Contents
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Mistaken Trust Description
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Thank You!
About the Author
Overview Ultimate Trust—Book two in the Jewels Trust series
Ultimate Trust excerpt
MISTAKEN TRUST
Shirley A. Spain
Dedication
For my awesome husband, Curtis. The most supportive guy a gal could ever dream of ... thank you for the countless times you vacuumed the house, went solo on shopping trips to the grocery store and Sam’s Club, prepared meals, and washed laundry just so I could fulfil my dream to write and publish novels.
And Peggy Beach. My amazing (and exceedingly patient) editor. Creative writing 101 teacher. And most of all, the best cheerleading, kick-me-in-the-pants when I need it, friend imaginable. Without you, Peggy, I would have never had the confidence or courage to publish this novel ... and I’m proud of it, thanks to you!
Acknowledgements
Suzanne Sphar for reminding me, “If it is to be, it is up to me,” which motivated me to pursue the world of e-publishing. Bestselling fiction author, Heather Horrocks, for mentoring me through the process of indie publishing. My brother, commercial photographer Joe Venus and his beautiful Urban Warriors model, Rachel Barney, for the terrific cover photo. And good friends, Cheryl Pixley, Noray Turney and Heather McElreath, who were the first brave souls to read my novels “raw” and despite the plethora of “goofs” applauded my efforts and encouraged me to keep going.
Copyright © 2013 Shirley A. Spain
www.ShirleyASpain.com
All Rights Reserved
This includes the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews. Please respect the efforts of the author and purchase only authorized electronic editions. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person please purchase a separate additional copy.
Work of Fiction
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Formatting
Formatting by Melody Chase Precision E-Formatting
www.PrecisionEformatting.com
The author does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.
Mistaken Trust Description
For mature readers. Contains strong language, violence and sexual situations.
THE COMMANDER would stop at nothing to have her. Deception. Torture. Murder. Masterminded and executed in preparation for taking possession of his Sweet Cheeks: Jewels.
Just for the practice of honing his self-taught surgical skills, he had kidnapped, cleansed, and killed four women; lab rats he called them. Like his lab rats, Jewels would have to be cleansed. Her sex button cut out. Forever preserved in a special jar joining his collection of secret treasures.
His plan to acquire her was foolproof. Cleverly elaborate. Insanely detailed. Criminally brilliant. Jewels would be his, one way or another.
Or would she?
Violently captured and held prisoner in the remote mountains of Utah by a radical militia, Jewels’ defensive handgunning expertise, journalism experience, and strong-willed personality could either help or hinder her chances of survival.
An ally would almost guarantee her escape. But whom should she trust? The FBI agent who had been hounding her for a date since the death of her husband? The rough-handed handsome he-man designated to keep her imprisoned? The militia’s kind-eyed doctor? Or...?
Will she make the right choice in time to be spared the savage mutilation her captor ... the mysterious Commander ... has planned for her?
Or will mistaken trust lead to her torturous demise?
“When I see a pretty woman ... one side of me says, I’d like to talk to her, date her. The other side of me says, I wonder what her head would look like on a stick?”
Edmund Kemper, The Co-ed Killer
Prologue
HEFTING HER LIMP BODY off his shoulder, he dumped his latest lab rat on the specially prepared queen-sized bed.
The impact snapped her head back, slightly fanning her chin-length auburn hair across the crisp, white sheet. A soft moan floated from her quivering lips.
“Good,” he muttered with a crooked grin, knowing from experience soon she would be conscious. Digging his arms under her shoulder blades, he hoisted her body toward the center of the mattress, positioning her arms toward the edge of the headboard where the open jaws of thick leather restraints waited to, once again, mercilessly consume unwilling flesh.
Her eyes fluttered. Brows crimped. Arm muscles sparked a hint of life.
Quickly engulfing her right wrist in the three-inch-wide strap, he jerked it hard, buckling it tight, but not so tightly she wouldn’t have a little wiggle room. When she awoke, he wanted her to sense a glimmer of hope that she could free herself. Hope would motivate her to struggle in her bonds, even though escape was hopeless.
Agony stumbled across her slowly-waking face; her right arm flinched in pain.
Fastening her left wrist in an identical restraint on the other side of the bed, he smiled with calculating pleasure. The binding of her legs would come later, when she was fully awake ... when he could gorge on the sights, sounds, and smell of her terror as she fought to escape the inescapable tethers. Fought to escape him.
Another experiment was beginning.
TWENTY MINUTES LATER. The rough edges of the thick leather straps bit into her wrists as she vigorously fought the restraints. “Take
these off me, right now,” she demanded through gritted teeth, continuing to combat the straps.
