by E. S. Carter
“Alec promised me a virgin, yet you suck my thumb like a whore. Tell me, Princess, do you think your pathetic attempts at seduction will save you?”
His question is rhetorical; he doesn’t expect an answer, nor can I give one. Between the grip he has on my face and his thick digit in my mouth, the most I am capable of is a moan. But I don’t even give him that. I am not stupid enough to blatantly show him the effect he has on me.
“Wise girl. You make sure to keep a check on how much you give me because I am going to take everything whether it’s given willingly or not.”
His eyes heat and a spark of red, much like the colour that surrounded him before he struck down Billy Williams, flickers around him. I excite him, and I’m not sure if it’s because he craves me, or just my destruction.
“And I like it much better when I have to take it,” he thrusts his thumb further into my mouth until I gag. “Forcing your submission tastes like nectar on my lips.”
I heave as his thumb pushes forcefully on my tongue, the sweet yet sinful taste of his skin bursts across my taste buds and saliva pools at the back of my throat threatening to choke me. As quickly as it began, it ends, and he abruptly releases my face and removes his thumb from my mouth.
I cough, my chest rising vigorously in my attempts to catch my breath. I watch transfixed as he places his thumb to his full lips, smearing its wetness all over the pink, plump flesh, before parting them enough to slip it between and into his devilish mouth where he proceeds to suck it dry. Then, without another glance, he opens the car door and steps out into the night.
He doesn’t wait or call for me to get out of the car, instead, I hear him tell someone I cannot see to “Remove my beloved new wife from the car and take her to my room.”
Then he’s gone. His long legs carry him up some sandstone steps and out of view.
My car door swings open without warning, and a suit covered arm extends for me to take.
“Mrs. Hunter, please follow me.”
I stare at the foreign limb, debating on whether to offer myself up as the sacrificial lamb that I am or whether to give one last stand of refusal.
“Mrs. Hunter, I’d much rather you exited the vehicle willingly, I, unlike your new husband, am not fond of manhandling the fairer sex…” his hand latches onto my arm and tightens painfully around my bicep. “…but I will if given cause.”
I hesitate for a few seconds more while I look at the legs positioned outside the open car door, wondering if this man is as strong as he feels or if I could maybe dart around him and go… where? There is no escape from this.
Just as I come to that realisation, he obviously loses his patience and with no further warning drags me from the car, almost dislocating my shoulder in the process. I land on the sharp gravel face first and only manage to stop my cheek from making contact with the ground by using my free hand to soften the blow. It instantly burns with the sting of a thousand cuts, and my hip screams at me in pain from my awkward landing.
Another pair of expensive, shiny shoes, this time in brown, appear in my peripheral vision as I lay sprawled on the ground.
“Now, if you could please get up, I really don’t want to drag you and ruin your beautiful gown any more than it already is.”
His voice is cultured and almost bored. Like I’m an inconvenience he doesn’t appreciate being responsible for.
He tugs once on my arm, over stretching my already sore muscles in warning.
“Last chance, Mrs. Hunter.”
I wince as I roll off my bruised hip and ungracefully crawl to my knees; the fabric of my dress saving them from the unforgiving surface. My hand hasn’t got off so easily, and blood flows freely from the many cuts to my palm, while small stones are embedded deep into my flesh.
He releases his hold once he senses my capitulation and I use my uninjured hand to push myself up to my feet.
“Good girl. It would be wise to refrain from hesitating in the future. I have far more patience than your new husband, but I still expect to be obeyed with haste.”
Patience? He barely gave me a few seconds before he threw me down into the dirt.
I tamp down my residual anger, not wanting to incur any more of this stranger’s wrath. Raising my head, I track up his long legs, clad in expensive, hand tailored trousers, up to his chest and the formal tux that pulls tightly over broad shoulders.
He must have attended the wedding. He must have watched with the hungry crowd as I was gifted to his boss.
My eyes keep moving, over a chiselled jaw, which, unlike Cole’s, is free from scruff and up to dark brown eyes under thick, strong brows.
This man is familiar, but I cannot place where I know him. He is likely another minion of my father’s, but he looks far too refined to be a henchman. He is classically handsome, with aristocratic features and dark, perfectly groomed hair.
His aura is hard to read. Right now it’s pale and calm, like the air before a storm and I am flustered that I can’t get a feeling for how dangerous he might be towards me.
Yes, there is a blackness to it, but there is also much more, and I struggle to school my features, wearing my confusion openly on my face.
“You don’t know me, Mrs. Hunter. We’ve never had the pleasure of an introduction. I’m Luke, Luke Hunter, your new brother-in-law.”
I manage to cover my surprise by looking down at my injured palm and slowly removing some of the embedded pieces of grit.
He looks nothing like his brother. In fact, they are as different as night and day.
When I’ve schooled my features, I look back up at his face and he smiles, “I know, you don’t have to hide your shock. We are nothing alike. Well… we do have some common goals and obviously share similar DNA. In fact, there are quite a few things that we share as I’m sure you’ll find out soon. Now, come. I don’t want to hurt you further. I’d much prefer you came of your own free will. It will be far easier on you and me.”
