by Harlow Stone
Blinded by Fate
By
Harlow Stone
The Ugly Roses
Book Three
© 2015 by Harlow Stone
The Ugly Roses
Reading Order:
Frayed Rope
Concealed Affliction
Blinded by Fate
Reviews
READ THIS SERIES and prepare yourself. This is wicked. If you have certain triggers concerning kidnapping and heavy torture/abuse then you might want to reconsider. These folks are sick. And yes again I love it. The storyline is fantastic and you won’t believe some of the things Harlow throws at you. Seriously get these books. –Ramblings From Beneath the Sheets
Your head will be whipping back and forth and every time you sit there thinking you have figured out a piece of the puzzle....BAM....you are proven wrong! I honestly don't remember ever reading a story that has done such an amazing job at keeping you in the dark and practically begging for more! – Christine Stanley
Five Stars! Keeps you on the edge of your seat while you’re reading it. It’s so intense and gripping!!! I love it so much!!! You pull for the characters and you can’t help but fall in love with Ryder as you go. I love a good dark read and this book and series doesn’t disappoint!!! - Alpha Book Club
Harlow Stone is a bit of an emotional terrorist with her writing. She lures you in, lays the foundation of where you just know things will go and then BANG never saw it coming...not what you thought...reorganize and go back for more, More, MORE.. So darn good it hurts and the ending? OMG!!! Seriously?? – Amazon Customer
I was completely blown away by this book. All of the characters are great and it's full of twist and turns, many you don't see coming. – Cat’s Guilty Pleasure
Need more. STAT!!! First book I've read by this author and I absolutely loved it. – Author Alice C. Hart
This series will leave you on the edge of your seat. Holy rollercoaster of emotions. – Amazon review
Copyright
Blinded by Fate
The Ugly Roses Series
Written by Harlow Stone
All rights reserved.
Registered Copyright through the Canadian Intellectual Property Office. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Trademarks:
This book identifies product names and services known to be trademarks, registered trademarks, or service marks of their respective holders. The author acknowledges the trademarked status in this work of fiction. The publication and use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
© 2015 by Kate Kearns / Harlow Stone
Edited by Gregory Murphy
Cover gun image purchased from Shutterstock.
Cover design by Kate Kearns
Contents
Reviews
Copyright
Contents
Foreward
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Author Notes
Foreword
How did I get here?
Of course I know the answer, but if those bastards Fate and Karma truly hold the cards then I wish I knew where the hell I went wrong.
There are no crossroads for me anymore. I’m kneeling on the floor at the hands of a monster. My choices along with my dignity are about to be taken and there’s little I can do for myself.
Trapped in a cage, the harsh bite of concrete under my knees is a cruel reminder of my past, a past that follows me wherever I go despite my best efforts to remain in the shadows. One thing for certain is that no matter what happens, no matter where this takes me or if I get out alive—Ryder will always fight for me.
I’m not on my own anymore. I have a strong man who loves me and Callaghan Security behind me.
Surrendering is not an option, and retribution may not be my answer.
This is a reckoning.
I will find the answers and survive long enough to reclaim what I lost. My intent is pure and if I’m worthy enough fate will grant me the one thing I may not deserve.
Redemption.
Prologue
Two days ago
The prison guard reaches out and grabs me by the front of my shirt, causing it to rip as he hauls me off the bed. I try to cooperate, not wanting to anger him anymore but he slaps my face—probably because I’m not fast enough.
I’m shoved backward into the cold concrete wall. The force causes the air to whoosh out of my lungs and my trembling legs to weaken. Grabbing a fist full of my hair, he holds me upright.
“Stay still.”
I don’t know why he asks, it’s not like I can move. I don’t understand until the flash of the camera blinds me once again. I blink, repeatedly, trying to regain my sense of sight.
“You must be popular, princess, or worth something. Because apparently our little photoshoot is over.”
He releases my hair, and I let out the breath I was holding, hoping to hell I can now go above ground, and back to my cell. I will my legs to take me there, one foot in front of the other, but his hand moves to my shoulder while his mouth moves to my ear. The sick hushed voice raises the hairs on my neck.
“That doesn’t mean I’m done with you.”
