by D. L. Raver
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
I gritted my teeth and went in for the kill. “What the fuck do you know about me? You’re an inexperienced twenty year old girl. I’m a twenty-eight year old man who’s not about to take on a love-sick girl.”
She glared at me knowingly. But when one lone tear fell down her cheek, I turned away, too much of a coward to watch the woman I loved cry.
“You’re wrong, Sloan. I do know about you. I know—”
“What Kenna? What is you think you know?” I turned around and glowered at her.
Recognition flashed in her eyes and she opened her mouth to speak, but then something else took over her thought process, and resignation fell over her lovely face.
“Nothing. I know nothing.” Kenna brushed the tear from her face and pulled on her dress, quickly zipping it. Once she found her abandoned sandals, she fled toward the door.
I wanted to stop her. Grab her and tell her she did belong to me and no one else, but I didn’t. I stayed stock-still with an impassive look on my face while internally I mourned the very thing I couldn’t have.
She stopped at the door, and with her hand on the knob, she turned to me. “You think you can’t have this—have us. But you can, Sloan. You can have me. But you have to quit doing this to me, to us. One day, you’ll push me so far away I won’t be able to come back.”
Kenna left, slamming the door behind her. Her absence from the room felt like a kick to the teeth.
“Fuck!” I screamed to the empty room. Was she right? Could I have her? I didn’t see how. Every time I tried to reconcile what I needed with what I wanted, the two sums never added up. My secret, and my involvement with the Ceilte, kept us apart. Unless and until I could tell her the truth, it always would.
I went to the table and picked up my beer, and drained it, doing the same to the one Kenna had left behind. After that, I downed seven more beers, before passing out.
When I woke, hungover and feeling like the shit I was, Kenna’s words from the night before reverberated in my head.
“One day, you’ll push me so far away I won’t be able to come back.”
At that moment, I fucking hated Paddy O’Shea and the burden he laid on me. And I hated the ghost of Kevin O’Shea still clung to me.
Irelyn’s words repeated and I choked just a little, dread tightening my throat. “You are so dead Christopher Wilkes. Just you wait.”
This was the reason I had to stay vigilant and away from Kenna. Like that, my resolve returned, obliterating all thoughts of her.
My phone buzzed with an incoming text. I found my phone on the table by my bed and opened the text. As I had expected, the picture Kenna had taken last night appeared. My face was in profile and I could sense the need for her in the way I looked at her.
You and me, Sloan. We’re inevitable.
I threw my phone on the bed and closed my eyes. How was it six simple words made me shudder?
Maybe she was right. Or maybe, Kenna was a really bad idea that would explode in my face when I least expected it.
Chapter Five
Kenna
Present Day
I PUSHED MYSELF into the corner of the cold, stark room as soon as I heard the door rattle; the words to Pharrell William’s song “Happy” dying on my lips. Singing kept me sane and kept the fear I felt from consuming me. But as the knob turned, a paralysis gripped me.
The door opened and Marcus—accompanied by another man—entered the room. The man gave me an apologetic smile as he approached me, carrying the same kind of duffle I’d seen used by EMT’s. His blue eyes softened with compassion in my direction. He seemed nice enough, dressed in green scrubs, and the graying hair at his temples made me think he might be in his late forties. From the crease in his forehead, and the nervous energy coming off him, I really didn’t think he wanted to be here. Something had him in Marcus’ debt, and I felt a little sorry for him.
“Take off your skirt,” Marcus barked without preamble. “The good doctor is going to examine you to confirm your status.”
“What?” My lips trembled as I pushed myself hard against the corner. “No.”
“What did you say?” Marcus stalked across the room in two large strides. He pulled me up by my hair and dragged me to the middle of the room.
After a second of excruciating pain, I forced my body to go limp to minimize the pain.
Marcus glared down at me in his immaculate, three-piece designer suit—the one Irelyn always claimed to hate.
With my head painfully yanked back, he asked, “Who’s in charge here, Kenna?”
