Tortured Soul

by Kirsty Dallas

  I vividly remembered the early days when I was still learning these rules. I would cry as I recited them, grieving for a life lost and an uncertain future. I didn’t cry anymore, even with my future still uncertain the mantra came to me as easily as breathing. I’m not sure if I believed the words, but I had certainly learned to accept them.

  As I lay there watching the blades of the fan spin idly above me, for the first time in a long time, my thoughts slipped back to the events that put me on the path to Master Jonas, the events that had led to my demise.

  Naïve. That’s what I had been, a sixteen-year-old dimwitted, naïve, impulsive girl. But I had been a happy dimwitted, naïve, impulsive girl. I left Claymont with nothing more than a backpack full of clothes and five hundred dollars, which I had secretly withdrawn from mine and B’s trust fund account. I slipped away in the dead of night, embarking on an adventure of a lifetime. My destination had always been known—Las Vegas—however, what I was going to do once I got there was another thing entirely. I knew my end game though—to become a professional dancer, living the bright and glamorous city life. It was a fanciful dream for a young girl who had spent barely a handful of years training as a ballerina. My instructor had said I had natural born talent, and if I worked hard, I could become the next Anna Pavlova. But I only heard ‘natural born talent’ and switched off after that, assuming I could dance to my heart’s content anywhere.

  On my fifth day in Vegas, my money had already dwindled down to a mere fifty dollars. Thankfully my best friend, Julia, had an aunt in Las Vegas who she had talked about incessantly. When I showed up on her Aunt Gwen’s doorstep, she hadn’t been at all what I envisioned. Julia had said her aunt was a successful burlesque dancer who was “raking it in.” Realistically, Gwen was a skinny, bleach blonde with fake breasts, bad skin, and had a cigarette constantly hanging from her collagen injected lips. One look at her unhealthy body and scantily clothed form indicated exactly what kind of dancing she did—and it was not burlesque. When she opened the door to her one bedroom apartment, her eyes had looked over me with disdain. Nevertheless, she invited me in. The apartment was small, old but mostly clean with only one window that was covered with bars. If that wasn’t an indication of the dangerous area Gwen lived in, the broken down cars, frightening looking men who looked like drug dealers, and the few homeless that loitered on the street out front certainly were. Strangely enough, as much as Gwen looked at me like I was dirt under her feet, she offered me her couch to sleep on. I gave her my last fifty dollars as rent in advance, knowing I need to find a job as quickly as possible. I learned that it was relatively easy for a girl to find a job if she’s willing to do just about anything. A small diner hired me to wash dishes. They paid me in cash and didn’t ask questions. I hated it—I hated my constantly pruned hands, the long hours bent over a sink, the humiliation of being nothing more than a human dishwasher—when in fact my dreams were far more ambitious. I constantly moaned and complained to Gwen, until she eventually snapped.

  “You want to be a dancer? You want to leave behind everything you know and everything you are so you can leap and pirouette on a stage?” She stormed to her bedroom, leaving me a little bewildered as I lay on the couch. She returned moments later with a dress scrunched up in her hand. She threw it on my lap. “Put that on. We’re going out.”

  The dress had been little more than a scrap of fabric that barely covered my tits and ass, but if it got me up on stage, I wasn’t going to complain. The club Gwen took me to was just as I suspected, a titty bar.

  “Gwen, this isn’t exactly what I had in mind,” I hissed as she led me into the dark smoky club.

  Only a few men lingered inside and sat alone. As they nursed their drink of choice, they watched the naked girl dancing on stage, their eyes hungry and lustful. The girl, who couldn’t have been much older than me, paid them little attention. Her gaze was somewhere far away as she swung her lithe body gracefully around a pole. There was an exotic yet sorrowful beauty to the girl’s performance. With my eyes glued to the stage, Gwen pulled hard on my wrist and I was propelled forward into the chest of a young man. His red rimmed hazel eyes glared at me with annoyance, but as he took in my barely there dress, the look of annoyance quickly became one of interest.

  “William, this is Emily Donovan. She wants to be a star,” Gwen demanded from somewhere behind me.

