The spy chuckled—yeah, that was never going to happen. Not only was he not into men, or half-men, but he also wasn’t interested in submitting to anyone, especially a sadistic Domme. “Well, in the meantime, what talent is here for me this evening? I’m only in town for one night, so I want to make it memorable.”
“From what I hear from the chatty subs, love, you make every night memorable for them. But there are a few new pretties in the stable. I suggest you negotiate with the busty redhead over there in the black teddy. She should be a good match for your—endowments.” She practically purred that last word.
His gaze followed to where Trixie’s well-manicured finger with red polish was pointing at a group of submissives consisting of three women and two men in various states of dress. “Very nice. Her name?”
“Lucy.”
He studied the curves of the redhead. In a fashion magazine her body would be considered plus-size, but he loved women of all shapes and proportions, and plus-size just meant there was more flesh to worship and a larger buttocks to spank. “Hmm. Now, why does I Love Lucy come to mind? Thanks, Trixie.”
“You’re very welcome, love. Join me for a drink later if you’re still up for it. Come along, Pet.”
As Trixie sashayed away with her submissive in tow, Carter stared at the pretty sub. When she made eye contact with him, he crooked his finger at her, inviting her over. Her eyes widened a little, then even more when one of the other subs whispered in her ear—probably telling Lucy who he was. He wasn’t arrogant, but he knew he had a favorable reputation among the subs, and he was proud of the fact he never left a submissive unsatisfied at the end of the evening. He took great pleasure in giving them what they wanted or needed before satisfying himself.
Lucy walked toward him, her eyes respectfully cast downward. She stopped in front of him. “Yes, Sir?”
His gaze roamed over her lush body, spending a few extra moments on her partially exposed breasts. She was stunning, and he knew her creamy skin would feel smooth and velvety, and display the perfect shade of red when he spanked her ass. He was certain their limit lists would be compatible since Trixie knew practically every member’s hard and soft limits. Placing his fingers under Lucy’s chin, he lifted it until her mesmerizing gaze met his. “Hello, little one, my name is Master Carter. Would you care to negotiate a scene with me?”
Her breath hitched, which made his cock twitch in response. “I would love to, Master Carter.”
11
Three weeks later . . .
I waited in the war room for Jackson to arrive. He’d said to meet him here at 1700. I checked my watch again, it was now almost 1800, and he still wasn’t here. What the fuck? After another grueling day and little sleep, I wanted to eat and crash—in that order.
Not one to wait on ceremony, I reviewed the construction plans on the table, noticing a set marked “Compound Two.” There was a large clearing in the middle of a densely forested area. Topographical maps showing elevations accompanied the basic plans. There was a standard close combat course with moving panels—I’d seen similar setups at other bases.
The area that gave me pause was a blocked off concrete structure that was not fully planned. I could do something with this . . .
Digging through the papers, I found the blueprint that only had that building on it. Finding a pen and ruler in the mess, I added a maze—twists, turns, and tight spaces. A trap door went in also. I scribbled notes down the side, listing the need for a pressure switch, top-notch sound system, and an observation deck above the course. It wasn’t pretty, but it was a start. I’d run it by Jackson and pass it on to the foreman. Writing in all caps on the top of the page, I added the name—THE PANIC ROOM.
Smiling, I allowed myself to consider the possibilities. Doing the course at night would be fun . . . add in some barbed wire and mud . . . sounded like a good fucking time to me.
I turned at the sound of the door opening. A tired looking Jackson came in with a man I didn’t know. He was around five six, and a solid 180 pounds. Classically Italian in looks, with a scar bisecting his chin, he had the air of a man who’d seen much in life and wasn’t impressed by any of it.
“Staff Sergeant, this is Reid Huntington.” Gesturing to me with a giant hand, Jackson continued. “Reid, this is Staff Sergeant Bea Michaels. She goes by Mic.”
Stepping forward, I shook his hand firmly. “Nice to meet you, sir.” Jackson hadn’t mentioned a rank.
“Reid’s here on loan from MI6, sort of. He does a little bit of everything when it comes to top secret anything. He’s also acquainted with Carter.”
“Well, considering how Carter is, I’ll reserve judgment for now.”
Arching a dark eyebrow, Reid finally spoke. “Likewise Staff Sergeant. I’ve read your file and reviewed all the transcripts from the ambush. You showed remarkable leadership.”
“If you say so, sir.” I wasn’t sure how to respond. Only three of us had lived, out of the entire convoy. I didn’t like those numbers, even though I was one of them.
“I do say so.”
“Let’s go, Mic, time to see Compound Two.” Jackson opened the door and waited for us to pass in front of him. “There should be just enough daylight left for us to check it out.”
Reid handed me a folded, laminated map and a flashlight. “To make your day a little more fun, here’s a map. We’re going to drive—have a good hike.”
They left me standing there in the open, mess hall doorway, gaping after them. I watched Jackson’s truck drive down the main road, the red taillights bright in the fading daylight. The sun was on its way down. I took a guess, estimating I had maybe an hour of light left.
Unfolding the map, I saw an area marked off in red—no doubt my destination. Studying the terrain closely, I figured I had roughly ten miles of heavily forested land to hike. Ten miles . . . in the near dark, and in an unfamiliar area. When they’d said black ops, this hadn’t been what I expected.
My foot twisted on a tree root hidden by the leaves on the forest floor. Catching myself on a nearby pine tree, I righted myself and kept on moving. Darkness surrounded me—the hour since sunset seemed to have sped by. The flashlight beam pointed into the distance and not at my feet. The night was alive around me with insects chirping and frogs from a small natural pond singing their hearts out. If I wasn’t trying to navigate around said pond, a bog, and impenetrable brush, I might have appreciated it a lot more.
Branches snapping to my left had me whipping the flashlight toward the sound. A deer bounded past into the trees, a white tail pointed straight up as it ran.
I was so focused on the deer, I didn’t hear a person step up behind me until it was too late. I didn’t have a chance against their surprise and strength. The blow to the back of my head dropped me to my knees as my vision blurred, and pain radiated out from the back of my skull. I caught a glimpse of a shadowy figure standing over me, the face covered by a clown mask. With a trembling hand, I aimed my flashlight beam directly at the face. This was not just any mask—no happy circus clown. This evil visage was the stuff of nightmares—a white face with a cruel, cherry-red grin. Vivid green rimmed the eye sockets, which held dark, deep-set eyes. Vicious teeth shone from the insane smile, pointed and sharp enough to make any predator envious.
A second blow to my temple had a grunt of pain escaping from my lips, and I fell sideways onto the soft leaves and pine needles. The flashlight slipped from my fingers and rolled just out of reach, the trembling beam throwing strange shadows through the already dark and eerie forest. The ground was cold and wet beneath my cheek. The last thing I saw was a pair of large boots before darkness swallowed me, and my eyelids shut against my will.
Blinking, I opened my eyes and discovered the action was in vain. Complete darkness—unrelenting and absolute surrounded me. I attempted to bring my arms forward, but the sharp edge of metal sank into my wrists, not cutting but close. Moving my feet produced similar results. One step at a time, I took stock of my body. My
feet were bare and pressed flat to cold concrete. I was sitting on a hard chair, my hands bound behind me through the slats of the chairback, which I could brush with my fingertips. Wiggling my feet, I heard the chair creak as I pulled on my legs.
“Struggling is pointless. You aren’t going anywhere until I say so.”
My panting breaths were loud to my ears, almost as loud as my pounding heart. I could feel sweat sliding down my face and spine, dampening my shirt, making it stick fast against my back and stomach.
“You have no concept of who you’re fucking with. Let me go or die, and when I kill you, it won’t be quick.” My voice was cold and hard as anger burned through my fear.
Sounding like it spilled from Hell itself, laughter erupted throughout the room, bouncing off the walls. Goosebumps raced down my arms, tightening my muscles. I was tensed to resist, anxious to move . . . to fight. Adrenaline was shooting through my blood, sharpening my senses.
“Silly girl. The fun has only begun. You saw me, I’m a clown. Don’t you know what clowns do?” More laughter laced with insanity filled my ears. “We have fun.”
Pain and shock exploded throughout my face and body as he began to beat me with his fists. Blows, one after another, struck nearly every part of me. As I was wobbling on the brink of unconsciousness again, my head felt like it was floating. I spit blood from my ruined mouth, checking my teeth with my tongue; I felt the sharp pain of a chipped tooth in the front, but otherwise they were intact.
My chin fell to my chest, and as hard as I tried, I couldn’t lift it. If the cable or wire, whatever he’d tied me up with, wasn’t holding me to the chair, I would have slid to the floor in a bruised and bloody heap.
Jackson stood in the corner and watched Reid work Mic over. The hollow thud of flesh striking flesh echoed throughout the room. The covert operative from Deimos was breathing heavily and shaking his hands between strikes, his knuckles already broken open and oozing blood. Jackson waited, patiently anticipating the moment when she would break—when she would scream, beg, and offer up everything to make the abuse stop. She didn’t make a sound beyond a gasp or groan when Reid slammed another fist into her ribs.
The Master Sergeant crossed his arms over his chest, counting the blows. Her blood was black in the eerie green light of the goggles, her face covered with it. Turning her head slightly, she spit blood onto the floor. The blindfold hid much of her face, but the set of her jaw told him almost everything he needed to know. This woman was bullheaded and strong; she took the beating like she’d done it before. And she had. He knew that much from her recruiter.
Snapping his fingers, he signaled Reid to give her a break. He wanted her to take a breath, because soon enough she wouldn’t have any to spare.
Not realizing I’d passed out again, I was awoken by the freezing shock of ice water hitting me in the face and chest. Gasping against the cold and spitting water from my mouth, I tried to rally what strength reserves I had. Whatever this bastard wanted, I refused to give him.
Hands jerked and pulled on my arms, cutting my hands and then my feet free. My arms fell uselessly to my sides, numb and aching. Stumbling forward, I was dragged a few feet and shoved onto the hard concrete. Unable to catch myself, I tried to fall on my side, unwilling to take another blow to the face unless I had to. My stomach rebelled against the movement, and I choked as bile burned up my throat. I vomited for what seemed like minutes, my ribs screaming in agony at the violence of it.
Turning over, I laid my head gently on the floor, the spinning slowed as I felt blood begin to pool under my head.
“Done already? And here I was just starting to have fun.” I ground the words out even though speaking made the agony so much worse. I refused to give him the satisfaction of shutting me up. I didn’t have it in me to quit or to give in, and he needed to know that.
“Oh, I’m not even close to being done.” His voice was thick and almost heavy sounding. It didn’t seem natural; his speech pattern was strange. Was he disguising his voice?
My weakness sickened me as I tried to push to my knees. My arms trembled and ached with the effort.
“Look at you, trying to be so strong for someone so small. You’re not, though—you’re weak.”
My body jerked as he ripped my shirt off, the fabric rending easily under his strength. I slapped at him, struggling to push him away. Unable to see, but still fighting. I reached up to my face, grabbing at the blindfold in an attempt to rip it away. An openhanded smack across my face sent me backward onto the floor, the impact radiating from my ribs up through my pounding head.
I was getting confused, the throbbing in my face and jaw overtaking my other senses. Mere seconds seemed to pass, and I was back in the chair, the air caressing my bare legs. My arms were jerked behind me and retied, followed by my feet.
When had he taken off my pants? How had I not noticed him doing that?
Footsteps approached me quickly, and I pointlessly jerked back as yet another bucket of ice water splashed over me. Chunks of ice gathered in my lap, freezing the very core of me. My hair was plastered to my head, bitter cold rivulets of water trailing down my hunched shoulders and breasts. The blindfold was soaked, the coarse, wet fabric irritating my skin.
“Thanks for the bath, but I already showered today.” My teeth chattered as I spoke, painfully clacking together.
The man snorted in either disgust or disbelief. “Now that we’re acquainted, I have some questions. You know how this works, Michaels. I ask questions, and you answer them to my satisfaction. If you don’t, our fun continues.”
My freezing limbs shook involuntarily as I felt my heart race. This time, my anger had seeped away, leaving behind the only thing I had remaining. Fear.
“Where can I find Jackson? Who is he? And what is Steel?” His odd sounding voice filled the room, the pointed questions echoing in the space.
“Go shopping and find the biggest rubber dick you can, so you can fuck yourself with it.” I spit near where I guessed his feet were. Agony piled onto pain as the beating resumed. There wasn’t an inch of my body that didn’t hurt. He stomped on my bare feet with his heavy boots until I felt toes break. I stopped trying to count my broken ribs. My nose had crunched long ago. My blood mingled with the drops of sweat flying off of him.
“Ready to talk, yet?” He was breathing heavily, and I hoped the bastard gave himself a coronary.
“Ready for that cock, yet?”
His answer came, not in words, but in sounds and motion. My scalp burned when he jerked my head back by my hair. Duct tape screeched as he tore some off a roll, then sealed my mouth. I choked on the blood in my broken nose as I tried to breathe. My body thrashed and jerked as my oxygen starved brain fought to live. My heart was beating so fast, I could hear it . . . feel it . . . the muscle working and pumping overtime, trying to keep me alive. My lungs burned, aching with the need for air. I tossed my head side-to-side in vain, not thinking anymore—sheer panic ruling my movements and thoughts. Senseless struggles only weakened me further, but I couldn’t stop my body’s instinctive reaction. I need to breathe.
Vicious heat flared as the tape was ripped from my face taking some of the skin off my lips, cheeks, and chin with it. I gasped for air, gulping and nearly choking on the oxygen that felt thick and nearly viscous. My lungs inflated, then deflated, over and over, as I sucked in as much vital oxygen as I could.
The blindfold was ripped off my face, and a narrow beam of light flooded my eyes, blinding me. I jerked back as someone grabbed my face hard. Thrashing my head rolled my stomach, but I refused to be touched if I could help it.
“Hold the fuck still, you’re making this harder than it needs to be, Mic.” A penlight was being flashed in my eyes.
What the fuck? “J-Jackson?” Emotions I couldn’t name roiled through me. Anger and relief competed with anxiety and hate.
“Yeah, it’s me. Hold the fuck still, I need to check your eyes.”
I was so confused. How did he get here? Whe
n did he get here? And where the fuck was here?
My breaths came faster and faster as panic gripped me. My heart was speeding, double time, in my chest, banging hard against my broken ribs. My hands fell to my sides once again as they were released, followed quickly by my feet and legs.
“Wha’ the fuck’s goin’ on?” My speech was slurred through my swollen mouth.
His face was now swimming in front of mine, in and out of focus. “You passed my test.”
“W-What?” I stuttered. The pain was ratcheting up at an incredible pace as he helped me to my feet. I briefly spared a thought for my near nakedness but quickly dismissed it.
“I’ll show you.” Hand under my elbow, he supported me until I was more steady on my feet. I hadn’t noticed Reid before, but he stood against the wall near the exit only revealed by the narrow beam of Jackson’s flashlight.
A light flicked on overhead and surprise had me struggling for air once again. I was standing in the construction debris that would soon be the panic room. I hadn’t been there yet, but I recognized it from the blueprints. Reid opened the door ahead of me and cool night air blew in, making me shiver even more as it hit my already chilled skin.
Shoving away from Jackson, I stumbled, attempting to run for the door. My shoulder slammed into the jamb—I pushed off and fell headlong out the door, landing in the mud on my hands and knees. The impact drove pain through my sides like a metal spike. I lay there, breathless, the mud cold between my fingers.
“Let me help you up.” Jackson reached down for me.
“Get the fuck away from me.” I smacked at his hand, scrambling through the mud away from him.
“Mic, stop!”
I looked back, sheer stubbornness getting me up on my feet to see Reid standing next to him, the clown mask dangling from his fingers. “Motherfuckers! You sons of bitches!” My lips split open all over again, blood filling my mouth. I spat and gagged on the taste, repulsed by what I’d just experienced.
No Way In Hell: A Steel Corps/Trident Security Crossover Novel Page 9
