by K. Webster
Dirty Ugly Toy
Copyright © 2015 K. Webster
Cover Design: All By Design
Photo: Dollar Photo Club
Editor: Premier Romance Editing
Formatting: Champagne Formats
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information and retrieval system without express written permission from the Author/Publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents
title page
copyright
books by Author K Webster
dedication
warning
quote
prologue
1 ~ 2 ~ 3 ~ 4 ~ 5 ~ 6 ~ 7 ~ 8 ~ 9 ~ 10 ~ 11 ~ 12 ~ 13 ~ 14 ~ 15 ~ 16 ~ 17 ~ 18 ~ 19 ~ 20 ~ 21 ~ 22 ~ 23 ~ 24 ~ 25 ~ 26 ~ 27 ~ 28 ~ 29 ~ 30
epilogue
playlist
a note from K Webster
acknowledgements
about the author
Books by Author K Webster
THE BREAKING THE RULES SERIES:
Broken (Book 1) – Available Now!
Wrong (Book 2) – Available Now!
Scarred (Book 3) – Available Now!
Mistake (Book 4) – Available Now!
Crushed (Book 5 – a novella) – Available Now!
THE VEGAS ACES SERIES:
Rock Country (Book 1) – Available Now!
Rock Heart (Book 2) – Available Now!
Rock Bottom (Book 3) – Available Now!
THE BECOMING HER SERIES:
Becoming Lady Thomas (Book 1) – Available Now!
Becoming Countess Dumont (Book 2) – Available Now!
Becoming Mrs. Benedict (Book 3) – Available Now!
Alpha & Omega – Available Now!
Omega & Love – Available Now!
STANDALONE NOVELS
Apartment 2B – Available Now!
Love and Law – Available Now!
Moth to a Flame – Available Now!
Erased – Available Now!
The Road Back to Us – Available Now!
Give Me Yesterday– Available Now!
Running Free – Available Now!
Irrevocably Claimed Anthology with Zeke’s Eden – Available Now!
My love . . .
Life may get dirty and things may get ugly.
Our love, though, will always be perfect to me.
. . . Your love
Warning
Dirty Ugly Toy is a novel that blurs the lines of right and wrong, deals with abuse, contains dubious consent, and adult subject matter. If you are sensitive to violent sexual situations, the book may not be suitable for you. Some parts of this book are not easy to read and are not intended for everyone. However, those that keep an open mind and stick with it will not be disappointed.
“As men get older, the toys get more expensive.”
Marvin Davis
Two weeks earlier . . .
Tears roll down her bright red cheeks and her garbled pleas become more frantic with each passing mile. Dubois trussed her up tight at the estate—her wrists fastened behind her back with a zip tie, a matching one around her bare ankles, and a scarf strung through her open mouth to the point of nearly gagging her. She’s most likely cut the flesh on her arms from trying to escape. The thought of blood smeared over her olive skin sends a surge of excitement through my veins.
They all try to escape the inevitable in the end.
Every single fucking time it’s the same.
Please don’t get rid of me, sir.
I drag my eyes away from the glorified whore and turn my bored attention to the Washington state tree line along the interstate. We’re almost there—to the place where each toy meets their end. Where I dust my hands and start anew.
“Another ten minutes, sir,” Dubois assures me from the driver’s seat.
I meet his eyes in the mirror and nod before turning back to the window. When we slow and then turn onto a gravel road that leads into the dark, thick woods, she begins screaming through the scarf. With an infuriated huff, I snap my gaze to meet hers.
The toy, one whom I actually enjoyed for a spell, is getting on my fucking nerves. Her almond-shaped eyes are swollen from crying for the entire two-hour drive. They flicker with fear when the vehicle slows to a stop.
“You were fun for a little while,” I tell her with a yawn. I’m going to sleep for a fucking week before making my journey back to London. This shit, no matter how gratifying, gets so goddamn exhausting. Especially at the end. I’m bored and tired. And the toy is used and done with.
Dubois climbs out of the car and I hear him exchange words in Russian with Matvei. The toy, even though she doesn’t know a word in the language, becomes hysterical. I’m assuming she understands her fate—as they all do about now.
“Time to say goodbye, Swan.”
I’d like to taste her lips once more—to savor her essence for the way back home. She flinches when I reach over and tug the scarf free from her swollen lips but doesn’t waste any time begging.
“Please, my master. Don’t do this,” she cries out, “You don’t have to do this!”
My eyes narrow and I lazily drag my gaze down her throat to her heaving breasts—breasts I know are marked and bruised from my teeth beneath her thin black dress. My dick doesn’t even stir at the reminder which is exactly why I must get rid of her.
She bores me now.
“Swan, I suggest you shut your stupid mouth before I choke you with this scarf,” I tell her with a growl. “You belong to me until that very last second. Do you understand me?”
Hope flickers in her eyes and I have the urge to slap the look right off her face. It’s as if she doesn’t know me at all.
“Y-Y-You c-c-could k-keep me,” she chatters, the frigid air that’s swirled in from Dubois’ open door, chilling her.
