His Devil's Mercy

by Linzi Basset

  If any of these bastards think I’m going to spread my legs for their filthy, rotten cocks, they’ve got a surprise waiting for them.

  Joanne had trained in the art of Krav Maga, alongside her brother, Jack and his friends for years. Of course, she’d trailed after him wherever he went, and he’d made sure she knew how to defend herself. She was one of the few top female masters of Krav Maga in the US. If she hadn’t been chained from the moment she’d woken up from the drug they’d slipped into her coffee on the plane, hell would have broken loose. She wondered if the FBI was looking for her. Surely, they would know by now that she never made it to São Paulo in Brazil for the undercover investigation of mistrial cases. The forensic team had been implicated for manipulating results for letting the murderers walk away free. She was supposed to infiltrate the forensic department as an anthropology intern.

  She cringed, recalling the lie she’d told her parents and brother at the time. The special agent had detailed the story and created a paper trail, in case anyone didn’t believe her. The lie they’d fabricated for family and friends was that she had taken a sabbatical from work. Her family didn’t question the sudden impulse to pursue a couple of months of relaxation and indulge in a childhood dream to sing on a cruise ship in the Mediterranean.

  Yeah, Joanne Blackmore, Jack taught you to be street smart! She sighed heavily in self-recrimination. If only I had been more alert on that fucking plane. She’d been calling herself all kinds of fool for not being suspicious when certain passengers were directed to a different plane at the last minute. But she’d been too upset by the knowledge that Jack and Max were off having fun—or rather sex—at Crystals BDSM Club― than come to the airport to say goodbye. She’d sunk into the seat and immediately fallen asleep.

  She got yanked back to present when Tarik bellowed out orders to the women, who scattered to fill the jacuzzi-sized bathtub with steaming water.

  “Make sure she’s properly fed. She’s going to need a lot of strength to keep up with the Sheikh Lufti tonight,” he finished with a smirk. “I’ll do inspection before she’s presented to him, to ensure there isn’t any hair on her body. Be warned, sluts, if there is, you will suffer for it.”

  * * * * * * * *

  “Is she ready?” Butros barked from the doorway.

  Joanne felt a smirk form around her lips. She hastily took a sip of cold water to hide it. Butros was one of the weaker guards. He was small and had been the only one to tie up the women he’d raped on the way there. It would be child’s play to overpower him—even in her weakened state—provided there was no one around on the way to the Sheikh Lufti’s chambers.

  “I thought Tarik was supposed to fetch her,” said the old woman, who had overseen Joanne’s bathing and feeding.

  “Tarik is busy. C’mon, slut, it’s time to meet your master.”

  Master, my fucking ass!

  None of Joanne’s thoughts showed on her face as she rose and demurely walked toward Butros. He snorted and pinched her nipple. She was naked apart from a white chiffon veil that revealed more than it covered and a pair of white lace-up sandals.

  “I see Dabir had a field day with you.” He laughed boisterously when she cried out in pain as he squeezed the tip between his fingers. “Walk, and don’t give me any trouble or you’ll be sorry.”

  The bathing room was toward the left side of the ‘palace’ as they called the sheikh’s mansion. Butros guided her through a number of hallways. Joanne was relieved to notice there was no one else around.

  “It’s very quiet,” she said softly.

  “Everyone is at dinner. Like I should be, so keep walking,” Butros grumbled, clearly irritated that he’d been tasked to take Joanne to the Sheikh.

  Butros shoved against her back. It was what she’d been waiting for. She pretended to stumble and fell to her knees. The moment he reached for her, she kicked back, hitting him in the V under his ribs where the sternum ended. It paralyzed his diaphragm, leaving him gasping for breath. Joanne was on her feet and ready when he doubled over. She yanked his head further down with a hard push. Her knee connected with his face. She felt his nose break under the force. Joanne tightened the hold she had on hair through his keffiyeh and spun around, slamming his head in the wall. The sickening crack echoed in the quiet evening air. He grunted and went limp. His eyes rolled back in his sockets as he slowly slid to the ground—lifeless.

  Joanne didn’t feel an inch of regret as she stared at his dead body.

  “That’s for everything you did to the women, you motherfucker.”