Near the foot of the bed he towered over his latest captive. Arms neatly folded across his chest. Amused. Like a weed-out-the-wimps boot camp sergeant, his eyes narrowed. Why the hell did his lab rats think he would give in to any of their demands?
The veins in her neck stood out in livid ridges and her hands balled into white-knuckled fists as she twisted and turned. Pulled and yanked. Her leaf green eyes bulged. Just as he had planned, the hope of escape fueled her vigor.
Despite her best efforts, she wasn’t going to escape. None of the others had. The potent leather bindings were designed to control the most violent of criminals no matter their size, how much iron they pumped, or how jacked up they were on drugs.
The bare bones log cabin creaked and swayed like a frail old man shivering. Outside, near the timberline of the High Uinta Mountains, the late summer’s pastel sky had fallen victim to a violent assault. Dozens of inky clouds spit lightning and belched thunder. Micro bursts of wind screamed through throngs of tall pines like sirens warning of an impending air raid.
“Who the hell dresses like that in the woods anyway?” she scoffed, breathing heavily, her brows furrowed and nose curled. “And that tie is ridiculous. It looks like the tongue of a half-breed Chow-Chow.”
Raising a brow in a questioning slant, he straightened his pink and black silk tie and flicked imaginary dust off the sleeves of the costly black pin-striped suit coat, admiring himself. “I look like a Fortune 500 executive, don’t I?” he bragged, standing erect. As if basking in a moment of limelight on stage, he elongated his neck and turned his head toward the camping lantern softly swaying from a rusty spike in the rafter. Though it didn’t spotlight his face, it effectively illuminated the modest cabin interior: one large room with a small nook for a kitchen area which served his basic needs.
“You perverted bastard. Let me go,” she snorted, glaring murderously at him.
A fist-sized purple bruise was manifesting beneath her left cheekbone from the knockout punch he’d inflicted to abduct her.
His maleness swelled watching the woman’s athletic body wildly thrash about in vain for freedom.
Daylight seeped into the cabin through thin spaces between wooden planks boarding up the windows. The storm’s invisible fury banged against the thick wooden door like a relentless knock from a persistent door-to-door salesman. Drafts of angry air squeezed through the poorly fitted door jamb, howling as its invasion commenced.
Abruptly his mind ventured into the future, fantasizing about her. His chosen one. His true love. Sweet Cheeks.
Visions of her scrambled over each other in his head like prostitutes in a Hollywood movie orgy. Her long, vanilla hair. Aphrodite face. Alluring Nordic blue eyes. Smooth, sexy walk and sway of her hourglass body. The delicious smell of expensive perfume emanating from her soft, sun-bronzed skin....
How would she react when it was her turn to be strapped down? Dreaming of his suave character and exquisite powers of charm, he imagined how, almost effortlessly, he would beguile her into trusting him so completely she willingly submitted to him, even as he tightly buckled the restraints to painfully bind her to the bed … and he envisioned her enjoying it; being sexually aroused by it. However the notion of her resisting him, even just a tiny bit, was a guiltless pleasure he could easily exploit to his personal satisfaction as well.
It had been a long road, his trek to Sweet Cheeks. He had planned every detail, including her upcoming kidnapping followed by her staged death. Only then, when Sweet Cheeks was presumed dead, would she be his without interruption or threat from the outside world.
Using a collection of Barbie dolls—Sweet Cheeks’ proxies—posed in various bondage positions like those featured on forced rape pornographic internet sites, he detailed the sexual poses of how he wanted to enslave her.
His maleness continued to swell.
“You fucker, say something!” The woman thrust a hate-filled kick at him. The tread of her hiking boot skimmed across his stomach, leaving a dirt mark on his white shirt.
Rearing back, he scowled, his Sweet Cheeks fantasy snuffed. “Look what you’ve done,” he yelled, brushing at the black streak on his shirt with a few quick strokes from the tips of his manicured fingers.
“Good. I hope it doesn’t come out,” she snarled, again stabbing at him with her foot even though he was now well out of range.
Though he assumed the foul-mouthed, sour-faced cantankerous woman was probably close to the same age as Sweet Cheeks, this lab rat was nothing like her. This one was plain. One of those wear-no-make-up, all natural women. A tree-hugging liberal. But that didn’t matter. Miz Tree-Hugger had one purpose: to serve as the final experiment.
Shaking his head back and forth, he made a reprimanding clucking sound with his tongue. “I paid a hundred-twenty-five-dollars for this shirt.” Crinkling his forehead in feigned concern, he paused, then roared a hee-haw. “You could have really hurt me.”