He extends his hand as if he’s about to escort me into some formal affair and not my new prison.
I stare at it a beat too long, and he huffs his disapproval.
“I am trying to do this the nice way, Faye. Please don’t make me be something I despise.”
His words, although spoken nonchalantly are laced with truth. He doesn’t seek out harshness like his sibling. He doesn’t crave the violence the way Cole does, but it doesn’t mean he’s not capable of it.
I reach out my shaking hand, ignoring the lick of pain from my injured palm. He takes it gently and removes a few more small stones from my flesh, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe away some of the blood.
“There,” he murmurs softly as he wraps his much bigger hand around mine. “That’s a little better. You can clean up when you get to your room.”
I follow him meekly, confused by his countenance and the brief show of kindness.
He walks with a confident gait alongside me and leads me up the same flight of stone steps that Cole climbed a few moments before.
Now that I have my bearings, I take my first look at the building before me. It’s a beautiful Georgian manor house, not near the scale of Craven Hall, but surprisingly elegant all the same.
Warm light filters through its many windows, giving the place a false sense of homeliness. If I didn’t know the monster who owned it, I would find it comforting, welcoming, and somewhere I’d be content to spend time.
“This is our family home,” Luke speaks as we slowly make our way towards the grand front door.
“Our great-great-grandfather bought the land and built it as a marriage gift for the love of his life. She bore him three sons before she was raped and murdered by a man who wanted her for his own.”
My steps falter at his words.
Why would he share that with me?
“Our family has been seeking retribution for her death ever since.”
His hand tightens, almost imperceptibly, as he continues, “We are the fifth generation of Hunters to li
ve here, all sons, no daughters. I wonder if you’ll be the first to produce a female heir. I’m sure that would please Cole no end,” he sniggers softly to himself. I ignore his remark, pretending that the words haven’t turned my already churning stomach.
I will never bring a child into this world. I’ve seen how children live, and I’ve seen how children die. Riches may prove bountiful for many but for most they do not protect you from the greed that turns good men bad and bad men deadly.
“Cat got your tongue?” He looks down at me, his face deceptively neutral. He shrugs, the gesture seems innocent but the words that accompany it are not. “I guess I’ll hear your voice soon enough. Or should I say your screams? You see, Cole likes to play with his food, whereas I’m more of a connoisseur if you will. Still, I look forward to finding out if you’re as meek as you look. One can never tell. Often the quiet ones are those that bring the greatest joy.”
He guides me towards the grand staircase, his grip on my arm tightening with every step we climb. The fear in the pit of my stomach is causing it to plummet with every step we rise.
When we reach the top, he pulls me alongside him, and we pass numerous closed doors before he stops at the farthest end of the corridor, right in front of a set of oak double doors.
He turns to face me with one hand on the door handle; the other reaches out to gently tuck some stray hairs behind my ear.
I steel my spine, refusing to flinch at the caress. I may not fear him as much as I do his brother but I also do not crave his touch.
“This is where I leave you, Faye. Your husband will be up to see you soon, no doubt.” His fingers trail slowly down my cheek, and then my neck, stopping just above my breasts.
He hesitates before raising his gaze to mine, his voice soft with a hint of concern, “Obey your new master well, Pet. I’d like you to survive the night intact.”
Then with a soft click followed by a sharp beep, he opens the doors and pushes me through into the darkness beyond.
My eyes frantically try to adjust to the blackness, but all I can see is the slice of the room that’s highlighted by the sliver of light coming through the open door.
“Sweet dreams, Pet.”
The door closes behind me plunging me into complete darkness. The beep that accompanies the lack of light echoes through my brain on a loop, even though the room is silent.
After standing on unsteady feet for what feels like minutes, but is likely seconds, I take a tentative step back and clumsily feel around for the door handle. When my hand hits the cold metal I still, my heart beating so fast I can feel the fabric covering my body vibrate all the way down to my bare legs.
If it opens, where will I go?
Anywhere but here.
I can hide; I can find a phone and call him.
He will come for me because his greed is stronger than his sense of self-preservation and although I would be handing myself over to another monster, at least it would be my choice.
My hand begins to prickle against the handle; my fingers twitch itching to push down.
“Do it Faye. Open the door, find a phone and call him.” My words are whispered, the order enough to make me tighten my hold and push down. The metal obeys my command and the handle moves, but the door does not open.
How stupid am I to think it wouldn’t be locked? That I would not be caged?
Frustration flows quickly through my veins and in a fit of anguish I shake the handle, trying to budge an immovable door. My foot kicks out and meets solid wood, the hit causing nothing but a mild thud. I kick once more, not in the hopes of opening it, but because it feels good to lash out, to expel the fear inside me and turn it into something more powerful. Anger.
Kick after kick until my foot begins to ache, so I swap feet and use the other. My breaths fall in heavy pants, my fist on the door handle shaking it for all its worth.
Still nothing. Just darkness.
