Camille, Claimed

by Ginger Talbot

  “Give me their names and locations,” Damion barks at me.

  I look at Augustus. “I gave them my word they would be protected, and I always keep my word. I followed the rules of the charter when I killed Troy.”

  Damion’s face is flushed with anger. “With respect, Augustus, I believe he’s lying.”

  I shake my head. “If I were capable of hacking into the GPS capsules, why didn’t I just kill every single one of you? Think about it logically, please.”

  “That was a threat, sir! Let me take him out,” Paxton says eagerly, leaning forward.

  Augustus freezes him with a look. “Interrupt me again, and I’ll take you out.”

  Paxton bows his head respectfully, and he sinks back into his seat, but I see a flare of hatred in his eyes. Solomon stifles a snicker, and Paxton’s lip curls in a snarl of frustration.

  Damn. This family is as cuddly as a box of scorpions.

  Augustus focuses his attention on me. “I will have to insist on the new identities and location that you provided the chef and his family. If you are telling the truth, then you were within your rights to strike as you did. But I don’t know you very well, and as Patriarch, it is my obligation to verify that our rules are being followed. And the lives of the chef and his whore and their brat are meaningless. Family before all.”

  I anticipated this, so I give him half the truth. I tell him the names that I provided them with so they could leave the country, and the address of the house that I rented for them in Bulgaria. But I don’t tell him the names on the second set of fake passports, which they were to use as soon as they arrived in the country.

  Augustus nods. “This meeting is adjourned,” he announces. “Bastien, why don’t you and I take a walk and enjoy the sunshine on this glorious day?”

  The Franklin men file out of the room, and when they’re gone, I follow Augustus out into the gardens. We stroll the grounds for about half an hour, chatting about the weather and the historic gardens, until one of Augustus’ men calls him over.

  After Augustus confers with the man, he returns to me. “It seems you were telling the truth. However, they never arrived at the address you gave us. They’ve disappeared.”

  I shrug. “I gave them quite a bit of cash, and I’m sure they prefer to hide out in a place where nobody from the Franklin family can find them.”

  We’re walking back to the house as we speak. “We’ve got some entertainment planned. Come join me.” There’s something in the tone of his voice that I don’t like. And I hope I’m not going to have to turn down yet another offer of one of their “Sinners”.

  Augustus leads me through the house into a dimly lit BDSM dungeon room. It’s big and sprawling, with the same kind of equipment I have at Dark Desires. St. Andrews crosses, restraint stations, ob-gyn-type chairs, spanking benches, sex swings and the like. There’s also a bar, with a tuxedoed bartender serving drinks, and leather couches and chairs.

  There are half a dozen women scattered around the room, and most of the Franklin men are gathered around them, double-teaming and in some cases triple-teaming them. Groans of pleasure from the men and sobs and cries from the women drift through the air. The air smells of semen and sweat. I spot Maria on her hands and knees, servicing Senator Franklin with her mouth while Judge Franklin takes her from behind. There are whip marks on her smooth, round buttocks, and Franklin’s squeezing her ass cheeks so hard his fingers are sinking into her skin. Tears of pain run down her cheeks, but she never stops sucking.

  A man named Thomas, who’s balls-deep in a brunette’s mouth, glances at Augustus as we walk by him. “We need more Sinners.” He grins at him. “You’re running low.” Then he smacks the top of her head. “Suck harder, girl!” She whimpers in misery and renews her efforts.

  “The new Patriarch will provide them, of course.” Augustus smiles at him.

  “Of course. Oh, yeah, that’s more like it.” Thomas closes his eyes and tips his head back.

  When we reach the center of the room, where Paxton and Solomon are standing by an upright rectangular rack, I go stiff with anger and it takes everything I have not to explode on the spot.

  Camille is strapped to the rack. Naked, arms stretched above her, legs splayed open, with a big red ball gag in her mouth. Her eyes are huge with fright, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Bastien

  I suck in a breath and fix my gaze on Augustus. “I told you, I do not share.” There’s an edge of steel to my voice. Any show of weakness right now will be the end of me—and Camille.

