by Box Set
“The only shiny objects your body shall adorn will be chains, my sweet, innocent Beauty.”
Earrings ripped from their lobes, as devastating screams filled the dungeon and blood trickled down her neck. That was the first thing he took. Her fucking earrings. Spinning, I moved to the table of horrors and looked over the objects that had been used to torture me. Reluctantly, I placed the knife on the table and picked up a pair of surgical scissors.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Algis screamed. “Put them down now, or I swear once I’m free I’ll jam them up your pussy so hard they’ll split you in half.” The threat was real, but I took comfort in the fact he was chained, and I was not.
Moving forward I reached for his hair, and pulled his head to one side. Algis struggled and Hart swiftly moved in behind him, holding his head in place with rough hands.
Tugging on his sagging earlobe, I held the scissors up while Algis continued to scream obscenities, flailing about in his chains. Excitement made my hands quiver with impatient fervor right before I cut his ear, the sharp blade of the scissors snipping through the flesh like butter. Screams filled with obscenities quickly changed to screams of agony, and I smiled as blood quickly pooled at the wound, before dripping with morbid beauty down his neck. The flesh between my fingers felt supple and slippery, and I threw it to the concrete floor. Moving to the other side, I cut the other fleshy lobe, finding Algis’ cries helped drown out the memories of my torture. While the world around me echoed with sound, my mind was blissfully quiet.
Blood coated my fingers, and I flicked it away as I let the scissors slip from my hand. The moment was hypnotic, my mind, heart, and body at peace for the first time in a long time. Hart watched me with pure rapture. He liked my monster, and oddly enough, so did I. The room around me began to soften with a fog-like mist, and the sound of faint music played from somewhere far away. It wasn’t pop music, but classical, piano, the notes melodic and light. My peaceful mind played over the image of a girl dancing, her long blonde hair twisted into a tight bun, her face youthful and innocent. It was her. Enthralled by her presence in my thoughts, I winced at the sound of Algis’ screams that tried to take the moment away from me. Turning, I moved swiftly from the room, down the gloomy hallway and up the narrow stairs, pushing through the door at the top and back out into the light.
HART
Watching Beauty’s retreating form, I let go of the greasy hair I’d been holding onto in a vice like grip and let Algimas’ face fall forward. A wretched wail fell from his lips, drivel mingled with sobs that made no sense, filled the otherwise silence of the room. My heart was beating heavy and fast, my cock aching, balls tight. Watching Beauty cut into Algimas had been magical. Moving around to face the snivelling arsehole, I rotated my neck to work out the kinks and stood before him.
“You’ve no doubt made many bad decisions in your miserable life,” I murmured, catching his attention. Red rimmed eyes greeted me. “But, Gina and Beauty would have to be your most regretful decisions, I would say, hmmm?”
“Fuck you.”
Chuckling at his complete lack of originality, I pulled my fist back and punched the man, his rib cracking beneath my knuckles. Algimas’ screams were an arena-worthy performance, music to my ears. I wanted to give him more, I wanted to be the one to hurt him, the dance between victim and predator a delicate transfer of misery and pain. To quiet my own monster, I needed it, but he was Beauty’s, and I wouldn’t take from her.
Turning, I left the room, curious at what that faraway look had been in Beauty’s gaze before she abruptly fled. Pinky promise . . . shaking my head, I ascended the stairs. It had been such a childish request, though she was definitely all woman, and when she presented me with her little finger, there hadn’t been anything but a grave expression on her face. It was important to her, and that made it important to me.
I found her in the living room again, pressing almost feverishly at the buttons of a hand held remote, pointing it towards the impressive stereo system mounted into the wall. Huffing with frustration, she threw the remote which hit the sofa with an unsatisfying thump. Moving forward, I studied the system and found it could be blue-toothed to a device. I picked up the remote, turned it on, then pulled my cell phone from my pocket.
“What are you in the mood for?” I asked.
She spun to face me, as if only now realizing I was in the room with her.
“Beethoven, ‘Moonlight Sonata’.”
