by Selena Kitt
“You’re right,” Beast said finally, giving a slow nod. “Selling her solves quite a few of my problems, actually. Come on, sis, let’s go.”
He took Tilly brusquely by the shoulder, turning her, and began to lead her away. It was that moment that she saw it, the sign she’d been hunting for when she’d been holding her phone, her only hope of rescue, in her hands.
Guilford Harbor.
And she remembered where she’d heard those words. Beast had spoken them into the phone when he’d driven her home, hadn’t he? When he’d been barking orders to someone…
Had he been on the phone with Erich?
She stumbled, and she felt him catch her, steady her, but his hands weren’t tender or kind. They were just perfunctory. Protecting valuable property from falling on her face. Her stomach revolted and she wretched. If there’d been anything in it, she would have vomited.
The Beast she knew would never work with someone like Erich, never in a hundred lifetimes. But was he the Beast she knew? His words came back to her like a punch to the gut and she retched again around her gag, stumbling along, Beast pulling her.
Selling her solves quite a few of my problems, actually…
She’d always been in everyone’s way. Always someone’s problem. She was born her mother’s problem to fix, and from that moment on, Tilly hadn’t been able to do anything right. As a baby, she was an accident, as a child, a nuisance, as a teen, an annoyance, as a girl, a problem. She’d been measured and found wanting, her whole life. Why would she think Beast saw her any differently?
He’d fucked her, he’s used her, and he’d left. Yet she continued to throw herself at him like some lovesick child. Even after he’d clearly written REFUSED on every single letter she’d ever sent him—they were hidden away in her room—she’d still pursued it. So he’d decided to fuck her again—why not, she was free pussy, wasn’t she?
Until she’d hit him with the news that he’d fathered a child. Now she was a real problem, that needed to be solved, and quickly.
Suddenly, it all made a sick, ghastly sort of sense to her.
Tilly broke.
Nothing else had done it. Not falling for her own stepbrother. Not losing him. Not being forced into literal exile during her pregnancy. Not giving birth to her son, holding him for one brief moment, and then losing him, too. Not being faced with watching her baby growing up right under her own nose, calling someone else—Tilly’s own aunt—“Mommy.” Not even the prospect of losing her own mother, and knowing her life would be completely rudderless when she was gone.
It was the sudden, shuddering realization that the only man she’d ever loved, not only had never loved her in return—but hadn’t really seen her at all.
She meant nothing to him.
Well, no, that wasn’t quite true.
She had some value to him, didn’t she? He’d been training her to be obedient so he and his army-buddy could sell her into sexual slavery.
A low, strangled cry came from Tilly’s throat, something primal, more animal than human. She wasn’t going to let them take her, sell her, use her. She had marched along her whole life, in step, following orders far better than Beast ever had, even during his training in the Marines, she’d venture to guess, and what had it gotten her?
This. A lamb being led to slaughter.
NO!
Just one word, that voice in her head speaking as loudly and clearly as it ever had.
Tilly wrenched herself out of Beast’s grasp, lunging the few steps to the edge of the dock.
She knew, if she jumped, she would drown.
But she was already drowning.
Tilly leaped.
Her arms were bound behind her, helpless, and that would make it quicker, and that was good. She sailed out into the empty air, looking down into the oily black depths beneath her—fifteen feet, maybe twenty—and smiled as she noticed the cold white of moonlight dancing on the murky waves.
This is how it would end—and it would be her decision, at last.
Chapter 18
Tilly woke up.
Dreaming.
Oh thank God—what a horrible dream!
And who left the window open? I’m freezing…
She shivered and opened her eyes, blinking in the darkness, so cold her teeth chattered. Her body ached everywhere, all the way to her bones. The sound of a woman crying reached her ears and her first thought was mother—she’s gone.
But no…
Tilly couldn’t move. Still bound, wet and cold from her plunge into the water, her arms and shoulders were actually numb from being pulled back so long. How long? She was lying on something hard but soft—and that something moved.
Then she recognized the sound, the crying sound, and remembered what had happened.
This wasn’t a dream. It was a fucking nightmare, and she was living it.
“Frankie?” she whispered, except it came out as just muffled noise.
Tilly was still gagged. Frankie cried harder, sobbing—Tilly hadn’t heard her cry like that since they were little girls. She tried to right herself, struggling—it wasn’t easy, she had to use all her core muscles to accomplish it—until, finally, she was sitting, leaning against a wall. They were in complete darkness, but thanks to a full moon, a little light came in from somewhere over her head. She saw Frankie was bound and gagged, too.
It came back to her with a sudden, bone-chilling shudder. Beast’s face when he told Erich he’d just solved all Beast’s problems. The problems that began and ended with Tilly. She’d tried to drown his problem, but someone had fished her out. She was valuable to them only as a piece of meat, sold to the highest bidder.
