Meeting The Kingmaker

by Penny Wynter

  I want to get up, but he’s too heavy. "Michael will kill me."

  "Oh, I don’t think he will."

  The Kingmaker winks at me and plunges the needle into my upper arm. The hot burn is followed by the sensation of ice water spreading beneath my skin.

  "I . . . hate . . . you," I mumble as my head lolls to the side.

  "No, you don’t." The Kingmaker sounds smug. "Not yet, at least. But I promise to work on it."

  4

  Atlas

  Michael chuckles nervously as I open the door for him. Wiping his sweaty palms on his pants, he clears his throat. "Boss."

  I just step aside, motioning for him to come in. Without saying another word, I lead the way toward the basement. In my line of work, a solid basement, soundproof and equipped with a handy drain in the middle of the tiled floor, is indispensable. Death is a nasty business, and I like things clean.

  Right now, my basement, which is also my torture dungeon, could as well be my playroom. Emily is hanging in the middle of the room, wrists shackled to a pair of heavy cuffs dangling from the ceiling, her head slumped down.

  I need her unconscious so she won’t interfere, but it’s to teach her a lesson as well. My pet needs to stay out of my business. It’s preferable that she one day come around to trust me, although it’ll probably take time to get there. I’m not exactly open with my feelings, thoughts, or intentions. Plus, I do have a weakness for scared women, and they tend to be more scared when they have no idea what’s going on.

  "I’m so sorry, boss." Michael wipes his hands yet again, eyeing Emily’s naked body. "I’ll take her home and make sure she’ll never bother you again."

  "Are you planning to kill her?"

  "No." He shakes his head, unable to pull his gaze away from her. "I’m thinking more along the lines of buying a dog crate and keeping her in my bedroom." His laugh sounds forced, and there’s a hint of fear in his eyes.

  "Yeah. She’s a delicious fuck, isn’t she?"

  "I . . . um . . . I guess . . ."

  I turn to him, my face not showing any kind of emotion. "What is she to you?"

  "Just a piece of ass that works for me, boss. Really. You know how it goes." He shrugs.

  "No, actually, I don’t know how it goes. Please explain it to me. Explain to me why a pretty girl like her works for a lowlife thug like you, peddling cheap drugs when she could be so much more. And while you’re at it, why don’t you tell me how she ended up working for you? With a face like that, she could easily rake in a couple grand a night as a high-end escort."

  It’s true. Emily has this vibe that draws attention from a lot of men, myself included. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have remembered seeing her before, and I can’t possibly be the only man who noticed her, with that gorgeous body and the delicate pain in her eyes. I know I would pay a nice sum for the illusion of owning her for a couple of hours. Luckily for me, she came to me, and now I get to keep her.

  "I-I-I didn’t think she was that pretty." His stuttering doesn’t make his weak excuse any better.

  "Don’t insult my intelligence, Michael."

  "What do you want to hear? She’s pretty, so I decided to make her my fuck toy."

  The thought of how he forced himself on my Emily makes my skin crawl. I’m quite certain she’s never been wet for him, not like she was for me just a few hours ago. He’s never heard her begging him to fuck her and fuck her harder. Quite the opposite must be true.

  "You had to use force, I assume."

  "Not really. It’s not like she had any other choice. Can I take her down now?"

  "I’m afraid not. It turns out that your services are no longer needed."

  Michael turns to me as I take the first step toward him, pulling out my knife. He just blinks at me, trying to understand my words and their consequences.

  He gapes like a goldfish in its glass bowl when I cut his throat. The motion is so quick that he can’t quite grasp it, his mind busy with fear and panic. Hot red blood splashes onto the white tiles, flowing toward the drain. His body goes down with a thud.

  Part of me wishes that I’d taken my time, but it’s almost sunrise, and there’s still a lot to be done before I can finally go to bed, with Emily by my side.

  After dragging Michael’s body from the room for my men to take care of him, I open the valve and hose the room down. Like I said, it’s a messy business.

  5

  Emily

  I’m cold, and my shoulders are burning. It takes a lot out of me to peel my eyes open. Someone is whistling as wetness hits my leg. Now I’m even more cold, and I force myself to look down. Water is splashing over the white tiled floor, cloudy with a red liquid. Little red dots embellish my shins and feet, while my toes are barely touching the wet ground.

  I look up, squinting at the shackles fastened around my wrists. A strong metallic smell fills my nostrils. I don’t need to be Sherlock Holmes to figure out that I’m in a room where the Kingmaker’s just killed someone, and guessing by my current position, I’m probably next—but not before he tortures me, I guess.

  Lifting my head slowly, I take the sight in. The Kingmaker appears calm as he uses a hose to clean the room we’re in.

  I don’t know who the interior designer was, but the white tiled floor and walls make me think of horror movies, the ones with abandoned hospitals and insane asylums, to be specific. There are metal lockers lined up along one wall and a few steel tables along the other. All kinds of torture equipment are spread on the gleaming surfaces of the tables, but I’m particularly drawn to the bloody knife.

  "You’re awake." The Kingmaker smiles and turns the water off. "How are you feeling?"

  My heart is leaping in my chest, and I’m pretty sure I’m about to die. "Just peachy."

  His smile deepens, and there’s a dangerous gleam in his eyes. "Your pulse tells a different story." He steps closer, extending his arm, trailing his fingers over the hollow of my throat.