  She didn’t bother to hide the body. They would come searching soon enough when she wasn’t delivered as expected. She had to get away from the compound as far as possible before that happened.

  Ten minutes later, Joanne was already a couple of miles away from the town of Nadqan. She glanced at the fuel gage of the jeep she’d stolen just outside the compound wall.

  “Thank god for the full tank,” she muttered and shrugged into the shirt she’d grabbed off a washing line as she made it outside through the maze of hallways inside Sheikh Lufti’s mansion. “Pants will have to wait. At least until I can find a safe place to hide.”

  She was heading west, toward Yabreen. She’d overheard Tarik mentioning that it was the home of Sheikh Juhayman bin Muhammad, leader of the renegades, who were opposed to the corrupt government and its supporters. They had been trying to overthrow the reigning royal family for centuries, hoping to bring their own to the crown.

  Sheikh Juhayman was an enemy to Sheikh Lufti bin Qara and she hoped to find protection in their small town. She slammed her fist on the steering wheel.

  “Think Joanne! Not even a renegade leader is going to protect an American woman.” She gazed toward the horizon, deep in thought. “Traditional dress! Yes, that’ll do the trick.”

  Everyone in the country covered their heads because of the hot and arid climate, further supplemented with religious obligations. The majority of the men at the compound she’d just left wore modern clothes like jeans, t-shirts, and sneakers or boots. Some wore the traditional kaftan called the thwab and keffiyeh—a checkered scarf to cover their heads, secured by a rope ring called Agal or Aghals.

  A plan began to formulate in her mind. With her olive skin color, no one would notice she wasn’t one of them—if she could pull off the disguise.

  An hour later, a lean young man walked into the rowdy tavern in Yabreen, wearing baggy jeans, black sneakers, and a checkered shirt underneath a flowing thwab. The black-and-white checkered keffiyeh on his head fitted in with the rest around the room. A pair of dark sunglasses rested on his nose. It was all courtesy of a young man who had been paying for a cab and had left his luggage behind him on the curb. He didn’t even notice Joanne grab one of his suitcases.

  “Kapsa and kimaje, please,” Joanne ordered, the traditional chicken, rice and flatbread dish, in flawless Arabic dialect. She thickened her voice and although it didn’t sound overly manly, it also didn’t sound feminine. The server nodded and scribbled the order down. “And laban to drink, please.”

  Her vernacular was flawless. No one would’ve guessed she wasn’t an Arab, least of all, a woman.

  Joanne glanced around. She had no idea how she was going to get out of the country. They’d confiscated her passport, and obviously, she had no money. She’d overheard too many snippets to trust anyone here, even the US Embassy. Ultimately, she was doomed. The few riyals that she had found inside the cubbyhole of the jeep would be enough for a meal and maybe even to rent a room for a day or two.

  She was listening to a group of men at the table next to her when a plan began to form. She had fighting skills and if she could keep her gender a secret, she might just find a way to survive until she could find a way to get out of the country without endangering anyone else. The thought of trying to make a call to her brother flashed across her mind. She stifled it―albeit with difficulty. She couldn’t leave. Not yet.

  “I have to find a way to save
the other women. One way or the other, I will get all of us out of this shithole.”

  Chapter One

  Present day . . . Club Devil’s Cove

  “I’m not in the mood, Lucy,” Max’s voice cut through the air.

  “But Master Jag, last night you said —”

  “I changed my mind.” Max sighed at the obvious disappointment on the beautiful blonde’s face. “I’m sorry, Lucy but I have work to do. I’m not staying.”

  “Problems, Master Jag?” Keon drawled in a deep voice from behind him. Keon LeLuc was co-owner of the club as well as a partner in Precision Secure with Max and their friends.

  “Nothing I can’t handle, Master Blade.” Max said with a smile, pointing at Wade who was heading their way. “Master Wade, if you haven’t picked a sub yet, Lucy is very interested to scene tonight.”

  Wade Moore, the club manager, smiled at the sub that jiggled her breasts suggestively at him. The white mini dress she wore barely covered the necessary parts.

  “Well, thank you, Master Jag. It saves me the trouble. Shall we, Lucy?”

  Max watched the couple walk toward the patio leading to the maze on one side of the club.

