by A. A. Dark
27009
Welcome to Whitlock
International Bestselling Author
in Erotic Horror
A. A. Dark
27009
Welcome to Whitlock
International Bestselling Author
in Erotic Horror
A.A. Dark
Copyright © 2017 by A.A. Dark
ISBN:
All Rights Reserved
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental. The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal, and is punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
Prologue
Everleigh
Freedom. It was everything I dreamed it would be and more. The sun, the fresh air, the vast open spaces and mountains peaked with snow. The introduction into cultures I’d only read about in my old Master’s books. They opened a door inside me I couldn’t begin to imagine closing.
Throughout my months away from the subterranean fortress full of Masters and slaves, I’d visited several countries. I had tasted exotic foods and spent nights with tribes most didn’t know existed. I gave my time to the poor, and on rare occasion, dined with the rich. But no matter how hard I tried to make up for the life stolen from me, I never got to completely enjoy myself. I was never truly happy or safe. With my new life came constant death. Death to those of Whitlock who tried to take me back. Death to my guards who were tempted to betray me. Death…to myself, for not being able to escape a love so strong it still held me prisoner.
The months passed. The thrill and excitement began to fade. I questioned my every move and motive. The more I saw of the world, the more my soul began to mourn its true home. I longed for the white. I longed for piercing blue eyes and dark hair. I ached for Bram Whitlock—but I shouldn’t have. And it wasn’t the man who had returned from the grave I desired. I didn’t know that emotionless stranger. It was the Bram who once claimed me. My heart called to him. Was that Master dead now? Did the Bram who led me to the movie theater still reside somewhere inside the cold exterior he’d shown me upon his return? Even if a speck of the old him was left, he’d only gotten a small taste of the crazy woman West had created. We were both different now. Changed, thanks to my late husband.
West Harper ruined us. By killing him and escaping, I thought I’d be able to get over what I longed for. Bram. His ownership. A peaceful, love-filled slavery, even if it was wrong and didn’t make sense. My brain said it could never happen. Not by any means I could comprehend. We were two rival forces, battling each other over a prideful law. No one could ever escape Whitlock, yet I had. Now, he wanted my return at whatever cost. Whether it was—love or stubbornness—that kept him coming after me, I didn’t know.
Regardless, each of our decisions came at a price. His people perished at his order to retrieve. My sanity wouldn’t completely return due to fears and blood-soaked memories I continued to create. My slave…she grew more desperate in her need. She was still inside me, despite how strong and independent I had become. Nothing except the scenery had changed throughout my time away, and I had to face what that meant. Even away from Whitlock and Bram, I wasn’t completely free. If he decided to stop searching for me today, I would remain his forever. In my very core, I always would. True love never died. What was ingrained from horror could not be erased.
My pen trailed down the cheekbone of the man restrained from my ceiling, and I held in my smile at his shudder. His eyes kept darting to the white glossy box I had on the broken dresser. Beside it sat a red satin ribbon and a big red bow. He knew how this was going to end.
“Are there any last words you wish to tell your Main Master?”
I brought the pen to the gift tag, waiting.
“P-Please. Please, Mistress. We can work this out. We can—”
Before he could finish, my hand reared back and I stabbed the end of the pen into his shoulder. Once, twice. Screams echoed from the wooden walls of the deserted cottage. With nothing but wilderness surrounding us, I wasn’t worried about anyone hearing.
“We’ve gone over this before. I ask the questions, and you give me a response the first time. I’m going to take that as a no.”
My teeth clenched as I pulled the pen free of his flesh. Crimson streamed from the wound and blood stained his tattered clothes from the hours it took to break his silence. My patience was long gone. Where he was nervously eyeing his final destination on the dresser, I was stealing glances at his phone—my direct link to Whitlock…to temptation…
Chapter 1
Scout 5
At twenty-nine, six feet tall, blond hair, and blue eyes, my good looks made it easy to get close to women. The fact that I was sort of an internet celebrity didn’t hurt either. I had many followers with my false identity. But what was identity anyway? We let people believe what they saw. We posted our good sides, instead of our bad. The world was full of fake people with plastic personalities.
Scouts of Whitlock typically remained unknown. We weren’t meant to draw attention. We weren’t supposed to stick out in crowds or have fans who tracked our every move. I was the exception. I was that good at what I did. But I knew the consequences. If I fucked up, I was a dead man. What my followers didn’t know: I already was.
The man they stalked on the web wasn’t alive in the real world. He didn’t even really exist when you took into account the basis for existence: a birth certificate, a social security card, etcetera.
I was a product of a Master and slave. The first and only child born and allowed to live within the stone walls of Whitlock. It was before hysterectomies were forced, when the Masters usually took care of unwanted pregnancies on their own. But my father was a very important man. A famous actor. A classic, as they were called. And it was his twisted friendship and scheming with the former Main Master that saved my life. But it wasn’t without cost.