  I flinch as his hand is ice cold, like the water around my feet. "What happened?"

  "While you were unconscious? I took care of a problem."

  Since it’s definitely blood that he just cleaned up, I have to swallow against the lump in my throat. "What kind of problem?"

  "That’s none of your concern. You only need to focus on your own predicament."

  "You’re going to kill me." My voice is hollow, and I feel empty on the inside.

  "Now why would I do that and miss out on all the fun?" He cocks one of his eyebrows and grabs my chin, forcing me to look at his handsome face with his unsettling eyes. "I have other plans for you, my pretty little plaything. First, I’m going to teach you a lesson, and then we’re going back upstairs."

  "Okay."

  His fingers dig deeper into my skin. "But let me be perfectly clear, darling. You are expected to follow the rules from now on because believe me when I tell you that you don’t want to see this room a second time. Understood?"

  "Yes."

  He smiles. "Yes, Sir."

  "Yes, Sir."

  "Very good. And from now on, I’m either Atlas or Sir."

  "Yes, Sir."

  My heart is beating frantically while I’m trying to figure him out. Is he going to keep me? Did he kill Michael? Why doesn’t he just tell me?

  Then I remember what he said earlier. He’s the Kingmaker, and he doesn’t share his plans. All the questions I have are sitting heavily on my tongue, but I swallow them down.

  Three months, just three months, and I will be free—no more worries, no more annoying men in my life. Freedom. I can take whatever he wants for three months. Three months isn’t too bad.

  He walks away from my view, and I hear shuffling before he comes back, a mean-looking whip in his hands. "There’s something you should know about me."

  "And what would that be?" I lick my lips since they’re feeling incredibly dry.

  Atlas follows the movement with his gaze. "I absolutely hate coconut, especially the smell. So no more coconut. No sham
poo, no body lotion, nothing that contains even a hint of coconut."

  "Okay, got it. No problem." My knees are weak because I feared he might tell me something way worse. For good measure, I smile weakly before I add, "Sir."

  "And there’s another thing." His knuckles graze my cheek. "I love seeing you cry, so please don’t hold back."

  Did I think I was nervous already? Boy, was I wrong. Right now, I can feel the panic creeping to the surface.

  "Here’s what’s going to happen. You get five lashes for each offense, for a total of fifteen because you were eavesdropping, tried to run away from me, and stole my watches. After that, I’m going to fuck you since I’m quite sure that seeing you in pain will excite me immensely. Then we’re done."

  There’s so much going on in my head that I don’t know what to think, and the whip in his hand isn’t helping.

  "Can we please talk about it, Sir?" I plead.

  "No. You came to me, Emily. You should have thought about the consequences a little earlier. Now be a good girl and ask me to punish you."

  Why the hell is that idea so strangely exciting? I shouldn’t be turned on by the vision of him whipping my ass before grabbing my hips and fucking me hard, but I am terribly horny. I lift my head, and for a moment, I lose myself in his eyes. "Well, I’m not quite sure if I have it in me to be that kind of good girl, Sir."

  His pupils dilate, and I can see that I said exactly the right thing.

  "You should really try, Emily." His voice is strained with desire, yet at the same time, he sounds almost indifferent.

  A shiver runs down my spine. "Why don’t you make me?" My lashes flutter as I smile at him.

  "Fuck." He exhales. "You’re going to regret that."

  "I’m sure I will do a lot of things in the next three months that I’m going to regret."

  The whip in his hand, he crosses his arms in front of his chest. "Who said anything about three months?"

  My stomach clenches up. "That’s the deal, right? Three months. You keep your playthings for three months before you part ways, leaving them with a bunch of money and jewelry."

  "If I had any feelings, they would be considerably hurt that you’re just in it for the money, Em."

  I balance on my toes, making the shackles clink. "It’s not that I don’t like the sex. I’m only realistic about what to expect."

  "You have no idea what to expect."

  "Then tell me, please."

  "I told you already what’s going to happen. I will whip and fuck you."

  "And after that?" My shoulders are burning, my knees are getting weaker with every passing second, and I’m not sure how much longer my legs will continue to carry my weight.

  Atlas flicks his wrist with ease, painting my ass with the first lash. "And after that, I’m going to keep you."

  "What?" I spit out the question and, immediately after, almost bite my tongue as the whip hits me again.

  "That’s two. How do you feel about crying for me, Em?"

  I try to turn around, but he stops me by putting his arm around my waist, pressing me against his front. His erection is hard to miss.

  "Tell me what you mean by that. Are you going to keep me for longer? Six months, maybe?"

  His breath tickles my ear while he laughs. "No, my sweet captive. I’m keeping you forever."

  The first tear rolls down my cheek, and I can’t tell why I’m crying. Is it relief since my hunt for safety is finally over? Or is it fear of being at the mercy of a man like the Kingmaker?

  He steps in front of me, looking at my face, a sinister smile playing around his mouth. It’s probably both. I know that Atlas will keep me safe, but safety will come at a price.

  He leans in and licks the tear off my skin. "Delicious. Oh, Emily, we’re going to have so much fun together."

  Copyright © 2020 Penny Wynter

  Cover © Pavel – stock.adobe.com

  penny.wynter@protonmail.com

  https://blackumbrellapublishing.com

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews.