by Cerys du Lys
“Then remember your training. Follow my orders. Act submissive. Swallow your protests even if I tell you to do something you hate. This will be tested, you can count on it.”
“Do I have to pretend to be some dumb bimbo? Never to have heard of your grandfather’s work?”
“We’ll stick as close to the truth as possible, but let’s not tell him who your mother is. She’s pretty famous for her views about returning archaeological discoveries, even those from many decades ago, to their countries of origin.”
I was surprised he knew this about my mother. She wasn’t that well-known, although I suppose one could say they worked in the same field. “Okay, I won’t mention her.” I paused. “You’re nervous, aren’t you? The big, bad, wanted-in-nine-countries thief is afraid of his grandfather?”
He scoffed.
Half an hour later, we climbed into the rowboat and went ashore. Nick rowed the small boat into a narrow, deserted inlet. When we landed, thumping roughly against the rocky shoreline, I would have sworn we were alone. But by the time we scrambled out of the boat, this illusion had been dispelled. We were surrounded by four nasty-looking men, all armed, all dark, all sporting mustaches like Metin’s.
“Hosh geldiniz, Nicholas bey,” the biggest, meanest-looking thug said in response to Nick’s cheerful grin. “Welcome.”
“Hosh bulduk, Aslan,” he responded, kissing the man on both cheeks in the Turkish manner. He tugged me forward with an unbreakable grip on my wrist. I leaned against him slightly, letting my hair brush his chin. I glanced shyly at the thugs, and then directed my gaze down. They were leering at me.
“This is my girlEllie,” Nick said. He was speaking Turkish. “She’s a photographer.”
“She works for you?” the man asked, looking at me suspiciously.
“She’s a slave,” he said casually, as if there were nothing unusual in the notion. “I own her.”
Aslan, the ferocious-looking Turk, grinned. He studied me with interest, paying particular attention to the woven rope collar around my neck. He did not greet me as I meekly followed my “master” into the compound.
Chapter 13
Ellie
Nick’s grandfather turned out to be a delightful elderly man. He was charming, courteous and not at all intimidating. The notion that my life might be in danger from him seemed absurd.
Sir Avery Lindstrom had mischievous blue eyes, a lined and weathered face and thick, iron-gray hair. I noted a family resemblance between him and Nick in the bones of his face. He was in a wheelchair when we met in the smugglers’ compound. The rambling, two-story building was divided into numerous small rooms and built in the lee of a massive cliff a few hundred yards from the bay where Nick had anchored the yacht. I remembered that Nick had told me it had once been a wealthy man’s villa, but that must have been decades ago. It looked old and weather-beaten now.
“Nick has never brought a woman to meet me before,” was the first thing Sir Avery said after we were introduced. “You must be special to him.”
“I don’t know about that, sir,” I said meekly, bestowing my best sheep’s eyes on the pale-haired man who stood tensely beside me. I spoke clearly because I noticed the old gentleman was wearing a hearing aid.
“How did you meet?”
An imp took my tongue: “It was one of those sudden things. No sooner did he touch me than I fell at his feet. The next thing I knew, he’d carried me off on his yacht like a thief in the night.”
Nick got, if possible, stiffer, and Sir Avery shot him a quick, suspicious glance as I added, “It was very romantic.”
“Ellie’s a photographer.” Nick’s green eyes were glaring repressively at me. “She came to Turkey to photograph touristic sites for a travel piece. Unfortunately she ran into some minor trouble with the authorities.” His hand had slipped into mine and tightened until he was all but crushing my fingers. I got the message: play along with me. “I paid a few bribes and extricated her from her difficulties.”
“I see,” said his grandfather. I didn’t. I wondered what Sir Avery thought he meant by that vague explanation. The only difficulties I had were with Nick himself.
“Nicholas has always been chivalrous to ladies in distress,” his grandfather commented.
This nearly made me burst into hysterical laughter. Clearly, Sir Avery was not as well acquainted with his grandson as he thought.
“Do you have an interest in archaeology?” Sir Avery asked me.
I shrugged. “It’s really not my thing.”