The request surprised me, but I searched for the piece of music, found it, connected to Algimas’ system, and pressed play. Turning the speakers up, I watched the euphoria fall upon Beauty’s features.
“She danced,” she whispered.
“Who?” I asked, utterly intrigued.
Those beautiful doe eyes found mine, and the soft, peaceful smile that graced her lips almost knocked me from my feet.
“Lucy.”
The name wasn’t much more than a whisper, but it snagged my attention as I watched Beauty begin to dance. Not like one might do at a night club, but classical ballet. Her feet moved, rising to her toes, somewhat robotic at first before soon becoming graceful and fluid. Her arms extended, almost like wings, her fingers hypnotic with their nimble movement, still coated in Algis’ blood. The arch of her neck seemed to lengthen, and her entire body became light as a feather. She flowed like some sort of a nymph around the room, and I was captivated. There had been a day when I vowed I’d never be held captive again, but here, in this moment, she had me. Beauty ensnared me, this perplexing combination of delicate and violent, and she wasn’t even trying. More bewildering was the fact I wasn’t fighting it.
Collapsing back into the leather sofa, I watched, unable to look away, her rapturous performance much more powerful than any strip show I’d ever encountered. Lucy. She was the girl before Beauty, the innocent little flower Algimas had stolen and destroyed. No, he hadn’t destroyed her, he’d simply buried her under hate and pain, allowing Beauty to come forth. I’d heard the saying “dance like no one is watching,” but I’d never found any sentiment or understanding in those words until now. Beauty danced as if she hadn’t a care in the world and I watched her as if she could be my world. The thought slammed into me hard, knocking the breath from my lungs. This girl, who I knew nothing about, a slave, who held my attention like no other, she was more: more than a casual fuck, more than a friend, more than a lover, she had the power to be my everything.
The song finished and moved on to another, and while Beauty’s mind and heart was willing, her body quickly became exhausted. Her arms were limp, her breathing labored, and a sheen of perspiration made the flyaway strands of her white-blonde hair stick to her neck and face. Using the remote, I stopped the music, and as if cutting the strings on a marionette puppet, her tired arms dropped, and she stilled.
“Let’s eat.”
***
The scent of grilled steak and baked potatoes filled the kitchen. There were other meats and ingredients filling the fridge and pantry, but I stuck to something I knew well enough not to fuck up. My knife skills were unparalleled, but throw me in a kitchen with ovens, measuring cups, and whisks, and I failed spectacularly. Beauty sat at the kitchen breakfast bar, practically salivating over the food I’d just placed down in front of her. As soon as a steak knife and fork were within reach, she began to devour the meal as if it were her last. Lifting a longneck of some foreign beer to my lips, I watched in fascination as she ate much like she danced, like no one was watching.
“I only remember bits about her,” she said through a mouthful of food. “My thoughts are muddled, and I’m not sure what’s real and what I’ve made up.”
She was talking about herself as if she and Lucy were two separate people. The trauma she had suffered no doubt causing her to compartmentalize each identity as a way to protect herself. It was something with which I was intimately acquainted. That time in my life was someone else’s hell. It was almost as though another boy had suffered, and from that he
ll, I’d been born. Hart Cordell, murderer, torturer, your worst nightmare.
“What do you remember?” I wondered out loud, intrigued by everything that was Lucy and Beauty.
She shrugged, ignoring the beer I’d set before her and taking a long drink of water. “Dancing, of course . . . school, but just bits and pieces, like fuzzy photographs, not continuous movies.” Her brow crinkled in the middle with thought. “Lucy told me about a woman, and I feel like she’s in my memories, but then again maybe I created her from the things Lucy told me. She’s Spanish, old, her hair is grey, and she’s full of curves.” Beauty scrunched up her nose and gave her head a sharp shake. Looking at me through her thick lashes, chin lowered and a firm frown in place, she whispered, “Do you think I’m crazy?”
“This world you and I live in is broken, Beauty. It would be highly unusual if your mind wasn’t a little broken, too.”