And to think she’d believed Beast, while he reeled her in, “training” her to be a submissive. She’d been taken, hook, line and sinker, a fish lured by her own shameful hunger for attention, acknowledgement, and love. And Beast had been the perfect bait. Not only for her, but for all of them.
Because she wasn’t the only one. Around them, she could see in the dim light, that there were at least a dozen women, all bound and gagged. Beast and Erich had lured them in, and now they were being kidnapped, shipped off to God only knew where, somewhere across the ocean to be sold. The two men would profit, and likely start the process again.
The women were mostly quiet, and Tilly wondered if they were gagged so they couldn’t talk to each other, or so no one would hear the sound of their screams. Probably both. The room was damp and rusty. It smelled coppery and dank. They were in some sort of holding cell that felt like it had never been dry, completely bereft of any human, creature comfort, and Tilly remembered Beast saying something about a cargo ship.
Frankie edged closer, still bound, leaning her head against her friend’s with silent apology and remorse, and that made Tilly cry harder. She didn’t need to hear a word from Frankie’s mouth to know what she was thinking, feeling. She wanted to tell Frankie, it’s not your fault. Of course, it wasn’t. They’d been naïve—two young college graduates, not idiots by any stretch of the imagination—excited by some sort of new, sexual adventure, but they couldn’t have known what it would lead to.
Now both Tilly and Frankie were crying. They were sisters in betrayal, each given over to slavery by men they’d loved and trusted. They couldn’t embrace each other because of their bonds, but they leaned against each other in tearful commiseration. At least they had each other. The other women were completely alone, and Tilly wondered who had betrayed them. Was Mark a part of this? The rest of the doms? Or was it just Beast and Erich?
Most of the other women were asleep. Or drugged, she thought with a shudder. She remembered the slur of Frankie’s voice on the phone and shuddered again. She wasn’t drunk! He fucking drugged her! Tilly nuzzled her cheek against Frankie’s in silent acknowledgement of her ordeal so far. Erich hadn’t bothered to drug Tilly though—he’d just put her in the back of a car she couldn’t escape from and drove her here.
One of the women was watching the
m, her eyes open, but her stare vacant. Tilly couldn’t tell if the poor woman even know where she was, or even who she was. Will they drug me, too? Of course they would. It would only be a matter of time. They’d all be drugged, in order to make them compliant, until they’d reached their distant destination.
Tilly’s head came up and she scanned the edges of the room, trying to make out shapes in the dimness. While she still had a relatively clear head, she had to act. Years ago, when Beast had taught her how to use a firearm, he’d also taught her a few other things—like how to deal with being a hostage.
It hadn’t been any sort of official training—he’d just been imparting the information he’d learned in the Marines, and from being overseas. And Beast had always been the proactive type—the best defense was a good offense. Now she understood why. Suspicious people are usually up to no good, Mathilda, her mother often said. Ironic, considering how often her mother was suspicious of others and their motivations.
And so, of course, was Beast.
He’d taught her how to handle a weapon, the basics in self-defense, and what to do if she was ever kidnapped. She thought it was all kind of silly, but Beast reminded her that heiresses were probably more likely to be kidnapped than anyone else—for the ransom possibilities alone. So she’d paid attention, mostly to please him, never thinking his advice would come in handy. It had all seemed too much like the melodramatic advice of a big brother with a bit too much of an inclination towards heroics.
I need a hero.
When Beast had arrived at the dock, she had really believed she’d been saved. But now?
He wasn’t here to save her. So she was going to have to save herself.
She tried to remember what he’d taught her. When she closed her eyes, she could see his serious face, dark eyes watchful, always assessing. Not to pass judgement, just to assess the situation. The man had the situational awareness and instincts of an animal with ten times his sensibilities. Even when they went into a restaurant, he insisted on being seated so his back was never to anyone and all exits were visible. It made going out to dinner a sort of ridiculous affair sometimes, especially when it was crowded—Tilly had once complained she was going to die of hunger if he didn’t give up his picky seating arrangement requirements—but she had to admit, she’d always felt safe with him.
Until now.
Save yourself. Okay, so if she used Beast’s advice to thwart his plans to get rid of his annoying problem—her—that would be some satisfaction, wouldn’t it? She didn’t like thinking about him at all. It was like lifting a bandage to peer at a brand new wound that hadn’t yet stopped bleeding. It destroyed her, just to picture his image in her mind. But it would serve him right if she got them out of this—and she had to get them out of here. This was her fault. If she’d never pursued Beast, if she’d never told Frankie about The Block, if she’d paid attention to that small voice that had told her, long ago, not to trust Erich…
Don’t give up.
That was Beast. Guiding her, telling her what to do, even now. But she couldn’t afford to ignore this advice.
Don’t give up, no matter how hopeless it seems. Your enemy’s counting on that, and he’s bound to overlook some detail, some small thing he forgot.