He moves away from my ear, remaining close enough that I can feel his breath on my cheeks. Regardless of the lack of light, I don’t miss the evil smirk on his face. The calloused thumb on his left hand moves from my neck, into the hollow of my collarbone. He applies enough force in the pressure point, using his hand to push down, leaving me no choice but to drop to my knees.
“Now be a good inmate, number 76413.”
I’m shocked for a moment before I attempt to pull back, refusing to be belittled or treated like a subject. Still, he continues to push in the tender nerves behind my collarbone, rendering me motionless with his left hand, while his right moves to his belt. He quickly undoes the buckle with practiced speed, while keeping me helpless on my knees.
How did I get here?
What have I done?
I ignore the blood that’s running down my face, and let a million scenarios flash through my head. I know exactly how I coul
d put him on his knees. What an accomplishment that would feel like right now; to use everything Brock and Denny have taught me to incapacitate the sick fuck currently standing in front of me. I know exactly how I could do it. I know exactly where to hit, what to keep pressure on, and what to do should he try to get back up.
I know I could take him.
I could get him in the position I am now.
But at what cost?
What will happen if I get him down? Will I be in here longer than four days? Will he spin the story around and try to point the finger at me? Who the fuck would believe me if that happened, especially if Braumer or Becker is paying this guy?
I might get a few guards to side with me. Or maybe one; the kinder woman who registered me into this god awful fucking place where I don’t belong.
I hear the zipper on his pants being lowered, so I think fast and grab onto what I hope is the best idea since I came down here. I clear my throat before speaking, keeping my head low, but making sure my eyes catch his actions.
“So they only want pictures of you beating me? Not forcing yourself on me?”
He slows his movements, but doesn’t stop. His hand still remains firm on my shoulder when he says, “I got paid. That’s all that matters.”
I try to calm myself, keep him talking.
“And here I thought they would have paid you bigger money for something like this. Especially Becker,” I say.
“I don’t ask names, inmate. Not my problem.”
I nod my head slowly. “Smart, I suppose. Especially when dealing with the mayor of Chicago. That guy probably has more money than he knows what to do with. Here I thought he would’ve got a kick out of this and offered you a fortune. Certainly helps him in getting what he wants and keeping his name out of the dirt.”
He shakes his head, not at all interested in what I have to say.
“Mayor, judge, I don’t give a fuck who it is. I’d do this for free princess. Just makes it that much sweeter when I get to keep the photos for later. Sometimes I take videos, but usually I keep those for myself.”
The sick bastard smiles down at me. I can barely see it. The light illuminating him from behind gives him a good view of my face, but gives me little of his.
I am somewhat getting what I need, and I urge him along. I force myself to soften my voice further and play the innocent inmate, all the while shaking under my skin, ignoring the harsh concrete under my knees.
“Then just hurry up and tape it please. I just want out of here. I want to go home. Just tape it and get it over with, I just want this over!”
I don’t need to try hard to keep the tremble in my voice. I am very much afraid at what will become of me when this is over. He did not once imply that I was correct in my assumption that Becker is behind this, nor did he confirm that he wanted this videotaped. He told me our photo shoot was ‘over’. So it’s safe to assume that Becker did not want any of this extra shit to happen.
Still, I thank the universe when he pulls out his phone and presses a few buttons. I can only hope that the evidence will get me out of here. Seeming content, he holds the phone in his mouth while he uses the other to pull out his sorry excuse for a cock.
I try to keep the convulsions away, but I can’t help it. I haven’t been eating properly, I lack sleep, and I still have blood dripping from my nose and forehead.
The guard pulls his phone out of his mouth. “Now take it, 76413. You don’t get a name down here, just a number. So show me how much you want to get out of here. And make it good.”
I whimper a little, playing off the weak woman he wants me to be. He doesn’t know me at all. If he did he would know that weak is the last fucking word you will ever use to describe a beat up, hard, and lonely bitch such as myself. None the less, I play the part.
“Please, I’ll be good. I just want to get out of here. Don’t hit me anymore, please.”
The light from the cell phone beaming down on me confirms that he does, in fact, have the video rolling. I try to prepare myself for what feels more shameful than killing Andrew, but I’m not fast enough. His hand leaves the pressure point on my shoulder to grab the bottom of my jaw, squeezing hard enough that it forces my mouth open.