Where one would think a baby was a blessing, my life was more of an experiment to see how a child would turn out raised in such an environment. It wasn’t well, by most standards. Motherless, I was taught from an early age to depend on myself. I knew the woman who gave birth to me was a slave, but I was never sure which one she’d been. I doubted the flashes of childhood consisted of the real her. Not that it mattered. None of the slaves who lived at our apartment were allowed to coddle or show me affection. It was forbidden to even speak to me. My superiority, and what I could be capable of, was realized at such an early age as I watched my father beat, rape, and torture them.
He went through many slaves. Some lasted a year or two. Some, just a day. I was taught never to get close to women. Clark showed me their evil minds. Even if you broke them, they always found a way to manipulate the situation. To lie, steal, or cheat. My father must have gone through a good two dozen before I became a guard at Whitlock. I even bought a slave once to see if it would make a difference in who I was. For a small period, I thought I loved her. She loved me. But it was an illusion. It didn’t take long before I became bored of her whiny, weak attitude. She lived to please, and something inside me—something in my DNA—made me hate her for it. Every look, every pathetic expression, built, until one day, just like my father had done so many times before, I smashed in her face with my fists. Even when I hit her, she wouldn’t leave my feet. Her fingers clawed into my bare legs, breaking the skin while she tried to pull herself closer. I hated women. Almost as much as I hated people in
general.
A greeting sounded from one of the guards as I turned the corner and headed toward the scout’s lounge. I had everything packed—ridiculously preppy clothes, nice shoes, a handful of board shorts. Athens would look great on my social media accounts, but I had no desire to be in a tropical-type setting. I liked the cold. The desolate. It reminded me of here. Of Whitlock—home. The snow was like the never-ending white passages I’d spent most of my life walking through. And it was never really warm. Even in the dead of summer, the chill from the hidden fortress managed to seep into your bones.
“Five.” I looked over my shoulder, slowing as Seventeen jogged up to me. “You headed to check out?”
“You would be correct.” I stared ahead, hoping he wouldn’t want to continue. I was great at acting like I gave a shit in the real world, but I didn’t have to pretend here.
“The Main Master and Mateo have me going to Cuba. Fucking Cuba. What the hell am I going to do there? Where you headed?”
“Athens. And do what you’re meant to do. Bag a slave. Bag a few. That’s what I plan to do. Twenty-four-six-ninety isn’t going to be stupid enough to go somewhere like Athens. That would be too easy. She’s smarter than that.”
“Maybe she’s smarter than you and would go to Athens because we wouldn’t suspect her to.”
I glanced over, narrowing my eyes. “I guess. I’ll search her out, regardless. It’s not like I didn’t plan to do my job. I just really don’t think she’s going to be there. What I do know is that place is crawling with Whitlock material. I bet I’m not there ten minutes before I find a new slave. The chosen list is freed up now that the auction is over. I can pretty much pluck any attractive bitch I see.”
“Very true. Want to make a bet?”
A laugh left me—hollow and evil, with a spice of annoyance. “You think you can find a more attractive slave? Look at me. Do you know who I am? I have a couple hundred-thousand followers. You should check them out. It’s like fish in a barrel. I see their location. I could easily arrive without them knowing. Put us in a situation where we just happen to run into each other, it would be as simple as cake to dangle my hook, set the bait, and reel the dumb bitch in. Her ass would be on a boat or through the underground system before she could convince me to let her suck my dick. You stand no chance, Seventeen. No one does. Many may say they’re the best at this, but I’m the only one who doesn’t even have to try. No games. No effort. Pure fucking talent. I was made for this. Literally.”
Silence was quickly followed by a curse. “No wonder no one likes you. Jesus. I’ll see you on the return.”
“I hope not.” I didn’t even glance over as Seventeen stormed off. I went through the lounge, rapping on the door of Mateo’s connecting office. What I didn’t expect was our Main Master to be the one who answered.
“Who the fuck are…?” A smile came to Bram Whitlock’s face as his head cocked to the side. “Clark’s kid. That’s right. I haven’t seen you in ages. You have your father’s eyes. Come in. We were just talking about you.”
I nodded, obeying my Master as I stood in front of Mateo’s mahogany desk. With the scout leader’s gesture of approval, I sat, angling toward Main Master Whitlock, the son of the man I really looked up to. A dead man now, but it didn’t change how I favored his leadership over Bram’s. There was an excitement to his energy. It showed in his blue eyes and the way his hair was neatly slicked back today. It was no secret he’d taken a turn for the worst. Not in health, but in his mental state. His slave was fucking him up, and he was a fool to allow her to do that to him. His father never would have let that happen.
“You’re headed to Athens.”
“Yes, Main Master. My plane leaves in a few hours. I was coming to check out before I headed to the airport.”
“Perfect. This is fucking perfect. You’re my guy. You’re going to bring her back.”
I paused, glancing over to Mateo while sitting straighter. “We have intel she’s there?”
Bram shook his head. “She’s not there yet. One of my men overheard that she’s possibly on her way. He’ll be waiting for you at the airport. He already has your room ready, and if my guy is correct, she’ll be staying at the same resort. You do whatever the fuck you have to to get a visual. If you spot her and know it’s her without a shadow of a doubt, you do nothing. Do you hear me? You fucking call me directly and I will send everyone I have to meet you there. I won’t lose her this time.” He smiled, radiating a happiness I hadn’t seen since his return. “I’ve got her. She can’t get away this time. There’s no way.”