  “Out with it, Max. It’s not like you to say no to a willing sub.” Keon sat down opposite Max and searched his expression intently. Max was loved by the subs and Doms equally. His easy-going nature and dry humor was much appreciated. Of course, he was attractive; according to the subs, he had an animalistic magnetism they couldn’t resist.

  Max’s shoulders rolled in a negligent shrug. “I’ve had my fill last night, Keon. Even a seasoned Dom like me needs a breather after an all-night orgy.”

  Keon’s deep laughter rumbled from his chest. He shook his head. “You puppies can’t take the punch anymore, it seems.”

  “Yeah, says he who wants only one woman since he got married.” Max glanced sideways at him. “Regrets, Keon?”

  “None. I love Lauren, more than I thought I ever could. She has turned my life around. I feel complete for the first time in ages, Max. Maybe you should find someone special in your life as well.”

  Max looked away. Keon wasn’t fooled. He’d seen the flash of regret in his eyes. Keon knew who Max was waiting for—had been waiting for—the past five years.

  “Yeah, maybe,” Max said with a sigh. “Where’s Rhone?”

  Keon rolled his eyes toward the mezzanine level, “In his office. As usual.”

  “Has he spoken to Samantha yet?”

  “No. He’s as hard headed as a rock. He’s miserable without her but I just get this ‘I told you so’ look whenever I talk about it. He’d been waiting for her to walk away from day one.”

  “Who could blame her? He played hot and cold with her.”

  “Yeah . . . much like someone else did a couple of years ago.”

  “Leave it, Keon.”

  “And yet, what are the chances of me winning a bet that you’re leaving here to hole up in your study, to keep searching for her?”

  “Because I promised Jack I’d find his sister, Keon. That’s all. Don’t go searching for another fairy tale ending just because you’ve gotten one.”

  “Grow up, Jo. I’m not a young pup to be played with. I was upfront with you about the kind of lifestyle I lead. Don’t cry wolf now.”

  “And that gives you the right to fuck every goddamned sub here?”

  “I’m not fucking every sub—”

  “Of course not. I must’ve mistaken the purpose of the line up outside the room when I arrived.”

  “Enough. You’re my sub, not my wife.”

  “Thank god for that!”

  “This isn’t going to work. I don’t have the patience to deal with a jealous sub. Come and find me when you’re mature, Jo—maybe I’ll be interested, maybe I won’t.”

  That had been five years ago. Max had walked away from the only woman he had ever loved. He hadn’t looked back since. Apparently, neither had she, because she hadn’t bothered to contact him after that.

  “What fairy tale?” Jack asked as he slumped into the sofa next to Max.

  “Nothing. Just a big, old softy over there, wanting us to find our fucking happily ever after.”

  Jack grunted and took a gulp of his beer. “Monogamy isn’t for me, I’m afraid, so let me die in peace,” he chuckled. “Talking of wedded bliss, Master Blade. Are you aware that your sub is passing out favor cards in the dungeon?”

  “What?” Keon bellowed. He surged upright and glared at Jack.

  “Yeah,” he snickered and pulled out a bright yellow card from his pocket. “Claims Master Blade is neglecting her, so she’s looking for pleasure elsewhere. I got this one and it offers . . . hmm, lemme see, oh yes, an hour of oral delights—first cunnilingus, and then fellatio for me.” With pretend seriousness Jack turned to Max and said, “I guess it’s the teacher in her. Most subs would’ve said blowjob. Hey, Keon! Where are you going?”

  “To whip my favor-toting sub’s ass,” he grunted and stomped toward the dungeon.

  “Little Lauren loves to tease the big, bad bear, doesn’t she?”

  “Yes, she sure does, and wouldn’t you know it, she always gets what she wants in the end.”

  They sat in companionable silence, watching the entertainment area buzz with sexual energy. Club Devil’s Cove had seen much success since they opened their doors five months ago.

  “The human trafficking bust had me wondering . . .” Jack mused aloud. “What if we have been following the wrong lead? What if there had been more than one consignment of sex slaves that had left the harbor at Santa Catalina Island?” His glance was unwavering on the swaying bodies of the dancers on the stage.

