The VIOLENT Series: The Complete Boxed Set

by Linnea May

  "You really don't understand, do you?" he asks, adding a snide chuckle. "You really don't understand your fucking situation, do you?"

  He comes back to me, positioning himself right next to my head, again captivating me with his marvelous physique.

  "Up here, slut," he barks, and I yelp when he surprises me with a pinch to my cheek. "You're too busy lusting after someone you should be afraid of."

  I bite my lower lip.

  "I am afraid," I whimper. "Please... let me go."

  He looks at me with disgust. I can't even blame him. My words lack conviction. Even I don't believe them.

  I yank at my restraints because I don't know what else to do, what else to say.

  "You'll understand soon enough," he says, and before I can even begin to contemplate a response, he turns away from me, switching off the light and leaving me alone and in complete darkness as he leaves the room.

  This is when it truly starts to feel real.

  Chapter 7

  Loran

  I don't know if she started screaming once I left the room, but I doubt that she did. She's not a screamer, at least not yet.

  Hell, I don't know what she is. So far, she's nothing but confusing, not at all acting the way I expected her to. Her extravagant appearance let me believe that she'd be one of those girls. One of the most obnoxious girls at the club, one of the loudest, maybe one of the brattiest. One that‘s used to having men lie at their feet, adoring their beauty and craving their bodies, and thus obtaining an attitude to match. Her whole get-up screamed bitch, and I wouldn't have been surprised if she tried to scratch my eyes out the moment I came close to her. Or if she spit at me, yelled at me, showered me with nasty insults. All of that, I would have accepted as a natural response to what I'm doing to her.

  But she’s done none of it. In stead, she just lays there, nodding and saying 'okay', as if I'd just asked a simple favor of her.

  I hate it. I hate that she’s not fearing me the way I want her to. I hate that she's not acting the way I expected her to. If she's not going along with my expectations, how am I supposed to feel in control, to be in control? Instead, I feel like she's the one playing tricks on me. It's as if she has something up her sleeve, something that can potentially turn the tables on me at any moment. Her calm demeanor unsettles me more than I’d like to admit.

  I had to leave her in there by herself. I needed room to think, room to consider my next steps. I haven't thought this through, none of it, and it shows, now that she's here with me. It’s one thing to consider kidnapping a woman, but it's another thing entirely to come up with an elaborate plan and then go through with it - but it's a completely different thing to act on impulse and find yourself in the position I'm in now.

  After all, I don't even have a proper cage for her. Sure, I have the dungeon in the basement with a bathroom connected to it that's shielded from the outside. I've never had to put it to the test, but I'm sure there is no way for her to escape, even if she wasn't tied to the rack.

  I have to check, though. I never had to worry about my slaves trying to escape because it was never part of the deal. They were told to act scared and fend me off to a degree, but any attempts of escaping were strictly forbidden by the contract they signed.

  A lot of things were laid out in those contracts, and I feel oddly lost now that I lack having one signed with my slave.

  I poured myself a scotch after I left her, wandering up and down my living room, twirling the liquid in the glass in my hand as I ponder my next move.

  Frankly, I feel like an idiot. This is so unlike me. I've never done anything this reckless before. I didn't even check if anyone saw us when I led her to my car. It’s unlikely anyone paid attention, as the streets were completely empty and no one was leaving or entering the bar at the time, but it can't be put out of the question. Besides, we didn't do anything suspicious. She came with me on her own free will. I didn't grab her and drag her with me as I originally intended, and even as we were driving, she didn't act out in any way. By the time she was unconscious, we had long left the bright city lights and were driving on an almost empty freeway, unlikely to be seen by anyone.

  It’s very, very unlikely that anyone noticed me taking her... but it's not impossible.

  Minutes pass and turn into hours, as I continue my contemplations without getting anywhere. I keep telling myself that I'm putting this distance between her and myself because I want her to calm down and get used to her situation, but who am I kidding? From what I can tell, she's more comfortable with this than I am.

  I need a plan, but I can't come up with it here, not like this. I empty my scotch and leave the glass on the kitchen counter before making my way to the stairs, only pausing for a second before heading upstairs to the second floor. A few hours of sleep will do the trick, I'm sure.

  But sleep is unattainable for me. Every time I close my eyes, I see her in front of me. Her green eyes that are too dark in contrast to her light blond hair and her pale skin, her calm acceptance of her situation, her apathetic response to everything. She might be nothing but a ticking time bomb, and the chances of her exploding are getting greater with every minute that she's left alone down there.

  Or so I hope.

  I toss and turn in bed, unwilling to give up the fight against insomnia, while I know that she must be doing the same downstairs, albeit in a less comfortable condition. It will be a while until I can let her be comfortable again.

  By the time I see the first beam of warm sunrays casting through my window, I acknowledge defeat and get out of bed. I never close the curtains because I'm used to getting up with the sun, but I definitely prefer getting at least a few hours of sleep in beforehand.

  I forego my usual morning workout and take a quick shower, trying to calm my nerves just as much as my body. Every time I think of her, the beautiful little lamb that's tied to my rack in the basement, I'm fueled with a toxic mix of rage and desire. Her body, her face, her slutty outfit, all of it is driving me insane, but not as much as her naive and calm conduct is. She has been alone in the dark for hours, incapable of moving and scared to death. She must be in a lot of pain by now, and I know I can't leave her there much longer.

  I put on a pair of navy blue jeans and a white shirt that hugs tightly around the muscles I've worked so hard to build. I noticed her leering and lusting after me. While I enjoy such compliments as any man would, I'm sure it also fooled her into believing that I am indeed some kind of knight in shining armor and not the beast she should fear.

  My heart is racing nervously when I reach for the handle of the door leading downstairs. I have to take a deep breath before I find myself able to open it and face the mess I left behind.

  I hold my breath, slowly opening the door, watching as light streams into the room. The curtains have been closed, and she's been surrounded by complete darkness, unlike me, oblivious to the fact that the sun has risen and it’s the dawn of a new day.

  I hear her before I see her, and the sounds she’s making are music to my ears.

  She’s sobbing. Sweet, little, desperate sobs that speak of her desperation. It’s the sweetest sound.

  She falls silent when she notices me entering the room. I let the door close behind me and switch on the light. The ceiling lights are terribly bright and unforgiving, immediately reminding me why I usually refrain from ever using them. I squint just as much as she does when I approach the rack.

  She hasn't moved an inch from the last time I saw her. Of course she hasn't, because she can't. But it doesn't even look like she tried to move. Her dress is still hiked up just the way I left it, exposing her bare pussy, only protected by a sheer thong and framed by laced suspenders holding up matching stockings. The only thing she got rid of were her heels. I can see them lying on the ground at the foot end of the stretching bench.

  It doesn't matter. None of it matters. Nothing but her face matters.

  Her face. It almost stops my heart.

  She’s not moving
an inch, barely breathing, as I position myself next to the rack. Dried up streams of smeared make-up are gracing her pale cheeks and her eyes are framed in deep black crusts. Her quivering lips only show remnants of the bright red lipstick she wore last night, as she moves them in a silent plea for help.

  "Please," she whimpers. "Untie me."

  "Now why would I do that?"

  She suppresses another sob, closing her eyes in agony as another tear rolls down her cheek. "Please. It hurts."

  "What hurts?"

  She opens her eyes and seeks my gaze.

  "Please. I need to pee."

  I chuckle. "So? Do you honestly think that concerns me?"

  It does concern me, but she doesn't need to know that. However, this is a good opportunity for her to learn her first lesson.

  Her horrified expression quickly changes to annoyance.

  "Just tell me what to do," she presses. "And I'll do it. Just, please..."

  She bites her lower lip. "How am I supposed to be a good girl if you don't tell me what to do?"

  She flinches when I place a hand on her forehead, softly brushing a strand of hair away. It’s easy to tell that this isn't her real hair color. I wonder who she dyed it for? I don't like it. It doesn't suit her.

  She whimpers and shifts on the rack. "Please."

  "I will untie you," I promise. "Under two conditions. First, no fighting, no screaming, no insulting, no kicking, no biting, no-"

  "For God's sake," she cuts me off. "Yes, yes, yes. I won't do an-"

  She stops when she sees me raising my hand. I don't like hitting women in the face, but she just rubs me the wrong way. Luckily, a simple threat suffices. She freezes, terror coating her beautifully fucked-up face as she stares at me.

  "No face hitting," she whispers. "No face hitting."

  I don't know why, but her words cut right through me. She speaks them like a reminder, as if there was such a thing as a contract between us - as if I was about to overstep one of her hard limits.

  I get sick at the thought of not knowing her hard limits. How the fuck did I ever think I could do this?

  I clear my throat.

  "No face hitting," I agree, trying to play it cool. "And no interrupting."

  She nods.

  "Second," I add. "I'm coming with you. You're not going anywhere without me, not even to the bathroom."

  She looks horrified, but only for a split second, before she nods eagerly. "Yes, whatever you wish."

  Whatever I wish? Fuck, she must be desperate.

  I begin by unfastening her ankles, holding her in place at first because she might use the first chance she gets to kick me. But, of course, she doesn't. My little lamb barely moves, even when all of her limbs are untied. She groans in relief when I release her wrists and slowly, very slowly, lowers her arms, gently rubbing her wrists as she places them on top of her ample chest.