“Her primary interest is keeping me happy,” Nick said.
In Turkish, Sir Avery asked Nick if I understood that language. Nick shook his head laconically, looking bored. “Pardon my rudeness,” Sir Avery said to me. “You must get Nick to teach you some Turkish. He was a schoolteacher once, you know.”
“Really?” I arched a glance in Nick’s direction. “He never told me that.”
Nick hooked his fingers around my upper arm. “I presume my usual room is ready for us, Granddad? I prefer to conduct lessons in private.”
“Certainly,” the old man said. “Show your friend to your room and let her freshen up. But return to me so we can have a little chat. Alone, if you don’t mind.”
“I think you’re going to get raked over the coals when he gets you alone,” I said to him a few minutes later.
“Looks like it,” Nick agreed.
“How’d I do?” We were in the middle of a small, whitewashed room, furnished only with a metal folding chair, a card table, a large packing crate and a bare mattress on the floor. The afternoon sun was pouring in through the square window, making the room seem more cheerful than it really was.
“I could have done without that remark about you falling at my feet.”
I shrugged. “Your grandfather was charming.”
“He’s always charming.” He had dumped my things and his own on the card table and now began fishing a couple of blankets out of the packing crate. “Doesn’t mean a thing.” He threw the blankets on the bed.
His voice was weary, abstracted, and I ordered myself to stop picking at him. But his self-command annoyed me. I’d met few people so disciplined, so untouchable. If I hadn’t seen his control briefly dissolve last night in the throes of lust, I’d have thought him beautiful but empty, with all the emotional depths of a robot. Because of those few minutes in his arms, I knew better. And, pathetically, given the circumstances, I was all the more intrigued.
“Were you really a schoolteacher?”
“When I was a grad student, sure.”
“What did you teach?”
“You’re full of questions, aren’t you? Classics.”
“Latin and Greek?” That explained the books in his cabin. “I took Latin, but I never did Greek, although I would have loved to be able to read the Iliad in the original.”
“Yeah, well, it was a while ago.”
“How the hell did a lover of classical literature turn into an antiquities smuggler?”
“Is the study of classical literature supposed to improve one’s morals?”
“No, I suppose not, but—”
“Rather the contrary, I’d say. The Trojan War would never have been fought if Helen hadn’t been carted off to Troy to be Paris’s mistress. And as for piracy and looting, those guys were pros.”
Before I could think up a retort, there was a rap on the door. Nick strolled over and opened it. “Well, well. I figured it was you. Eager to check us out? Ellie, my cousin Nigel. Nigel, my submissive, Ellie.”
I glanced curiously at the man on the threshold for just a moment before dropping my eyes in approved submissive fashion. Nick’s cousin Nigel was not what I had expected. Unlike most field archaeologists whom I’d encountered on my mother’s digs, he was dressed in casual but elegant clothing. No T-shirt and ragged shorts or jeans for Nigel. No work boots or rough-terrain shoes. He wore a pure white button-down shirt and perfectly pressed gray slacks. His shoes looked like expensive Italian loafer
s. His hair was smartly cut and his grooming was immaculate. He looked more like an international banker than a smuggler.
I could see the family resemblance. Nigel looked a little like Nick, and even more like their grandfather. He had the same strong features and thick, straight hair as the old man. Like Nick’s, his hair was blond, but it was a muddier hue, less bright, less golden. He was taller than Nick by two or three inches. And he was brawny—wide shouldered and heavyset, although not overweight.
Unlike Nick, he greeted me with a broad smile that softened his eyes. He took one of my hands in his and pressed it, touching my arm with the other hand in that sincere, affable politician’s grip. Everything about him conveyed kindliness and good will.
“Your submissive? I am astonished.” To me he said warmly, “I’m so pleased to meet you. Welcome to our island.”
I bowed my head as submissively as I could. “Thank you, sir.” It’s not your fucking island.
“I hope our grandfather has made you feel at home. Are your accommodations adequate? We’re roughing it here, of course, but I think you’ll find it comfortable.”