  William was handsome enough—his hair was somewhere between blonde and brown, his lips were full, and his teeth were white and straight when he smiled at me.

  “Is that so,” he breathed as he moved forward, invading my personal space. He immediately put me on edge. His eyes dropped to my breasts, which were almost spilling out of my dress, and his tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip. I tried to take a step back, but his hand reached out and gripped my arm, squeezing it so tight I knew it would leave a mark.

  “William!” growled a deep, imposing voice from somewhere over his shoulder. “Hands off the merchandise.”

  William dropped my arm as if I had burned him, but the look of lust never left his eyes as he obediently stepped away from me. Behind William stood an older man, most likely William’s father if their similar features were anything to go by. However similar they appeared to be, there were glaringly obvious differences. William was dressed in a white button down shirt, the sleeves rolled to the elbows, and a pair of jeans. The man with the commanding voice was wearing an immaculate suit, and his shoes were polished to a shine. There wasn’t a hair out of place, his face was clean shaven, and although he was older, he was equally, if not more handsome than his son. His powerful gaze raked over my body, lingering on my breasts before settling on my eyes. Unable to look away, I watched as he moved towards me, his head held high, his shoulders back. He moved like a predator, stalking toward me, his prey. He reached out and touched my cheek, trailing his hand down my neck and collarbone.

  “Stunning,” he whispered.

  The simple word made my teenage heart flutter, causing it to soar with pride. Even though I instinctively feared this man, I wanted him to like me. He took my hand and pressed his warm lips to the back of it in a gentlemanly manner that made me smile.

  “Jonas Levier,” he introduced himself. “And you are?”

  “E…Emily,” I whispered.

  Jonas’s confident smile dimmed as he looked over my face with a worried frown. “Do you usually stutter?”

  The question caught me off guard and my smile dropped a little. “No,” I murmured.

  Jonas gave me a short nod before smiling once again. As we stood in the club facing each other, my surroundings became nothing more than a muted distant annoyance. I unexpectedly found myself in the center of Jonas’ universe. He didn’t once look at the naked girl on stage, nor the intimidating men that surrounded him like subordinates waiting for their master’s command. This man appeared to only have eyes for me.

  “Pet,” Jonas purred.

  I bristled at the nickname he had taken upon himself to call me.

  “A magnificent sparkling jewel like you does not belong in a place like this.”

  The degrading nickname was quickly forgotten under his inciting praise. Jonas leaned forward until his breath tickled my ear.

  “Are you a brave pet?” he asked.

  Although confused by his question, I nodded as his nose ran along my neck causing me to shiver.

  “Then, sweet Emily, I do believe I can make you a star.”

  My smile was bright at the thought of finally getting a shot at my dream. This was the first step that would make me famous. I knew Jonas’ attention was wrong. I was only a sixteen-year-old girl and he was so much older. Alarm bells rang in my head, and my instincts told me to run, but I didn’t. I finally found what I was looking for all along—something other than death and sorrow—and it drove me straight to Jonas.

  I quickly learned that Jonas was a very powerful man in Vegas. His wealth was substantial and his reach was far. He had police and politicians accepting substa
ntial bribes in exchange for their ignorance. I also learned that what Jonas wanted, Jonas got. Within that first week of meeting him, William became my shadow, escorting me to and from Jonas’ beautiful apartment for lunch or dinner. Even though William always watched me with shameless interest, he never touched me. Instead he talked to me and asked me questions about my family and my home. I was careful not to mention B’s full name or her exact location, but I never hesitated in telling him she was my only family. In hindsight, I guess William was gathering the information needed to clear the way for my new life. I was moved into Jonas’ apartment and thrust straight into his bed. I was so frightened the night he took my virginity. My heart had not been completely invested in the intimacy, but I was far too scared to speak out in fear of his disappointment. Jonas was so worldly and experienced, and I was so young and innocent. I was thrilled that he was interested in me, but terrified at the same time. His touch had been so gentle, and the words he spoke to me were filled with unbidden lust and desire.

  Jonas captured me that night, little did I know how far that captivity would reach.

