here.

  The bread is soft and warm, the butter melting on it making my mouth water. I stuff it in my mouth, not bothering to chew. I need to eat, and the ravenous feeling overwhelms me. Tears trickle from my eyes once more as I revel in the flavors on my tongue.

  I drink the water from the mug on the tray. It satiates my thirst like I’ve been given life once more. Moments later the tray is empty. I lift it in order to place it on the floor, but as soon as I attempt to stand, my legs give out and I fall to my knees, the metal clanking loudly. My ears feel as if they’re about to shatter, and that’s when my eyes flutter closed once more.

  11

  Drake

  “You’re ready, son.” My father glares at me. Malcolm has been a man of many faces. Most think he’s an upstanding citizen, but those who know who he truly is, down to his rotten soul, they’re the ones who respect him more than anything. They fear him. They fucking love him.

  And you know why?

  Because he offers them what they want. Fantasies that would make the most fucked-up asshole cringe.

  Depraved.

  Vile.

  Filthy.

  “You want me to do it?”

  He snaps his gaze to me, those blue orbs that match mine and Dante’s pierce me, and I feel it down to my fucking soul. At twenty-five, I should be out chasing girls and partying up a storm. Instead, he’s imprisoned me as much as he has the rest of those who work here.

  “If you’re a pussy and can’t do it, you can watch,” he grunts, waving his hand at Ivor who’s been in this dungeon for more than eight years. The large man who resembles an ogre is fast on his feet, and he’s got me in a grip so tight it steals my breath.

  “I can, just let me go, Dad,” I try to reason with him, but he’s already got the opera playing through the speakers. “Ivor, just let me go. I can do the training.” All my pleading falls on deaf ears. As much as I’ve been working for my father, he’s still in charge. I’m pushed onto a steel contraption similar to the seating at a sports stadium at the far wall, which offers me a clear view of the table he’s about to mutilate Caia on.

  A flannel gag is shoved into my mouth, and I spit it out immediately. Ivor knows better than to attempt this shit with me. He may be my father’s right-hand man, but I’m the son of Malcolm Savage, and one day I’ll make sure he pays for the shit he’s done.

  The door flies open, and one of my father’s men stalks in with her passed out, and I realize the lunch she’d eaten must’ve ensured it. She’s placed on the table; a cold, metal surgeon’s table, and my body turns rigid.

  Another person is brought inside, and I meet his gaze. My best friend. The only person who’s stood by me besides my brother. I hope Dante doesn’t come downstairs. He doesn’t need to watch this. Even though we’re the same age bar a couple of minutes in between, I feel overly protective of my brother.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” I hiss at River who finds his place beside me.

  “I’m not letting you go through this alone.” His words are a salve. But I know they’ll never heal the brokenness inside me.

  “Ah, young River. You’re here to enjoy the show?” My father glares at him, and I know he doesn’t like my best friend. We’ve never learned who River’s family is, and over the years, he’s become like part of the family. Only, I know my feelings for my best friend run far deeper.

  I know it’s about to go downhill when two
men stalk into the space, bodyguards, and they’re followed by three men and two women. All dressed immaculately, they seat themselves not far from the table.

  We’re not to move. My father’s rules have always been very specific. Even though I can physically walk out of here at any moment, I know I can’t because he’ll do something he’s threatened me with all my life. He’ll kill River and Dante. Two people who mean more to me than anything. So, I sit.

  Watching the scene play out before me. One I’ve watched so many times. The girl is lifted onto an apparatus that has her bound to an X-shaped wooden cross. She’s naked, and her supple body causes my cock to throb.

  That’s why we’re all broken here. Our minds have been fractured, and in the gaps where sanity should lie, we’ve been drenched in the depravity. Her eyes flutter open, and they land on mine as if they’re opposite poles of a magnet.

  12

  Caia

  The gathering watches me cry. The heat of the blood dripping from between my legs scorches me. I can’t move, my legs are useless, my brain screaming at them to do something, but they can’t.

  “Please,” I whimper. It’s almost inaudible, but he hears me. I know he does. All I receive in response is a chuckle. I’m shut down, completely numb, I feel nothing. I pray for my end. I pray for the pain. Perhaps it will wake me from this nightmare. Maybe, just maybe, I can be saved, and this is all just in my mind. But how would my imagination think up the depraved acts that have been happening?

  “What do you think, ladies?” he questions the onlookers. The two women dressed in beautiful evening gowns have the material bunched up to their hips with their legs spread wide and two boys who look to be my age between their thighs. The men seated beside the women have their gazes locked on me. Their hands move over their thick erections as they grunt and smirk, looking at me with the hunger of wolves. They’re predators, nothing but animals.