He sounded friendly, and I thanked him again. I felt confused. From the little that Nick had told me, these guys were villainous thieves. But now that I had met both Sir Avery and Cousin Nigel, I was wondering if Nick had lied to me. Who was the real villain here?
It didn’t take long, though, for the man behind the mask to peek out. “You may call me Master when we are alone, pet,” he said, smiling as if he was joking. But I sensed he wasn’t joking.
“Fuck off, Nigel. You’re not going to be alone with my slave. And that title is reserved for me.”
Nigel laughed, a deep-toned, boisterous sound. “Our Nick is possessive.”
“Right.” Nick’s tone was dry.
“When we were in college I snaked away hisgirlfriend. He has never forgiven me. It was rather mean of me. Dear Elizabeth.”
I saw something ferocious flash in Nick’s eyes. Elizabeth. That was the name of the girl who’d written the inscription in the poetry book.
“Ancient history. I’m sure Ellie isn’t interested.”
I was, actually. But I didn’t say so. There was something deeply unpleasant beating between these two men. I didn’t want to provide an atmosphere in which their animosity could grow.
I moved closer to Nick and slid my fingers through his.
“Is he a kind master?” Nigel was still addressing me, but I could now feel nasty vibes underneath the courtesy. It was creepy. It made me want to step back. Get far away from him. Hide.
“You do your best to please him, I trust? It would be unfortunate if he should be forced to sell you to one of his sex trafficking friends.”
Because I was pressed against him, I felt Nick suck in his breath. He probably felt the catch in mine, too. Points to Nigel. Nick had led me to believe it was Nigel who was interested in human trafficking, not him.
Nick slipped one arm around me and brought me tight against his hip. “She needn’t worry about something that’s never going to happen. Stop looking for weaknesses. Ellie is devoted to me.”
“No outsiders—we agreed on that, remember?” Nigel’s voice was neither charming nor indulgent now.
“You can think of her as an extension of me.” He pressed hard on my shoulders, and I understood what he wanted me to do. Although my spirit rose in rebellion, I checked it sharply. Dropping to my knees in front of him, I lowered my head in submission. His fingers caressed the back of my neck, not gently.
He moved slightly, so my face was against his groin. As if he expected me to pull out his dick and suck him off right here and now. For a frozen moment, I wondered if that’s what he did expect. That would certainly demonstrate submission.
I was half-tempted to do it. That would probably shock the hell out of him.
“We have an arrangement,” he went on, stroking my hair. “She attends to all my various needs, and I allow her to live.”
The silence was fraught. Although I couldn’t see either of their faces, I could sense Nigel’s surprise. I could also feel Nick’s cock rising underneath my cheek.
Nigel switched to Turkish. “Are you crazy bringing her here? Does she speak Turkish?”
Nick answered in the same language. “Of course not. She has no clue about what’s really going on here.”
“I don’t trust you. After years of walking the straight and narrow, suddenly you’re engaged in human trafficking and keeping slaves?”
“You know nothing about my life. I got sick of watching you lord about with all your wealth and all your women while I scraped in the dirt for a living. Art trafficking might pay nicely, but the business I’m in now pays even better.”
“How about I take your little friend away from you and give her to my lads?
“Do that and you’ll lower her value.”
“Are you claiming she’s special merchandise?”
“Exactly.”
They were speaking rapidly and using slang, so I was a little behind on my internal translation. Shit. Had I misheard? I didn’t think so. He had used the word for merchandise—a product, goods for sale.
My heart was pounding. Was he serious? I could feel Nigel’s interest in me sharpen. “Please don’t try to tell me she’s a virgin. She looks young, but not that young.”
“Of course not. Except for her anal virginity, which has its own value.”
Thank god I was staring at the floor because I could feel my face turning red. How the hell did he know anything about my fucking anal virginity? Was that what he wanted to do to me? I couldn’t believe they were discussing such a thing. I wanted to melt into the floor and disappear.
“Do you have any idea,” Nick went on, “the price I can command for a young white female? American too, which many potential buyers will enjoy because of the rarity and humiliation factor?”