I scoff. “And do what? Marry you? Have half fucking Asian babies with you?”
She nods rapidly and it pisses me off. Lightning fast, I snatch a handful of her black hair and yank her to me.
Wide, terrified eyes meet mine and my dick actually does twitch for a moment. I could fuck her one last time—for old times’ sake.
“Ready, sir?”
Dubois’ voice from the front jerks me from my thoughts of doing anything stupid and I turn my attention to him.
“Yes. Bring me the scissors.”
I drag my gaze back to hers and inhale her. Swan, who loved to cook, smells of ginger and wasabi. She’d been in the middle of making me sushi when I decided I was done with her.
“Please, sir,” she begs again, “Don’t do this. I love you!”
They all love me.
How could they not?
“Swan, I could never love a whore. You were nothing more than a toy to me. Now you’re done, baby.”
A gust of frigid air enters the back of the car when Dubois opens my door. The gleam of the scissors in the moonlight is beautiful but the scream that rips from Swan is otherworldly.
“Hold her mouth shut, D,” I grunt when she starts to wiggle in my grasp.
He climbs in beside her and slaps a black, leather glove over her mouth to shut her the fuck up. Dubois isn’t the biggest man but he’s cunning and strong. I’d hired him to be my right hand man when I saw how he handled himself
in a gang fight in LA. Six motherfuckers tried to take down the lean, black man but he damn near gutted four of them before one pulled a gun on him and shot him in the belly. They’d left him for dead but when he awoke in the hospital, I was there for him and with a proposition he couldn’t refuse.
They never refuse.
I snatch the scissors from the seat beside me and wave them in front of her face. It actually turns me right the fuck on to see her fighting against Dubois’ unyielding grasp. If we were back home, I’d want him to fuck her so I could watch.
But then I remember her time is up.
I want a new toy.
One that I can restore.
An ugly thing turned pristine and shiny.
“I need a souvenir to add to my scrapbook.” I bark out a laugh and clip a long strand of hair from her gorgeous head. I’m pleased when I inhale it and the ginger-wasabi combination remains. Perfect. Like this toy once was.
I give D a nod and he drops his hand.
“Any last words, Swan?”
She sobs but no words come out. Taking pity on her pathetic ass, I draw forward and brush a soft kiss on her lips.
I’ll definitely miss her.
Until I get a new one.
“Goodbye,” I tell her, my breath the last part of me she’ll ever be gifted.
She screams when Dubois jerks her with him out of the car. Matvei helps him wrangle her away from my presence. Together, they do what I don’t like doing. They do the hard part. My part is always easy.
Find new toys.
Play with them.
Tell them goodbye.
And my boys do the rest.
A chill skitters through me from the fall night air and I yank the door closed. My mind clears as I begin wondering what kind of toy I want next. Tonight I’ll do some research. See what strikes my fancy. Perhaps my next toy will be a plus-sized girl—I’ve always had a thing for curves and big tits. Or, maybe I can have a lesbian with a boy haircut—that toy would be fun breaking in for sure. And gingers seem to be the craze right now too—maybe I’ll find me a freckly red-headed toy.
My dick thickens and I smirk. It was smart getting rid of Swan when I did. For one second, I considered keeping her. Then I remembered I don’t keep my toys for very long. I’m a very spoiled man and like new ones.
When Swan’s screams are silenced finally, Dubois returns to the car. He puts it in drive and we head back home. I drop my gaze to the lock of hair between my fingers and grin. Nineteen toys. Nineteen locks of hair. Nineteen times I’d indulged in my greatest fantasies.
I believe the twentieth one will be extra special.
And I can’t wait to make her mine.
At least for a little while . . .
I wobble down Breightmet Street on my last pair of heels and hope my hair looks decent. Not even a half hour ago, I woke up with my underwear around my thighs, face down on the scummy floor of a pub over on Shifnall twitching for my next fix. But some stupid bastard not only stole the last of my stash, but he took my cash too. I’m too fucked up to even worry about what he did while I was unconscious. Not that it matters anyway. I’m not hurting so his small dick must not have done too much damage.
“My corner you dirty bitch,” a prossie snaps when I near her. “Take your ugly arse elsewhere.”
I snarl my lip in disgust. As if the tart has any room to talk. Her black hair is nothing but a mop of Medusa dreads. I bet her cunt is crawling with fucking crabs.
“Fuck you, whore. You don’t own the whole goddamn town of Bolton,” I spit out and stop about twenty feet from her.
She continues her bitching while I dig around in my bag for my cigs. I’m shaking with the need for a hit of skag. All my needles and shit were gone when I woke up. Instead of washing up in the sink like a normal human would have, I wiped the slobber from my cheek, pulled my underwear back up, and went on a search for a punter. Punters mean money. Money means heroin.
A piece of shit car slows down when it gets near and I hope it’ll stop for me. Medusa may think she owns this corner but I can nail just about any customer I want. Unlike her and her shitty standards, I have none. If a client wants to wheel and deal for a blow job, I’ll take his dumb offer and suck him off. Six quid is six quid—six quid closer to more shit I need.