I wanted to spit in his face; to deny his authority, but what was the point? When the doctor shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot—his eyes pleading with me to acquiesce—I said, “You are.”
“Good girl.” He let go of my hair and dusted off his hands. “Take off your skirt and underwear and spread your legs. It’s not the first time you’ve opened yourself for a man. Do it again.”
With as much dignity as I could muster, I unzipped my skirt and pulled it off, along with my panties, setting both aside. Then, I lay back like I would for any other internal exam with my knees bent, and my legs spread.
The man came forward and went to his knees between my legs. “I’ll be as gentle as I can.”
“I don’t give a shit about you being gentle. Just confirm what I already know to be true.” Marcus crossed his arms over his chest, and his lips thinned into his trademark expression.
I closed my eyes and commanded myself to relax. This would be much easier if my muscles weren’t tensed. But as soon as I heard the snap of the doctor’s gloves, my entire body clenched, and my knees fell against each other.
“Just relax, miss,” he said in a soothing voice that did nothing to calm me. “This will take less than a minute.”
His fingers found their way between my legs, opening me up to his examination. Gently, he inspected me for what he wouldn’t find.
“She’s no longer a virgin.” He took off his gloves and sighed as he stood. “But that doesn’t mean she’s had sex. There are other ways beside sexual intercourse for a young woman’s hymen to break such as sports or horseback riding.”
“Is there a way to restore it?” Marcus asked with a devious gleam in his eyes.
“No. Once the hymen is ruptured it cannot be repaired. Even if it could be done, I won’t do that Marcus.”
“You’ll do exactly what I tell you to do. Get out!” Marcus growled at the doctor and the man skittered from the room.
I closed my legs and reached for my skirt to cover myself. Bile rose in my throat at the thought Marcus would find a way to return me to my virginal status, erasing what Sloan and I had shared.
“Did I say you could get dressed Kenna?”
Marcus circled me and kicked my hands, causing me to drop the skirt from my grip. It fell beside me, leaving me naked and open to Marcus’ scrutiny.
“Somehow, I don’t think you understand who is in charge here. Perhaps a lesson in respect and proper behavior is in order. You will submit to me, Kenna.”
He grabbed my arm and pulled me upright, tugging me to the door. He threw it open, and we walked down the hall into a room painted black and red.
My heart screeched to a halt at the sight before me. A Saint Andrew’s wooden cross stood in the middle of the room, bolted into the beams on the ceiling. The walls were covered with blood red leather, and the floor was painted, black concrete. A pungent smell of leather and metal—and other things I couldn’t recognize—permeated the space. Along with whips, chains, cat of nine tails, canes, and more items I didn’t know the names of, the room had a terrifying, dungeonous feel to it.
I tried to scream, but when I opened my mouth nothing came out.
Marcus pulled my blouse over my head, then pushed me up against the cross, stretching out my arms and legs. Using the manacles, he fastened my wrists and ankles to the top and bottom of the cross.
My body began to shake violently as I watche
d Marcus strip off first his jacket, then his vest, and finally is white button down shirt. I was surprised to see the muscular definition of his chest.
Irelyn never talked about Marcus other than to say how much she hated her boyfriend. But as I glanced about the room, the how’s and why’s of his physical shape became clear. Wielding these weapons probably took upper body strength.
When he turned and faced me, his normally dull gray gaze had darkened considerably, and his breath came forth in excited exhalations. He went over to a cabinet, opened a drawer and removed something, then came back to me.
I felt my eyes widen when I saw the knife he held in his grip.
When he moved in on me, I thought I might pass out, terrified at what he had planned.
Marcus trailed the tip of the knife from my belly button to just under my bra, and I tried not to flinch, afraid it would cause him to cut me.
By the tenting of his pants, Marcus was clearly turned on by this.
Oh God. Oh God. Oh God, I thought in vain. But my silent pleadings were for nothing; my deity had obviously abandoned me.