“How well-trained is she?”
“I’m working on it.”
“Would you like some help on that? Or perhaps I should buy her myself? I’d expect a family discount, of course.”
“Stay the fuck away from her. She doesn’t know what I’m planning. I intend to sell her as minimally trained. That commands a high price these days among those who are into the harsher training protocols.”
What the fuck?
“I must admit I’m surprised,” Nigel drawled. “When I first heard about this trafficking venture you were involved in, I was skeptical. I didn’t think you were so enterprising. Or so hard-assed, for that matter.”
“It’s been a long time since we’ve socialized, Nigel.”
“True.” Nigel sounded speculative.
“Wasn’t it you who always claimed I wasn’t indulging my true inclinations? Maybe you were right. Besides, the money involved is huge.”
“If you think I’m going to trust you because of this one girl you’re mistaken.”
“I don’t give a damn how you feel about me. Just stay out of my way.”
The malevolence between them was even more palpable now. “I’m surprised that you would bring a woman into a situation fraught with danger.”
Nick’s hand in my hair tightened. “Is that a threat?”
“A warning.”
“Lay one finger on her and I’ll kill you,” said Nick. His cool, casual tone seemed to make a mockery of his words.
“Do you really think you could? You, the precise and orderly excavator? You, the good boy from our youth?”
“Yes, I think I could.”
So did I. I couldn’t credit it, but Nigel seemed unimpressed by the deadly sense of purpose I could feel emanating from Nick. Didn’t he know what Nick was capable of with those lethal hands of his?
Apparently not. “Sure, coz,” he said, and, humming cheerfully to himself, strolled to the door. “Anytime you want to take me on, do let me know. Oh, and by the way,” Nigel switched back to English. I guess he wanted to make sure I understood him. “The old man’s waiting to see you. It se
ems he’s finally found his precious treasures of Troy.”
“What do you mean, he’s finally found them?”
“He didn’t tell you? I guess he doesn’t trust your little slave here. For the past couple of days, he’s talked of little else. See you at dinner, pet,” he added with markedly less courtesy than he had displayed at first. “Do forgive Nick and me our squabbles. Just a little cousinly conflict.”
He left, banging the door behind him.
I was trying not to panic. The trafficking thing freaked me out. Nick was planning to sell me? I don’t speak Turkish, I don’t fucking speak Turkish. Dammit, I almost wished I didn’t.
I hoped this was all part of my captor’s psyching out of his cousin, but he was so hard to read. I’d always thought I was good at reading people. But I’d made mistakes before.
“You okay?” he asked. I had been kneeling the whole time. He now raised me to my feet.
Was I okay? Not really. I was trying to figure out how I’d be expected to react to the part of the conversation that had been in English. “I don’t know what you were saying to each other, but it sounded hostile,” I managed.
“We can’t stand each other.”
“Your cousin has a bit of a Jekyll and Hyde thing going on, doesn’t he?”
Nick raised his eyebrows quizzically.
“He was very polite initially, but that changed. Even though I couldn’t understand what he was saying, his whole manner shifted when he was speaking to you. It was chilling.”
“Kudos to you for seeing through him. Most people don’t.”
This didn’t make me feel better, since Nick had just revealed something equally chilling about himself.
He fondled my hair with the palm of his hand. Don’t touch me, I wanted to scream, but I bit it back.
“Stay here while I go check in with my grandfather. I’ll be back soon.”
Don’t hurry back on my account. “You don’t think he’s really found any treasures from Troy, do you?”
Nick ran a hand through his hair and frowned. “Highly unlikely,” he muttered as he followed Nigel out of the room.
Alone in the small room, I paced back and forth and brooded. The encounter with Nigel had freaked me out, and not just because of the leashed violence seething between the two cousins. I kept going over everything that Nick had told me about his own involvement in this madness. If he hated his cousin so much, why was he working with him? Why was he sailing around the Aegean instead of being on site at the dig? Was he involved in human trafficking? And—I had trouble even formulating this thought—did he really intend to sell me into some horrible human trafficking network?