  “And I told you, this is a family tradition. We share our women.” His voice is ever so polite and cultivated. He glances at Solomon and Paxton. “Which one of you wants to go first? I know, two at once. Of course, you’re welcome to join in.”

  Paxton smirks at me, his face twisting in malicious glee.

  Augustus is doing this because when I killed Troy, I made everyone question his authority. It’s a petty, spiteful move, and I am even more eager for the challenge to start.

  I will not let anyone lay a hand on her, but there’s only one way to protect her.

  “I’ll be happy to sample the wares.” Solomon’s voice is low and taunting. He steps forward and runs his hand across her flat stomach, moving down toward the neatly trimmed curls between her legs.

  “Stop! I am planning to marry her,” I snap. Solomon pauses, his hand resting lightly on her lower belly. “That is the exception. It’s in the charter,” I remind Augustus.

  Augustus looks at me skeptically. “This is a woman who betrayed you when you were in your teens. We know. We’ve accessed some of your therapy files.”

  “Yes. And what better way to make her suffer for the rest of her short life than to chain her to me, seven days a week? I’ll put her through hell. I will fill her with my seed and she’ll bear my children. And then I’ll dispose of her.” Camille flinches, her eyes widening. Does she know I’m just saying that because I have to? “She fits all the requirements to be bred. She’s physically fit and attractive, college-educated, and comes from respectable parents.”

  “You’re lying,” Paxton growls. He reaches out to squeeze her breast. I grab his hand. “Touch her, lose your paw.” I release his hand, and he raises his fist, but Augustus snaps, “Wait!”

  As Paxton quivers with impatience, Augustus looks at me suspiciously.

  “If you plan to make her suffer, show me.” I glance around the room until I see a rack of implements. I go to fetch a whip with a rigid black-and-white handle and a long black tail.

  She tenses fearfully as I walk around behind her. I draw back my arm, my muscles bunching, and go at it, slashing her pale, naked skin. She makes strangled screaming noises behind the ball gag as I paint long red welts from the top of her back to the bottom. With each brutal smack of leather on flesh, she bucks against her chains. The men from around the room watch eagerly, and for once I don’t like that people are looking at her naked body. I should be the one to choose how to punish her and who to display her to.

  And I feel cold and sick, but I don’t stop. Because if I do, they’ll kill her. With each snap of the whip, she jerks as if she’s being shocked with electric currents.

  Finished with her back, I move on to her buttocks, snapping the whip until her buttocks are crisscrossed with raised red weals. Her moans are growing weaker and she’s sagging on her chains by the time I finish. I’ve marked up her entire back and ass now, so I make a big show of carefully rolling the whip back up and hanging it back up on the rack. Only then do I undo her leather hand and wrist cuffs.

  She sinks to her knees, her body spasming, arms crossed over her breasts and crotch.

  “Drop your arms right now!” I snap at her, and she obeys, her face contorted in misery. I bend down and unsnap the ball gag, and she gasps, spluttering as I pull it from her mouth. Seconds later, she’s presented with my hard cock in her face.

  “Suck me,” I snap at her. “And make it
good.”

  Her hands shake as she grasps my cock and guides it into her mouth. There’s a circle of men gathered around us now, watching. Their greedy eyes rove over her.

  I thrust into her mouth, and she sucks me hard, her mouth moving the way I like it. She’s sniffling and whimpering, but she tips her head back and lets me fuck her hot little mouth, and the tears running down her cheeks send a rush of excitement to my groin. I close my eyes and drift to that fantasy world where it’s just her and me. I tangle my fingers in her hair and guide her, and my groin heats pleasurably, the heat building until finally I release into her mouth. She swallows every bit of it, and when I slide out of her mouth, her gaze drops to the floor.

  I look up at Augustus. “This is my cunt to punish,” I say shortly. “I would like to take her to her room and finish in private. Immediately after the challenge, I will marry her. I can assure you.”