“If she’s there, you have my word we’ll get her. I know the slave. We both grew up here. I saw her on occasion throughout the years. I’ll be able to spot twenty-four-six-ninety if your information is correct.”
His hand rose while he pointed his index finger toward me. “Yes. Mateo has programmed my number into your phone. I expect a call within the next few days.”
Before I could answer, he surged from the door, all butterflies and a rainbow full of shades of black. Despite his joy, I could feel the underlining darkness of his energy. He may have been excited to retrieve her, but once he did, happiness wasn’t what was going to transpire between the two. He was pissed at her escape, even if he did love her. And the slave…she was a fucking psycho-bitch, skinning off the faces of men. I wondered if she wore them before she sent them over as neatly wrapped presents.
“Your phone,” Mateo said blandly, handing it over. “You know the drill. No personal calls from this number. It’s untraceable, but we don’t pay for your social life. Use your own shit. You’re to report within twenty-four hours, and every twenty-four hours after that, given the high stakes mission and…death toll to date. If we do not hear back from you, you’ll go on the list. If we find out you’re alive and failed to keep contact, you’re dead. If we don’t find you, you’re probably dead anyway. The Main Master’s number is programmed under MM. You’ll call him upon discovery of twenty-four-six-ninety, and then you’ll immediately call me. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“The man you’re meeting is not a scout. He goes by the name Joe. You’ll know him when you see him. Sign.” A paper was thrust in my direction, and I grabbed a pen from the holder, scribbling Five, with the initials T.S. off to the side.
“Great. Now get out of my office. Next time I see your face, it better not be because it came in a fucking white box with a red bow. Stay away from her, Five. She’s not to be trusted. She’ll eat you alive if you’re alone. Remember that.”
I tried not to roll my eyes as I grabbed the handle of my suitcase and headed back through the lounge. A few scouts looked over, their stares holding a deadness only I knew. But it was the dangerousness of them I saw too. We were all killers here. From the Masters, to the scouts, to the guards—we lived in a fortress forged from the blood and bones of the unfortunate slaves who were brought here. And almost all of us didn’t give a shit. Some of us, like me, physically couldn’t, and others had learned long ago to let go of their morals. You couldn’t afford to care if you wanted to live in this world.
The halls took me down to the underground garage and road systems we were meant to use. There used to be more than one way to get in, but Bram Whitlock put a stop to that after his best friend attempted to have him killed. Now he watched everything. He was probably watching me get in my car and head out. Another thing I didn’t care about.
The guy had serious issues. And maybe not just from his slave. Something had happened after she left. Something dark and secretive. Rumor was, Bram had discovered attempts on his life from the men he kept closest on his board. Men beyond what Everleigh Harper had exposed before her escape. She opened his eyes, and in doing so, he uncovered a plot so vicious, he tortured and dismembered his enemies in ways that were so grotesque, the men standing guard had been mentally scarred. Some supposedly had gotten sick right there as he made each member watch the death of the other. Talk reined. Gossip invoked terror. And
, yet, the events oddly twisted and strengthened the loyalty in those who had doubted whether Bram was capable enough to lead.
Overhead lights illuminated the dark road I traveled. Every so often, it branched out in different directions, but I stayed heading south for miles. There was pretty much nowhere you couldn’t go down here. Our system covered almost every state—a super highway to the death-dealing scouts smuggling in our newest catches. There were even cubbies along the sides that housed small beds and padlocked cages in case one were to get tired and needed to rest along the way. There was nothing Whitlock hadn’t thought of. Aside from the obvious: sex, torture, and demand, it was another reason why this place would never die. The power that bound it all together was too massive to dismantle.
A sign appeared ahead: Cheyenne Regional Airport. It was the most convenient, but not my destination. My flight departed from Denver. It was less than a two-hour drive from Whitlock. Quicker, since I had no speed limit and it was a straight shot.
Time passed, and I finally arrived at our underground parking lot reserved for the rich and famous. Like an ordinary person, I made my way to the gate of my flight, relieved when I got into my first-class seat and pulled out my file on Everleigh Harper—twenty-four-six-ninety.
I sat there memorizing her features. Imagining her with a different hair color. With shades or contouring makeup. I saw flashes of the girl throughout her time at Whitlock as a slave and let it feed the hunter in me.
More time.
A layover in New York.
More studying.
Sleep.
Athens…
Chapter 2
Layla
“Aamir. Aamir! You can’t leave. I’m not ready. You know what Dad said!”
Clothes flew over my shoulder as I searched for my other sandal. After spending months planning a vacation for me and my brother, I had failed miserably when it came to packing for it. I found shirts without their matching shorts. Daring sundresses I couldn’t bear to wear now that I was away from home. Nothing about coming to Athens was going right. My brother was supposed to be my chaperone, yet he found plenty of opportunity to ditch me. I should have been happy about that, but my sudden freedom was a shock compared to a life of being over-protected by him.