She nodded thoughtfully, unperturbed by the fact that I had just admitted she might be a little bit mad. Maybe she would just as happily embrace that madness. I knew I was prepared to, in fact, I found it quite endearing. Leaning her head to one side, she studied me carefully. “You said I have a monster in me. I can feel it.” Her hand pressed to her chest, and she rubbed as if whatever lay within it caused her pain. “I think my monster lives because of Algis, it wants to hurt him for hurting me.” Beauty was quiet for long moments before she continued, “Is that the same as your monster? Did someone hurt you to make your monster want revenge?”
Her boldness to ask such a question shouldn’t have surprised me, yet it did. I wasn’t accustomed to such candid questions. Beauty was undoubtedly intelligent, but every now and again, she’d speak with such frank honesty it was almost childlike. The layers to this wounded doll were enthralling. My world was all kinds of fucked up, and the monster inside me was born from pure evil. It was a part of me now, wrapped around my soul and spread through my heart with such brutal and savage beauty.
“Let’s just say,” I murmured after a long pause where she continued to watch me expectantly, “I was very young when I unleashed my monster for the first time, and the entire experience left scars inside me.” Placing my hand over my chest, I showed her where the monster dwelled.
One of her dainty hands went to her own chest and she rubbed soothingly, as if trying to pacify the rage within. A crease appeared between her brows as she concentrated on whatever thought was churning away behind those pretty eyes.
“I know that’s not the way it’s supposed to be.”
Almost missing the whispered words, I pushed my empty plate aside and leaned forward.
“What’s not the way it’s supposed to be?”
“Sex.” Her pale cheeks deepened to a beautiful, red glow.
“Really?” I arched a brow her way, somewhat taken aback by the fact this was something she wanted to talk about.
“Lucy had an orgasm once, with a boy she danced with.”
Glazed eyes full of memories left mine to search for something over my shoulder, something far away and almost out of reach.
“Don’t leave me hanging, Beauty,” I purred when she didn’t continue.
“Lucy’s dance partner was older, twenty maybe, and she had just turned fifteen. He touched her, used his hand to bring her pleasure.” It was far too young for a boy who was practically a man to be touching her. It galled me to think that so many men in her life had taken advantage of her, even before Algimas had taken the mother lode. Beauty’s lids lowered as she watched me under dark, sweeping lashes. “She liked it. It’s not supposed to be like Algis made it, he is a rapist who got off on pain.” Pools of grief filled her big eyes for just a fleeting moment. “He took what wasn’t his to take.” Pushing aside the sorrow, anger contorted her stunning features. “I fucking hate him. Why can’t I take his last breath? Her monster was snapping to be unleashed again, so soon after she’d begun her assault on Algimas.
“Because the man who is owed it . . . his sister suffered, too.” I found myself divulging information I wouldn’t normally reveal. The whys in my life didn’t matter. It was simply the way it was, and I refused to deviate from the job at hand, even for her.
“Algis took her, like he took me?” She gasped, wide eyes full of shock.
“Not exactly, but he was an instigator in her torment. Trust me, Beauty, Charlie Decena is owed Aglimas’ dying breath.”
Before I could say anything more, my cell phone began to vibrate against the granite bench top. It made Beauty jump, but she was quick to settle, turning her attention to the meal before her. Checking the display, I noted it was Henry, one of my men helping me keep the perimeter secure. Swiping the screen, I brought the phone to my ear.
“Boss, I’ve got Matis Matulevičius at the front gate. Should I intercept him or let him through?”
Matis was Algimas’ personal assistant, and also a private security guard. Former military, he was smart, strong, and if rumors were true, his mind was just as sick as Algimas’, maybe more so. Charlie had no interest in Matis, but glancing at Beauty’s damaged body, I wondered if we might have business with him alongside Algimas in the dungeon.
“Let him through,” I murmured before disconnecting the call, all the while never taking my eyes of Beauty. “Tell me about, Matis.”
BEAUTY
Memories of pain, blood, and tears slammed into my head, swallowing me into the inky darkness of torture and misery.