  He shrugs in annoyance. “Run along, then. And I don’t need to tell you what will happen to her when you lose.” Great, we’re starting with the macho posturing now. I’m lucky he’s held back by the rules of the charter, or things would be going very differently for both me and her, I’m sure.

  I march her naked through the house, and her arms quiver; I know she desperately wants to cover herself, but she refrains. When we get to my room, I take her into the shower, strip out of my clothes, and blast warm water on both of us.

  “Turn around and face the wall,” I growl, and she obeys without a word, trembling like a leaf. I am sure that there are cameras and listening devices in here.

  I kick her legs apart and pull her up against me, pressing my lips against her ear. “I’ll get you out of this,” I murmur very quietly, my fingers slipping between her legs. “Be patient.” She sags with relief, slumping back against me.

  I tangle my fingers in her wet hair and jerk her head back. “Open your legs wider, you little whore!” I bark at her, and again she hurries to obey me without a word. Frustration surges through me. For the first time, I don’t want to be rough with her—but I have no choice. I want to rub ointment on her welts, and stroke her gently, and tell her how sorry I am for everything. But I can’t, not with the video camera watching us.

  So I jam myself into her tight, slick pussy with one brutal thrust. I pump into her like an animal, pressing her back up against the marble shower wall. Her nipples are stiff little peaks, pressing into my chest, and she’s wet for me even after I whipped her senseless, and she moans into my mouth.

  When she comes, her pussy spasming and squeezing my cock, it sends me over the edge. I ride wave after wave of pleasure, pumping my semen into her, and she clings to me, dazed and shivering.

  The rest of that day, I’m brutally short with her, shoving her, snapping at her, and she shrinks in on herself. The only clothes provided for her are see-through lace dresses that are cut off just below the crotch, and slutty maids’ uniforms. So she wears one of the lace dresses, with crotchless panties that frame her pussy obscenely.

  I want to cover her with my own clothing, but I can’t. Any gesture of kindness on my part threatens us both.

  That evening, I eat dinner in my room in front of her and make her wait until I’m done before I put a plate on the floor for her, at my feet. She has to eat the pasta without using utensils or her hands.

  Afterward, I order her to come outside with me for a walk. When we’re finally in an open field, where I’m confident that nobody can hear us, I speak to her in a low voice.

  “Just stare straight ahead and keep your expression neutral. There’s a fight coming up in a couple of days. When I win the fight, we’ll be safe again.”

  Her gaze flicks at me fearfully. “What if you lose the fight?” she murmurs. “I mean, I have every confidence in you, but…these people…”

  “We’re all going in armed with nothing but a knife. I’ve never lost a fight yet, and I’ve been up against men who outweighed me by a hundred pounds. I’ll win.” I can’t let myself think of any other outcome, but I’m up against multiple enemies who share my psychotic bloodline and my lust for murder.

  “Who are they?” she whispers. “What is this place? All those women being raped…” She shudders, and tears stream down her beautiful cheeks. She’s trembling all over, her eyes wide with panic.

  “Cut it the fuck out,” I growl, and she stares at me in shock. “We have to play our parts for the next couple of days. You will survive this. You are the strongest person I’ve ever met, Camille. You’re stronger than me, even. And I need that strength to get me through this. If you don’t believe in me, if you don’t believe in us, then I’ll have nothing to fight for, and I’ll fail.”

  She sucks in a breath. “You don’t believe in us. You sent me away.”

  “I was an idiot. I was wrong. I’m sorry, Camille—I’m sorry about everything. I was wrong to punish you. When I win this fight, I’ll make it up to you, I swear on my life.” I’m staring straight ahead as I say that, keeping my face blank, when what I want to do is stare into her beautiful emerald eyes and pour the truth of what I’m saying into her soul.

  “I’ll be fine. I can compartmentalize. I’ll play my part,” she says very quietly.

  For the next couple of days, Camille and I mostly stay in our room. She keeps her head down and barely talks, but when I take her out for a walk in the gardens behind the house, we exchange glances that speak volumes.