They’d been driving somewhere in Beast’s Mustang when he’d imparted this information. She couldn’t remember how they’d gotten onto the topic, but she desperately wanted to lead him away from it.
“Some small detail?” she had repeated with a smirk, leaning over and letting her hand slide up the thick meat of his thigh. “Or not so small…”
She’d caressed him through his khaki’s, outlining his growing length.
“In a situation like that, you have to use every weapon you’ve got,” Beast had assured her. “And trust me, sex is a weapon.”
“So is this a gun in your pocket?” she had teased.
“You have to understand power, Tilly,” he’d told her, shifting in the driver’s seat when her fingers sought to distract him. “People who believe they have absolute power—it inevitably goes to their head. They do stupid, careless things.”
Tilly tried to block out the stupid, careless thing she and Beast had been doing then, pretending they could be secret lovers, they could continue their affair with no real life consequences to their actions, and focused all her attention to the zip ties on her wrists. She remembered seeing the Occupy Wall Street demonstrations—her mother had watched it all unfold with horrified fascination on television—where fat, smug cops swaggered around with a mass of zip ties on huge rings they carried with them everywhere, looking for the next rabble-rouser to arrest.
If you were rounding people up like cattle, using zip ties, it would stand to reason you could get careless. She didn’t know how many women Erich and Beast had shipped overseas, but it was clearly not their first rodeo. Erich hadn’t bothered drugging Tilly because he thought she was easy prey. Maybe he’d been careless in binding her?
The zip tie was tight, and her arms ached, where they hadn’t gone completely to sleep. Her wrists grew sorer, as she wiggled and twisted her hands in her bindings, but she didn’t stop, didn’t let the pain deter her. Beside her, Frankie had stopped crying, but she was still leaning her cheek against Tilly’s shoulder.
It was hard work, and Tilly was breathing hard as she continued to rotate her wrists, inching her flesh out from under the cutting ties. She began to sweat, and that was good—it gave her some lubrication. Then she began to bleed, and that was even better. Her hands had gone numb and she imagined them, useless and blue and bloody, but she didn’t stop.
Work smarter, not harder, Tills.
Beast again. She wanted to scream at him to get out of her head, but she needed him, still, or at least his advice. But they’d never talked about how to get out of handcuffs, had they? So he wasn’t going to be able to help her there. Her shoulder was so sore, even Frankie leaning against it hurt. If she could just get her arms in front of her…
Tilly shifted her weight, and Frankie moved, leaning back against the wall. She glanced at her friend, and Frankie was watching as Tilly maneuvered herself, sliding her bound hands beneath her. It was a good thing she was so short—she could slide her hands under her knees, and then all she had to do was pull her feet through the circle her arms made.
Voila! Her hands were in front of her, and her shoulders were screaming in pain in this new position. She held up the zip ties in the moonlight, seeing she’d been correct. Her wrists were bleeding and raw from the plastic digging into her skin. Tilly looked around, hoping to find something, anything, to use as a sort of saw, but there was nothing. She had to get out of these damned things. She needed her hands. For all she knew, the door was unlocked…
Well, that would be a careless mistake, wouldn’t it?
Tilly used the wall to steady herself as she stood, making her way in the darkness over to the door. She was slow, sluggish, a little dizzy, and she had no idea what she was going to do, if she found the door open, but she’d cross that bridge when she got there.
She held her breath as she tried the latch.
Locked. Damnit. It had been too much to hope for.
Tilly leaned against the door, panting like she’d been running a marathon, bound, bleeding hands in front of her. If Erich had been in front of her right now, she would have gone after him, bound hands or no. And Beast…
Don’t think about him.
But it was impossible. Her mind wanted to remind her, over and over, of that cold look in his eyes, the way he’d smirked when presented with an easy solution to his Tilly-problem, like “Why hadn’t I thought of that?”
How stupid was she? How fucking blind? Tears threatened and she fought them, beat them back, told herself she couldn’t collapse, couldn’t turn into a blubbering baby—that’s what he expected her to do. She brought her battered hands down hard against her torso, as if the pain might shock her system, shove back the force that threatened to overwhelm her with hel
pless fear.
And she felt the zip ties move and she heard a little “snapping” sound. She wasn’t free—not yet. But the little locking mechanism on the ties had made a noise. Could she break it? She wondered. Tilly had been working on squeezing out of them, and clearly that wasn’t the answer, as her aching wrists could attest. But if she could break that seal…
Tilly found it with her teeth, dragging the long end of the zip tie upward, and actually tightened it around her hands in the process, an act that made her whimper in pain.
This is going to hurt.
She knew it, but she did it anyway. Using the same motion, only faster and harder this time, she brought her hands down against her hips, and the zip tie snapped. The sound was loud in the room, such a small thing, the sound of her freedom. The first thing she did was reach for the gag, slipping it out of her mouth and tossing it aside.