  CHAPTER 2

  BRAIDEN

  I stood slowly from the sand, my sniper rifle still in my hand, my body covered in a fine layer of perspiration. It was hot in the tropics and wearing Dillon’s full body tactical gear was beyond uncomfortable. But she was worth it. I had found out Jonas was on the island only an hour ago and had scrambled to be in place. I had come in at the tail end of the meeting, almost popping a bullet in the head of the S.O.B. who was holding a gun to her head. Nathaniel ‘Nate’ Walker, head of Jonas Levier’s security and usually glued to Jonas Levier’s side. Obviously priorities had changed. Jonas would not have been left unprotected, but Emily now had one hell of an asshole guarding her. She hadn’t moved when Nate held a gun to her head. I didn’t know what Jonas was up to, but my gut was screaming at me to get Emily out of here, tonight. I still couldn’t believe I had found her. For two months I had scoured every club, every whorehouse, and called every contact I had in search of her, and now here she was, just thirty-two yards out of my immediate reach. I disassembled my rifle and packed it away then stood, planning my next course of action.

  If you had asked me ten years ago what I would be doing now, this wouldn’t have even come into the equation. Ten years ago I worked as an assassin for my stepfather, now I was trying to atone for my sins. I had tried to make amends by joining the police force. I had even been accepted into the prestigious NYPD’s SWAT team, the Emergency Services Unit, until someone found out who I really was. The moment the information was leaked to the higher up officials, I was “persuaded” to quit. Couldn’t have the adopted son of one of Russia’s largest arms dealers under Uncle Sam’s employ. So I freelanced as a private investigator for a few years but snooping on cheating husbands and unfaithful wives was as about fulfilling as eating dirt. When Dillon had offered me a partnership in his security business, I jumped at the chance. Dillon Montgomery was my cousin, my biological father was his father’s brother. Dillon knew almost everything about me. He knew my particular skill set would be invaluable to the business he was setting up. He was also aware that my obscene wealth would help him establish things more quickly. I wasn’t ashamed to say that I had acquired a substantial amount of money working for my stepfather; killing men and women paid well. However, nobody explained to me that it would also destroy my soul.

  My stepfather, Alexander Toropov, had worked his way to the top of the FBI’s most wanted list. As an arms dealer with a reputation for being ruthless and bloodthirsty, he was also fiercely loyal where family was concerned. I had been groomed to be his right hand man. At thirteen I had made my first kill and by fourteen, I was fucking. At fifteen I spoke fluent Russian and Spanish and could drive a car better than most twice my age. At seventeen I had mastered most weapons and could plan and strategize the perfect assassination. At twenty-one my world seemed to collapse in on itself and I began questioning my life. My stepfather loved me, of that I never doubted. His devotion to his family was second to none, even his stepson. He had brought me up the only way he knew how, in the only life he knew. When I told him I was leaving to join the police force of all things, he bellowed and roared until eventually laughing. The discussion ended, not with his support, but his acceptance. Leaving the business meant cutting myself off from my family, which was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do, but in the end, to save my soul, it was worth it. Alexander didn’t think my honor bound plan to join the police would last, and he was right, but now, ten years later, I still hadn’t gone back to the family business. Dillon and I had created our own family business, based on good work ethics and protecting those who could not protect themselves. People like Emily Donovan, the girl who had been robbed of her innocence and methodically destroyed by the criminal businessman, Jonas Levier. I had a feeling she was not going to leave with me quietly. I was assuming that Jonas had threatened her sister, Rebecca, and that’s why Emily had left Claymont with him. Her devotion to protecting her only family member would make her less than compliant.