The skag takes away the pain. The festering wound in my chest that seeps and throbs with sorrow and self-hatred is ever present. Without my damn heroin, I can hardly cope. And right now, memories mix with reality. Past and present become confusing. I need my fucking escape.
“How much for that sweet pussy?”
I jerk out of my daze and flash the fat fucker a smile. “What are you offering?”
He scratches the scruff on his cheek and regards me with a toothless grin. “I’m skint, baby. All I have is a tenner ‘til next pay day.”
I shudder. His ugly ass should have to pay fifty. But ten’ll get me a hit. Brewster, one of the dealers I go to around these parts, won’t take any less than ten.
“I’ll blow you for ten,” I tell him, hoping he’ll give in.
His brows furrow into an agitated glare and he leans back inside his vehicle to talk to another man who’s in the driver’s seat. When he pops his head back out the window, he waves a baggie of crystals at me.
“Ten for your arse,” he negotiates, as if doing anal instead is a better deal for me than regular fucking. “And some brown sugar.”
My heart flops in my chest and it takes everything in me not to kick off my only pair of shoes to my name and dive into his fucking piece of shit car after what he’s offering.
“How much skag you got?” I ask, trying not to seem so eager.
He smirks, knowing he’s won. “Enough to keep you high all night, baby. Get in the car.”
The joy of knowing I’m about to get high again surges through me. They can both fuck my ass if they want—as long as they uphold their end of the deal to party with me all night. I squeal and kick off my heels toward the Medusa bitch before running toward them, ignoring the bite of the frozen concrete beneath my feet. I’m almost to the car when a sleek, black vehicle screeches to a halt behind them.
“Fucking pigs,” the punter snarls in disgust before they peel out away from me, leaving me to deal with the authorities on my own. I nearly burst into tears at having lost the promise of my skag.
A car door slams and I snap my head to face the cop head-on. I may not be getting any drugs tonight but the promise of a warm, dry place to sleep for the night is almost just as alluring. Almost.
“What’s your name?” A tall, slender black man in a fitted suit regards me with question. His accent indicates he’s not from these parts. Most likely American. That notion causes little red flags to wave at me.
“You a pig or what?”
He shakes his head. “Or what. Tell me your name.”
“Jessica Rabbit,” I lie with a harsh laugh. “How much you offering?”
His lips press into a displeased firm line. “Five hundred.”
My eyes bug out of my head. Holy shit. I’d do just about anything for that sum of money. “What? You want my arse? You into some kinky ‘call me daddy’ shit, baby?” I purr and reach for the lapel on his suit. “For five hundred quid, I’ll do whatever you want.”
He swats my hand away in disgust. “Not five hundred pounds, woman.”
I pout at his words. Did I misunderstand him? I’m starting to fucking tweak and I can’t stand it. I get confused as hell. “A fiver?” I question with a huff. “Fine, whatever. Put it in my arse if you want—just give me the fucking money up front and we’re good. We doing this in your car?”
He seizes my wrist and hauls me forward. His scent is masculine yet exotic. Expensive. “We’re not doing anything. However, my boss would like to hire you for your services.”
I swallow down the fear that is always present but nod. “Cool. Where is he?” If things get weird, I’ll run. Even way out here in England, I still don’t feel completely safe from
him.
He looks over his shoulder at the car and then back at me. “Back there. Do you want the job?”
My eyes widen as if he’s lost his mind. “You’re fucking proper as hell, Bruno. Fine, yes. I want the job. Can we tell him I didn’t offer up my arse though? I give a mean blow-job.”
He sighs and stares into my eyes with his that nearly match his dark skin. “My name is Dubois, not Bruno. And Mr. Kennedy wants to hire you for five hundred thousand. Are you interested?”
I let out a breath of relieved air upon hearing a name I don’t recognize. But I think my mind is playing tricks again and I bark out a nervous laugh. “Oh, wow, I thought you said five hundred thousand for a second there.”
His glare never waivers and understanding washes over me. Holy shit. I’m having a Julia Roberts moment. I may be living in the UK but I grew up in America and watched Pretty Woman enough times to know it word for word. This opportunity could get me enough heroin that I wouldn’t have to fuck for it. The idea is quite tempting actually.
“Come. Mr. Kennedy has been waiting for you.”
Dubois, remaining stoic, drags me behind him toward the waiting car. He opens the back car door and I laugh. This Kennedy rich motherfucker has a driver. I can’t believe this is happening. Twisting my head, I find the Medusa bitch glaring at me. I wave my middle finger at her and call her a cunt before a warm hand grips my elbow, yanking me into the car.
I land on my knees on the leather of the seat and my handbag hits the pavement outside the car, bullshit clattering out as it spills the contents. The firm, large hand on my elbow never releases and I follow the arm to the owner. Even through my tweaking haze, I can tell he’s beautiful and thank God he’s not him. Doesn’t happen around these parts—to get a good-looking man to fuck for the night.
“Jesus, you stink like you bathed in the dumpster. Fucking disgusting.” His insults roll off me and I inhale him. I may stink but he smells decadent—all spices and manly. I bet his dick tastes delicious.