“Please Marcus. I’ll behave. I promise. I’ll do whatever you want.” I heard the begging tone of my voice, and I despised myself for my weakness.
“Too late, Kenna. The only way to ensure your compliance is to break you. Then, and only then, can I trust you’ll always obey.”
He licked his lips and slid the knife under my bra, slicing cleanly through the middle of the garment. It fell open revealing my breasts to him. He quickly cut away the straps and threw the tattered remains of my bra to the floor.
My first instinct was to cover myself but I couldn’t, given my wrists were securely fastened to the cross.
“I’m at a loss for what to do with you now. My fault really. I should have known better than to assume you were pure.” He lustfully took in my naked, bound body, tapping his finger on his pointed chin.
Having made some decision, he went to the wall and surveyed the implements. For an excruciating minute, he considered the choice before him. When he returned to face me, he held a long, thin red flicker whip with a black braided nylon tassel at the end.
I cringed as he ran it up and down my naked body.
“What to do, what to do?” He stopped at my sex and narrowed his beady eyes. “Perhaps I should fuck you myself?”
He pushed the stiff end between my legs, roughly running upward. It snagged and pulled at my most sensitive of flesh, but I didn’t cry out. I refused to give him the satisfaction.
“On second thought, I don’t think I will fuck you. That is what I have Irelyn for, after all.”
“Irelyn is with Zolt.” As soon as the words left my mouth, I regretted them. Marcus’ heated gaze turned into a glare of hatred. In a nanosecond, the whip was on me, slapping my breasts.
This time, I cried out as white hot pain slashed across my tender nipples.
Save me, Sloan! Please save me.
“Is she?” Marcus answered my question. “Or is Irelyn waiting in a room much like yours, save a few special decorative touches.” He laughed, but it sounded more like the cackle of a mad man.
“No,” I said, letting my tears finally come. Somehow knowing Marcus had Irelyn too made this all so much worse. It didn’t matter Zolt had gone off the deep end with her the other night. He clearly loved her and she loved him. If she was here, it wasn’t by choice.
“She is. But don’t worry, I have plans for my wayward, misguided lover. Perhaps, I should auction you two together. Now, there’s an interesting idea. I better not let myself get too carried away with your conditioning. It wouldn’t do to mar the product before I’ve had a chance to sell it.”
Marcus turned away from me and I thought maybe he’d changed his mind and decided not to punish me.
Just as I let out a relieved breath, he turned back to me, striking my body several times with the tassel-ended whip. His perfectly greased back hair fell over his forehead with his exertions.
I cried out until I lost my voice as he continued to strike me. When my vision turned red with pain and hate, I let my head loll forward, my hair covering my face in a moist curtain.
All I could think as he whipped me was how angry Sloan was going to be, and the guilt he’d carry for leaving me alone that night. If he would have stayed….
The problem was he never stayed. But this time, his actions ended in my unfortunate predicament. When this was all over, would I blame him? Blame myself? More than anything, I didn’t want whatever would happen here to destroy us, and I didn’t want it to define me either.
It was then I decided Marcus wouldn’t break me nor would he win. No matter what he did, I’d find a way to survive. Little did I know that would be so much easier to say than to do.
Marcus Xavier may have my body, but he didn’t have my heart, and he didn’t have my mind. Those were reserved for myself and Sloan. When this was over, I seriously hoped Marcus would be dead.
Chapter Six
Sloan
Present Day
GRANT AND I sat in my black Challenger across from the house we believed held both Kenna and Irelyn. Every once in a while, the ginger-haired man would risk a glance in my direction, his blue eyes betraying his curiosity. He could smell a story here. Otherwise, why would a supposed chauffeur want to join T-bone’s recovery team?
I ignored his questioning glances. In fact, we barely spoke for the two hours we’d been parked in yet another fruitless effort. I wasn’t interested in small talk, and I wasn’t about to tell my story—nor was I interested in finding out his. My focus remained single-minded; saving Kenna and Irelyn.