“You’re demented.” She swung her boot at his torso again. Missed again.
Pointing to her churning legs with his chin, his eyes brightened. “Time to do something about those,” he said with resolve. Bending over the left corner of the footboard, he grabbed the inch-wide piece of black leather dangling from the corner post and pulled on it, like he was reeling in a small boat anchor. At the end of the strip was a leather restraint cuff, like the ones holding her arms. He tossed it on the bed, eyed her.
Quickly back-peddling to the top of the mattress she tucked her heels toward her buttocks. “What kind of a perverted bastard are you anyway?”
Intrigued, he raised a brow and smiled slyly. “The smart and determined kind,” he coolly returned, lowering his voice for a menacing effect.
It worked.
Her breaths sped up. Nostrils flared. Pressing her back harder against the sturdy log headboard, she retracted her knees tighter toward her chest.
None of the others had reacted to the sight of the leg restraints like that ... a new challenge. Inside, his stomach flip-flopped with excitement. Outside, calm. Cool. Collected.
Casually, he repeated the strap-reeling-in process on the other side of the footboard, while barely containing the thrill within. This was exactly why he never fully restrained the lab rats when they were unconscious.
Suddenly a blinding flash of lightning. A near deafening clap of thunder.
The captive woman reflexively jerked her body and screamed.
Rain pelted the cabin. Wind screeched through the cracks around the door. Mother Nature was throwing a full-blown weather tantrum.
Contemplating his next move, he massaged his hands in eager anticipation, visually scouring his test subject.
Her body quivered. Teeth chattered. Not from the cold, but fear.
Concluding it would be easier—and safer for him—to take the straps to her ankles, rather than force her tucked-up legs to the straps at the bottom of the bed, he untied the leash of each restraint from the corners of the footboard. Keenly aware of her gaping eyes fixed on him, “Macabre fascination,” he stated, as if he were a medical examiner recording his observations during an autopsy.
Nonchalantly draping the leashes with the attached restraint cuffs across his shoulder, he stared back at her. Seeking to elicit more unconscious body language of fear from his lab rat, he purposely hardened his face and compressed his eyes: lasers targeted to fillet her soul.
Instantly she responded with a pitiful whimper, recoiling her head backward. Moments later tiny beads of sweat dotted her forehead. “You can’t do this to me. This is police brutality,” she bravely stated.
An alligator grin, reserved for only the most rapturous of circumstances, spontaneously swam across his face. “What?”
“You’re a cop, right?”
“Because I flashed a badge?” Reaching into this suit jacket pocket, he pulled out the gold shield, waved it at her. “Twenty-nine, ninety-five. Ordere
d right off the internet.”
Her facial muscles twitched nervously. “You’re not a real cop?”
Sneering, he rushed her, tackling her bunched up legs, pinning her motionless.
“Get away from me, you sick fucker,” she screamed, showering the side of his face with tiny globs of saliva. Gnashing her teeth in mid air like a chained doberman whose prey was just out of reach, she wildly lunged her head forward and back, attempting to bite his arm or shoulder.
That alligator grin surfaced again. Teeth gnashing was a new experience, too. And new stunts performed by his lab rats excited him. But there would be plenty of time for gratification later. Right now, had to focus on controlling her legs.
Maintaining her in the pinned position and free from the path of her chomping teeth, he peeled off her hiking boots and socks, lobbing them onto the floor.
“What are you doing?” Voice cracking as she pumped her legs, struggling to no avail to break his hold.
Quickly he buckled a thick leather cuff around each of her ankles, then snapped a leather leash onto the D-ring of each ankle restraint.
“Stop it! Let me go,” she protested, her breath labored from combatting his grip.
Holding a long leather leash in each hand, he thrust himself off the bed and stood up. Despite her physical resistance, he forced her legs to the bottom of the bed, fastening the leash ends to the logs at the edge of the footboard. His latest lab rat—Miz Tree-Hugger—was now positioned as he desired: helplessly bound spread-eagle.
“Help! Help! Somebody, please, hellllllp!”
“Go ahead, scream. No one ventures this deep into the woods. No one. Ever.” And he was right. However, if by some chance anyone ever happened upon his lab, he had made certain looky-loos would have no way of seeing inside. He had boarded up the cabin’s three windows with wooden planks on the outside set in neat vertical rows. Each plank was laced with huge spikes, the ends pointing outward; a painful keep-out message to any man or beast who might spawn thoughts of intrusion.
Mistaken Trust (The Jewels Trust Series) Page 1