  Her green eyes seek me out, and I telegraph my promises to her as she limps slowly along beside me, recovering from her whipping. I will get you out of this. I will protect you.

  For the first time in my life, I feel doubt. And worry. If I die, the consequences for Camille will be horrendous. I am confident about my chances in a fair fight, but will it really be a fair fight? I don’t trust Paxton at all, and Solomon’s a wild card – he’s impossible to read, behind that cruel smirk of his.

  Have I finally come to a place of peace between Camille and I – just to lose it all?

  Paxton always manages to appear minutes after we start our walks, and he lets his gaze rove over Camille’s body in a deliberately provocative way. My blood boils. Under any other circumstances, I’d skin him alive, very slowly, and rub salt on his exposed flesh for good measure. But I just I paste a look of indifference on my face and let him get all worked up as he prances around, posturing and preening. He’s hoping to provoke me into attacking him, but as long as he doesn’t touch me physically, the charter forbids it. So, even though I could easily tear his limbs from his body in fair combat, I ignore his silent taunts.

  Instead, I just stick close to Camille and try to keep the gnawing fear of the unknown at bay.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  The morning of the challenge, I am summoned at six a.m. by a sharp rapping on the door, which I was expecting. I cast a regretful glance at Camille as I leave. I’ve never particularly given any thought to living or dying; I’ve thrown myself into every fight with an eagerness and no thought to the consequences.

  Now I realize that I don’t want to die. I want to live, to protect Camille, to spend the rest of my life owning her and loving her and giving her what she needs, feeding her my darkness just the right amount. I stuffed too much of my evil down her throat and choked her, but I can pull back. I can hurt her the right way, I can make her love it. If I die, somebody else will have her, and that is simply not acceptable.

  I want to let her know how sorry I am for what I’ve done. I want to make it up to her, to buy her presents, an art gallery of her own, a beautiful estate to make her home. I want to protect her from harm, I want her to spend every waking moment knowing how loved she is.

  So I will win the challenge, no matter what it takes. I will do it for Camille. Thinking about that lifts some of the heaviness from my shoulders, and for the first time ever, I realize that living for someone else is not a burden, it is a privilege.

  I am taken by a guard into a large room that contains only cabinets and a full-size body scanner like the kind
they have at airports. Senator Franklin himself is standing there, with a solemn expression on his face.

  I am ordered to strip naked, then I’m handed a pair of jeans and a pair of sandals. The jeans are hand-sewn and the sandals are hand-made, just like what Isaiah wore. The guard hands me a knife. It’s old-fashioned. The family charter calls for using the exact same kind of knife that Isaiah did. It’s nothing but a hand-forged steel blade with a hand-carved wooden handle. I would have preferred a more modern weapon—serrated, for maximum carnage—but it’s not the end of the world. What wins a knife fight is not the weapon, but the man handling it.

  Senator Franklin recites a lengthy speech about Franklin family honor, the weight of history, and being gifted by God with superior prowess and blah blah blah. I stand there and look attentive, as I’m expected to. Elsewhere, senior members of the Franklin Family Council are repeating this same ponderous ritual with the other challengers.

  Then he leads me to the forested area. It’s fenced off with razor wire, and he gestures at the opening. “You don’t leave until you can lead us to the body of every last challenger, or present us with their heads,” he says.

  I know the rules. If I attempt to leave before then, I will be executed in a very painful fashion, in front of the Franklin Family Council, who would no doubt be delighted.

  My mind briefly drifts to Simon. Has he been able to carry out my orders? I wish I could have checked in with him over the last few days, but I don’t have time to worry about that now.

  I slip through the narrow opening in the razor wire. Elsewhere along the fence, the other contestants are doing the same. Perhaps I should be afraid, or sad, or angry. Those would be normal reactions under the circumstances. Instead, I feel glorious, stripped of all emotion except an eager craving to kill. The cool morning breeze smells sweet, and the rising sun bathes me in a light and warmth made just for me.