Besides that, I was too busy recriminating myself for leaving Kenna in the first place. Irelyn’s abduction had been well executed, but Kenna’s was on my head and my head alone. Really, it shouldn’t be a surprise—failing the people I cared about seemed to be par for the course.
Memories of Chris Wilkes’ funeral barreled through my mind, and I let myself recall that horrible day almost ten months ago, just after returning from Lake Powell.
I opened the door to my loft and stripped off my jacket and tie, tossing them to the wood-planked floor.
“Why?” I hollered, my voice sounding like the angry roar of a wild animal instead of a broken man.
How did this happen? I’d been given the warning, known Chris was in danger, yet somehow his death had come to pass regardless of all the things I put in place to stop it. All the talks and confidences I’d shared with Chris had been for naught.
Marcus Xavier! He was responsible for this. Though I didn’t have proof yet, I knew as sure as I knew my given name was Kevin.
I grabbed a bottle of Jameson Limited Reserve and went out onto the balcony. Cold, numbing rain poured down, biting into my skin, but I didn’t care. I pulled the cork from the bottle, and it came free with a pop.
Tipping the bottle back, I drank eagerly. But there wasn’t near enough alcohol in the quarter-filled bottle to erase the awful events of the day. All the whiskey in Ireland couldn’t do that.
I leaned my head back and let the cold rain drip down my face. Try as I might, the images from earlier refused to fade away. I could still see Jacob Wilkes staring forward, frozen in place as his wife—my beautiful cousin Emmeline—had been reduced by grief to a mere ghost of her normally-confident self.
The tableau broke my fucking heart. But the most disturbing image was that of Marcus Xavier with his arm around Irelyn as she, too, let her grief consume her.
I shivered at the memory, unable to dismiss the unnatural sensation I got as I watched them together at the graveside. It was beyond fucked up, and it took everything in me to stop myself from slapping his arm off her.
Though nothing in Marcus’ commonplace countenance suggested malice, I could feel his silent happiness and joy at the day’s sad proceedings.
Kenna had been there too, and a few times, our gazes caught. I, however, looked away, beyond disgusted with myself to accept her kindness and con
cern.
Digging into my pocket, I pulled out Cliodhna’s Emerald and tried to erase that memory. All day long, the damn thing had made its presence known. Its warmth had seeped through my pants to my skin beneath during the entire service.
Stupid as this sounded, I could tell it wasn’t happy. I laughed at the crazy thought. Attributing human characteristics to the Emerald was insane. Strangely enough, and beyond crazy enough, it seemed to react to the events of my life. Paddy had said Emerald would guide me, and I had dismissed him as a slightly barmy old Irishman.
Now, I had to wonder.
I shook my head again. Maybe I just wanted to believe in it because it made me feel less alone. And maybe I was as crazy as Paddy had been.
Regardless, I closed my fist around the stone and let my tears come—mournful tears born of frustration and loss for a member of my family I’d sworn to protect.
“I’m sorry Paddy, and I’m sorry Chris.” I tipped my head heavenward and wept. I had lost a friend and family member all because I had failed.
I stood outside in my rain-soaked clothes drinking whiskey for untold minutes, replaying all the things I should have done better. All the signs I dismissed because I didn’t want to think Chris and his father had fallen for Marcus’ ploys.
But the truth had burned brightly before me, and I had shielded my eyes. Jacob had become a willing participant in Xavier’s hedonistic endeavors. I still marveled at the audacity it took to run a sex club from Paddy’s ranch. It pissed me off to know Chris and his father blatantly disrespected all that Paddy had built.
Too many times I wanted to tell Emmeline, but I always held my tongue. Now, I second guessed my decision, given the outcome.
I let out a long sigh as I thought back to Chris’ demeanor in the last weeks of his life. His increasing drunkenness and agitation told me he was in over his head, and that his bad decisions were coming around for reckoning. I’ll never forget my last conversation with him and the desperation that clung to him.