“Take it, or I’ll fucking keep you down here.”
I take one last breath through my nose, before he forces himself into my mouth. I ignore the urge to vomit, focusing instead on the light of the camera, opposed to what is in my mouth. I haven’t done anything to warrant the sound of pleasure coming from his mouth. I have yet to move any part of my body, especially my tongue.
I won’t give him the satisfaction.
I remain focused and I keep eye contact before I bite down.
As hard as I fucking can.
“AAARRRGHHHH!”
The wail coming from his mouth gives me the same amount of sick pleasure as when I heard the same agonizing cries from Andrew. His hand squeezes even tighter on my jaw in an attempt to remove my teeth from his dick, but I can see he’s afraid I might take it with me if he pulls back.
“ARRGGHH YOU C-C-CUNT!”
The coppery tang of blood fills my mouth, and only when the skin of his flaccid cock long passes my teeth and hits my gums do I finally let go.
The guard, who’s name I don’t know, staggers backward, causing a loud clang when he stumbles into the metal door. He’s shaking much like I was a few short moments ago; his hands are now covered in blood as he slumps down to the floor. A mixture of shock, and perhaps blood loss, causes him to weaken.
His cell phone dropped from his hands. I waste no time getting to my feet. I replay Brock’s words as I stand in front of him. ‘Never stay down, Elle. You get back up, you keep fucking going. The longer you’re down, the better chance he has at keeping you there. Don’t give him that chance, Elle. You fight, until you can’t fucking stand anymore. When that’s done, you fucking fight some more. And when you think it’s over? Run, babe. Run as fast as you fucking can.’
I don’t waste time. I look at the amount of blood dripping from the guard, hoping to hell he passes out soon but not counting on it. I swing my arm forward, making contact with his sternum, and follow it with another quick jab to the side of his neck, and lastly his nose. The combination of blows to his pressure points, along with the shock and blood loss forces his eyes to roll back in his head.
Knowing I don’t have much time, I grab the phone off of the floor, and the radio from the side of his belt. I know I could get his keys and run to get help; but if I’m found running through the hallway, the other guards may get the wrong idea. I pick up the phone, taking a screen shot of the recent call list, and another photo of my face. With shaking fingers I attach the video and photos quickly, and send them via text to Ryder and Denny’s phones. Hoping one of them gets it soon and sends help.
I delete the trace of me sending the video, and toss the phone to the other side of the room. I study the radio, noting the sticker on the back. It lists the channels used for each block, and I change it to 0-1 for the emergency channel. I take a few deep breaths, and make sure the guard is still passed out before I bring the radio to my mouth.
“Help, p-p-p-please help me.”
I wait a few moments, and a woman’s voice comes over the radio waves.
“Lanie, is that you?”
I’m assuming Lanie must be one of the other guards. I’m quick to correct her in the shakiest, weakest voice I can muster.
“N-n-no. P-p-p-please! He’s hurting me.”
She is fast on the heels of my response.
“Where are you?”she asks.
I sniffle a little, not at all wanting to cry. There are no tears falling from my eyes but I do my best to imitate them through the radio.
“I n-n-noticed the le-le-letter‘B’. It-it’s d-da-dark.”
For once, what sounds like concern enters the woman’s voice.
“B-Block is not occupied, but I am sending someone now. Who am I speaking with?”
I curse th
e bastard in front of me, hating the ‘B’, hating the fucking basement, hating the concrete, and hating this cold fucking place. I do my best to keep up the stutter, and to keep the anger out of my voice. I decide my best option is to whisper, saying my given names for the first time in almost a year.
“J-Jayne. Jayne Elle O’Connor.”
I hear the thunder of footsteps above, and I drop the radio. Whoever is on the other end of it is ignored as I curl myself in the fetal position on the cold hard floor. I allow the numb to set in, but this time I absorb it from the concrete beneath me, not from my heart.
Shock begins to take over as I close my eyes against the light now coming brighter from the hallway. I see shadows moving toward me before the blackness starts to set in. It starts around the outer edges of my vision, moving inward until I see nothing but black boots in front of my face and a warm hand touching my arm. It’s feminine, and firm.