  I had planned everything meticulously. Rebecca would be safe from any Levier retaliation. I had called in my last IOU from Alexander. Five men had been loaned to me to provide security to Rebecca and her friends back in Claymont. They were five of the best, trained just as I had been, and were loyal to the Toropov family, which meant they were loyal to me. They would die before they allowed any harm to come to those they were sworn to protect. These men also knew men like Jonas; they knew how he operated and could offer better protection than any legal form of law enforcement. I hadn’t been sure if there would be repercussions when Dillon killed Jonas’ only son, William, so I had called in the favor before Emily had gone missing. All had been quiet so far, but when I took Emily tonight, I had no doubt that Jonas would strike back. Taking my father’s most trusted and lethal men had been the last favor he owed me. After leaving the family business, I had taken on one last job, a personal errand for Alexander. My mother’s life had been threatened by a rival affiliate. I had eliminated the threat and refused Alexander’s payment for it. It was my mother after all; I would gladly destroy any man or woman who endangered her life. Alexander is a business man though and lives by a strict code—a job warrants payment, and if not monetary, a favor instead. The slate was now clean, his favor fulfilled and I was officially on my own from here on out, but that was okay with me.

  I checked the syringe in the pocket of my cargo pants. If Emily didn’t come peacefully, I would do whatever necessary to get her out of this villa, even drug her. Other than Nate, security was practically non-existent. Either Jonas assumed no one was stupid enough to mess with him, or he didn’t think anyone would go to the trouble to get Emily back. He was wrong on both counts.

  I stowed my sniper rifle away in the small high speed inflatable raft that was carefully hidden amongst the tropical plants along the shoreline. My smooth and very fast Sunseeker Sport Yacht was anchored not too far offshore, ready for a quiet and quick getaway. There were three other people on board. My Captain, Larz O’Donnell. Fifteen years my senior and a former Navy SEAL, I trusted Larz and knew he would have the yacht ready and waiting. I met Larz when I was just sixteen. He had been assigned as my sparring partner at my gym. Young and cocky as I was, I gave the older man as much lip as I could. Then he proceeded to hand me my ass on a platter, and we have been friends ever since. Also on board was Daniel ‘Bomber’ Jones. I could picture Bomber standing at Larz’s side with a toothpick hanging from his mouth while he tried desperately to get a rise out of Larz. Larz was cool, calm, and collected, almost to the extent I was. Daniel, on the other hand, liked to piss people off. He reminded me a little of Emily’s sister’s boyfriend, Charlie Cole, but without the quick temper. My stepfather had used Bomber’s unique skill set on more than one occasion, and for some reason, I found an immediate kinship with the cocky blonde haired smartass. Bomber was somewhat of a loose cannon, but his skill with bombs w
as coveted by many, both lawful and otherwise. Bomber and I had just clicked, regardless of his boisterous and arrogant personality that would, under normal circumstances, rub me the wrong way. The last member of my team was Gabriella Mendoza, a stunning Spanish firecracker, and the only woman I have been close to, but never slept with. I met Gabbie during my brief time with the NYPD; the difference being they embraced her, while they detested me. We dated briefly, but quickly decided our friendship was more like that of a brother and sister than lovers. Her expertise with guns was beyond impressive; the woman never missed a target, with any weapon, at any distance. She was a sought after asset and had a secure place in NYPD’s ESU. But two years ago her husband, of only six months, died in a car accident. Gabbie has never found her way back from the grief of losing him. Lost and lonely, she left NYPD and began moonlighting for freelance operations, security firms not unlike the one Dillon and I owned. When I contacted her a month ago, she had been on a hike through Nepal, but she didn’t hesitate to come to my aid. My small, carefully selected team was now officially working for Montgomery Securities. Dillon had been reluctant to take on three members that he knew nothing about, but in the end he trusted me completely. After running background checks, he agreed that their skills combined were impressive. Even though this was the first time Larz, Bomber, Gabbie and I had worked collectively together, the team had operated with smooth precision so far. Gabbie, who was accustomed to working in a field high in testosterone, easily deflected Bomber’s sometimes crass humor, and Larz immediately looked over the tall Spanish beauty with an almost fatherly eye. It was a good combination of soldiers who all had one thing in common: to protect the innocent.

  I rechecked the weapons strapped to my body. A 9mm Beretta holstered to my chest, a .45 caliber Colt on my thigh, extra clips in the pockets of my cargo pants, my heavy duty KA-BAR Bowie knife strapped to my other thigh, and finally, a small but effective pistol in an ankle holster. I moved with the covert precision of a highly skilled soldier, except my skills were learned in a different capacity.