My body was jarred viciously back and forth as Matis pumped into me, my dry pussy splitting with searing heat each time he thrust. The bag over my head was sucked tight against my face as my starved lungs screamed for air. Another sharp, agonizing cut pierced the flesh on my shoulder, and I would have screamed had I been able to. My vision was distorted through the clear plastic, but it wasn’t enough to obscure Matis’ soulless black eyes and features strained with hate and lust as he leaned forward to lick the blood from the new incision in my flesh.
“Fucking bitch, you make me so fucking hard it makes me sick,” he spat as my vision finally began to waver.
“Beauty!”
With an unrestrained roar, I pulled myself from the memory and back into the kitchen where I’d been sitting with Hart. Somehow, I’d made my way to the cold tiles, my back pressed hard against the wall, my rapid breaths and out of control heart a swift reminder of how violent and vicious my memories could be. Hart ruthlessly grabbed my cheeks in the palms of his hands, demanding my full attention, his face set in a fierce scowl, his monster burning bright within the depths of his eyes.
“Let it out,” he demanded, not giving me an inch to move. “Unleash it.”
Matis’ abuse swirled around my mind, and with each horrific moment I recalled, my panic was replaced by burning anger. My palms that lay flat against the hard tiles curled into fists and moved to latch on to Hart’s forearms, fingernails digging into his flesh.
“He hurt me.” My voice was different. Deeper, with a texture as coarse as sandpaper.
“Then hurt him back.” Hart’s fury didn’t disappear, but his eyes did soften ever so slightly. His grip on my face gentled until he finally pulled away. My hands slid down his strong forearms until they slipped into Hart’s large, calloused ones. He tugged me to stand and grinned.
“Let’s introduce him to the new Beauty.”
***
Cold hands sat pressed together in my lap, my fingers knotted, worrying the quick of one nail. Sitting on the living room sofa, staring at the large, arched doorway that led from the wide, open entrance, I waited. Underlying hints of Algis’ clove cigarettes were more noticeable in here than any other room in the house. I hated that smell, the stench made me want to gag. Leaning against the fireplace, Hart rubbed his jaw, the clean-shaven face from the night before filled with a dusky shadow. His gun hung from his other hand in a loose grip that expressed a casual, confident manner. From where he stood, it was doubtful that Matis would notice him when he entered the room, his attention would likely be reserved for me. I w
as never allowed to take such casual liberties with Algis’ home, my place was on the floor.
The heavy slam of the front door indicated Matis was in the house. A combination of nerves and excitement assailed me, but one look at Hart calmed the incessant flutter. He was watching me, his intense gaze confident, his grip on the gun tightening. With one subtle nod, he assured me that everything would be okay, and I believed him. That trust could be my downfall. This stranger was a big, powerful man who could so easily overpower me. He could toss me to the wolves, even the one headed this way. Some long-buried instinct that reeked of hope told me he wouldn’t, though. I believed Hart might be a little like me, tragically broken. Or maybe I was a little like him, a savage creature.
Not wanting to give away Hart’s position, I waited for Matis, my eyes glued to the living room entrance. Thudding footsteps on the high polished tile grew closer and closer, the muttering from his all too familiar mouth in his native language causing my heart to gallop. Soon enough he was strolling into the room as if he hadn’t a care in the world. With the sun now high in the sky, the enormous windows allowed the room to fill with bright light, casting away any shadows I might hope to hide within. Dressed in a well-tailored suit over his hard body, Matis looked formidable, but the truth was, he wasn’t. He was human, and very much susceptible to bleeding. Though I was vibrating with barely restrained impatient energy, I remained still as Matis raised his head and came to an abrupt stop. Surprise was quickly replaced with anger, his hands falling to his sides as he slipped his phone into a pocket.
“Beauty,” he sneered, “what the fuck do you think you are wearing?” Oh yes, how could I forget? Clothing was a luxury long since stripped from me. “And what the fuck do you think you are doing sitting on the sofa? Get on your fucking knees,” Matis bellowed, and I didn’t move a single muscle.