“Fuck!” I curse pathetically, my shoulders heaving with the force of my exertion. I’ve gained nothing but sore feet and aching legs.
I rest my forehead against the cold barrier. My mind is racing, still trying to formulate a plan. I will not just sit here and obediently await my fate.
“You finished yet, Princess?”
A light flickers on from the corner of the room, and I spin around to face it, pressing my entire body flat against the door to keep myself from falling to my knees.
Cole sits in a large wingback chair. A glass of whiskey is held in one relaxed hand while his legs are splayed and stretched out in front of him.
My whole body shakes at the sight of him.
Black wisps of aura curl around his intimidating frame, while his ice blue eyes track me from my feet to the top of my head, then drop and lock with mine.
He crosses one leg over the other, resting his ankle on his bent knee and leaning forward slightly. The movement is only small, but I shrink back as though he is looming over me and not on the opposite side of the room.
His eyes search mine and harden.
“Who is going to save you, Princess? Who would be stupid enough to cross me and try to take what’s mine?”
“My father.”
Two words whispered too quickly to be believed.
He smirks without humour and places his now empty glass on the floor at his feet, before rising to his full height in one smooth but deadly movement.
“Ah, Princess. Daddy isn’t going to save you. Nobody is coming to your rescue. So you might as well tell me the truth.”
He stalks towards me, and I cower further.
Every one of his precise steps hits me straight in the chest like a physical blow. His movements are economical, yet fluid. His body moves with the innate grace of a hunter, and I am the prey blinded by his dark beauty, waiting for his first strike.
Luke and I often share women, and I know he expects me to share Faye. It’s an unwritten agreement that we have. Together we are stronger; what’s mine is his and vice versa.
After I had left her in the car with her taste on my lips and her fear coursing through my veins, I watched.
I watched from the security monitors as he played with her. I saw him pretend to be indifferent to my wife’s striking beauty, to act nonchalant to her addictive wiles that encompass both her weakness and the quiet strength she doesn’t even seem aware that she owns.
When he threw her to the ground, I watched the bulge in his trousers grow as his cock began to swell. I know he wants her. I know he will try and gain her trust with his calm aloofness.
You see, my brother disguises his beast far better than I can hide mine.
That doesn’t mean his is any less deadly. In fact, he exploits this ability perfectly and whereas I’m usually impressed with this skill, tonight I’m pissed the fuck off.
My fists clench as I watch him gently tend to her injured palm and slowly guide her into the house.
I take one last glance at them both before I quietly make my way to my room.
This wasn’t the plan.
He was supposed to deposit her here in the dark and allow her to stew in her anxiety, but I want to feast on it first hand.
So I set myself up in the dark and I wait.
Moments later the alarm disengages and the door opens.
He pushes her into the darkness, his eyes tracking her body, and then he hesitates. I can see him thinking about taking her first.
I can see the lust in his eyes as he murmurs, “Sweet dreams, Pet.” Then he thinks better of it and leaves, probably to look for me.
The door alarm engages until it’s just her and me.
I can feel her.
The scent of her fear.
The rapid beat of her heart as it calls to me to take it, to crush it and to drink from it.
She doesn’t move and neither do I.
Minutes pass, and I feel her movement before I hear it.
She tries the door.
Over and over again, she kicks and struggles but there is no w
ay out for her.
Her panic fuels me. My cock is like steel between my legs, throbbing with the need to take. To take what is now mine.
Her husky voice whispers an order to herself, “…call him.”
Call him.
Fury erupts through my veins.
Who the fuck is she going to call?
No one.
But I want to know who she thinks would dare to take her from me. And I will find out.
Then I will gut him and make her watch.
I’ll give her his ears as a token; one that she can wear around her neck as a memento.
Whoever he is, he’ll never be the person she calls on again.
The only person that will get to hear her beg, is me.
“Strip.”
One word.
An order.
A command.
Growled out from between gritted teeth.
He’s close enough to touch but not close enough for me to feel his body heat and I am cold, so cold. The thought of stripping and having no barriers between us chills me further.
“Strip or I’ll cut it from you.”
His words are not a threat. They are a promise.
With shaky legs, I slowly turn and expose my back to him. I place my palms flat on the door to steady myself and look over my shoulder at his face, without meeting his eyes. “I can’t reach the buttons.”
My tongue is dry as I force the words through my swollen throat. Anxiety closes my windpipe and blocks my air, leaving my naturally husky voice much raspier.
His gaze leaves my face and follows the row of tiny, fabric covered buttons that form a line down my spine.
He steps forward and closes the space between us; his hot breath tickles the nape of my neck, and his solid frame boxes me in.
I expect him to rip the dress from my body, what I don’t expect is for him to slowly, almost reverently, undo each and every button. The backs of his fingers touch my too sensitive skin, leaving a trail of goose bumps in their wake.
When the last button is unfastened, he runs his hands up the bare flesh of my back to my shoulders, then gently pushes the fabric off and over each one, until the dress falls from the top half of my body and catches on my hips.