  “I had the same thought,” Max drawled. He slumped lower in the sofa and stretched his long legs. They’d managed to track the plane that Joanne had been redirected to and found that it had landed in Santa Catalina. The container ship that had left later that day to Thailand had been the only suspect vessel.

  “And? What did you find?” Jack didn’t really have to voice the question out loud. He knew Max well enough to know that he’d already followed up on his suspicion.

  “There was another ship that left the harbor, a week later.” He glanced briefly at Jack. “It was headed toward Bahrain in Saudi Arabia, most probably to Khalifa Bin Salman Port. I’ve finally been able to uncover information about the plane that she’d been redirected to. It belonged to a businessman in Riyadh, Allah Sabinh, who owns an import/export business.”

  “Which means she was definitely a victim of human trafficking,” Jack said, defeated. It had been the only thing that had made sense since her disappearance, but he’d foolishly been hoping Max would find something different. “Fuck! I’d hoped . . .”

  “Yeah, but now I know where to look, Jack.”

  “Any luck with that, Max?” Lance Talbot, the COO of Precision Secure asked as he and Richard Almar, the latest partner and IT guru of the firm, joined them. Clearly, they had overheard their conversation.

  “So far, no luck, but I only just started looking.”

  “I suppose that’s why we couldn’t find a trace of her in Thailand—even when we went there to search for her. She was never on that ship,” Lance speculated.

  “Yeah,” Max said noncommittally. He didn’t want to give Jack hope. Saudi Arabia was largely a desert. If Joanne had been sold to one of the roaming Bedouin Sheikhs, the chances of finding her were slim to none.

  Master Goliath, aka Bruce Rickett, tossed a red CM band to Jack, who caught it deftly in mid-air. Bruce, who was also Keon’s cousin, nudged Jack over and sat down next to him.

  “Lift your lazy ass, Jack. You’re up for CM duty in the dungeon,” he drawled in his usual deep, gruff tone.

  “Anything to lookout for?” Jack asked. He got up and slipped the band in place around his bicep.

  “A couple of eager subs looking for playtime but other than that, everyone is behaving well enough.”

  “No one would dare otherwise, with you h
overing in the background,” Richard teased the giant man, turned his wheelchair and followed Jack to the dungeon. “I think I’ll go and help a few subs ‘misbehave’.”

  “Hah, that sounds like a good idea,” Lance got up too. “You two joining us?”

  “No, I’m about to head home,” Max said as he stretched his tall body.

  “I think I better go and save my cousin-in-law. For some reason, she’s pushing Keon’s buttons tonight and it’s not going to end well for her delicate bottom.” Bruce searched Max’s expression. “I’m here if you wanna talk, mate . . . or if you need any help finding her.”

  Max nodded. Bruce knew about the guilt inside him, more than anyone else. He had the uncanny ability to read Max and saw past his happy-go-lucky attitude.

  * * * * * * * *

  Max deliberately kept his mind blank during the couple of miles drive to his house. It served no purpose to regurgitate the past, especially if it only brought regret and reproach in its wake.

  Armed with a beer, he started scanning the saved satellite feed from Riyadh. Prince Khalid Saud had been operating the human trafficking ring from there, until he had been caught by the Precision Secure team a couple of months ago. They’d worked with Alex White who had spearheaded the operation with the undercover team infiltrating Saud’s palace, to save Ethan’s son and the captured women, found by Sean Scott, the undercover operative.

  “I should contact Sean as well. Maybe he’s got more intel that he’d gathered at the time,” Max mused.

  It was a slow process, but Max prided himself on being thorough. He had six monitors running with different feeds and his eyes skimmed each one simultaneously. His brain had been conditioned over the years to scan, assimilate, bank and then dissect. Always in that order.

  “Wait a minute. The figure on that street corner five minutes ago . . .” Max muttered as he replayed the feed. It was on the corner of a busy intersection. “Yes, there you are,” he drawled. He took a swig of his beer as the feed began to run. A tall, lean figure loitered back and forth in front of the street cam. Max’s eyes narrowed as he leaned forward. The man’s profile suggested him being in mid-twenties. He was dressed in loose denim pants, red sweater and a bulky leather jacket. A black-and-white checkered Keffiyeh covered his head and black sunglasses sat high on his small, straight nose.