  She jerks away when I lean forward to remove the cloth from around her neck and help her sit up. Her dark green eyes dart up, searching mine, but I don't reciprocate her look. She's trembling and barely able to keep her balance, soon seeking my support as I help her down from the rack. There's a bathroom connected to the dungeon that offers all the luxuries one could ask for - including a hot tub. The smile that appears on her face when I help her inside the room tells me that she appreciates the white marble room as much as any other girl did before, if not more.

  "Are you sure you want to see this?" she asks, shyly turning to me as I close the door behind us and let go of her. I position myself next to the door, crossing my arms in front of my chest and beckoning her to move on.

  "I decide what's shared between us," I say. "Not you."

  She furls her eyebrows but refrains from protesting. I take no particular joy in watching her do this, but it's not about the act itself, it's not even about the humiliation that comes with it. It's just about the fact that I can do this, and that she's not in the position to stop me from watching her. If anything, this is a convenient shortcut to intimacy between us, and evoking much needed humility on her part.

  She hides her face from me the entire time, and I can tell that she tries to be as elegant as one possibly can be in such a situation. It's flattering that she's trying to impress me. She fixes her skirt when she's done, but when she walks over to the sink to wash her hands, I stop her by grabbing her forearm. She flinches, looking at me with an alert expression.

  "You're going to take a bath," I tell her.

  "With you?" she asks.

  I huff. "Get undressed."

  I let go of her and turn toward the hot tub to begin drawing her a bath. She's still standing in the same spot, frozen like a statue, after I turned on the hot water.

  "Get undressed," I repeat. "I'm not going to say it again."

  "You don't... want me like this?" she asks, pointing at herself. She looks utterly confused.

  "No," I say. "Not right now. Get undressed."

  She hesitates, casting me a look as if to question my sanity. Is she really that shy? No, that can't be it. She's merely confused by my command, and I can't blame her. She looks like a fucking sex toy, so sinful, so ready to be fucked, everything about her carefully selected outfit screams for her to be fucked senseless. Any man who'd prefer her naked over this must be out of his senses, right?

  The only thing that's missing are her heels. She's so much shorter than I thought she’d be, judging from when I saw her striding down the street. Seeing her standing in front of me in nothing but her sensuous stockings only increases the vulnerability that surrounds her this morning.

  "Do you want me to do it?" I ask her, slowly stepping closer.

  The question is meant to be a warning, but she doesn't take it as such. Instead, she smiles up at me and nods. That little freak.

  "Yes, I think I'd like that."

  Chapter 8

  Ruby

  I didn't expect him to jump at me like this. It's almost as if he's been waiting for permission to finally touch me. I could see the generous bulge in his pants last night, and I can see it again this morning. He wants me, he wants me bad, but for some reason, he's hesitant to take what he paid for.

  Despite the scenario we're playing, I figured that he might be waiting for something like this, for a sign, a gesture, or a verbal invitation. He likes to play the bad guy, the kidnapper, but he doesn't want to fuck a woman who doesn't want him to.

  I get it. I've been with enough men similar to him to understand how their minds work. They may be wrecked, fucked-up in their own way, but they're still not the guys who end up behind bars for their desires.

  Or so I want to believe.

  I yelp in surprise when he charges at me, even though I'm not completely surprised by it. His hands are on me within seconds, and just like most men, he hungers for my tits the most. Fair enough. I used my first bigger paychecks from this job to get them done, not only because I knew it would help me attract the attention of more generous clients, but also because I've always wanted to do it. I've had my artificial curves for about three years now, and can barely remember a time without them. The sight of them jumping free as he pulls down my halterless dress excites me almost as much as it does him.

  Unlike many other men, he doesn't pause here, he doesn't lean forward to suck on my nipples, he doesn't even touch my bare skin. Instead, he continues to pull my dress all the way down over my ass, before letting it drop to the floor, where it pools around my feet. I step out of it, instinctively sucking my tummy in and straightening my back, like a good girl.

  He notices my efforts and regards them with a generous smile, before he wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me closer until our bodies meet. I'm met with a wall of muscle, and his hard length poking into my belly.

  "Happy?" he asks.

  I blush, but the smile that completes my reaction doesn't sit well with him.

  "You're fucked-up," he hisses, before hooking his fingers beneath the garter belt around my waist. He rips it apart in one swif
t motion, and I mourn the loss of one of my finest pieces of lingerie, only to have the sacrifice doubled when he continues by ripping my thong with an equal measure of aggression.

  I don't understand him. Instead of touching me like any other man would, instead of digging his greedy hands into my flesh, he barely seeks contact with my skin. Instead, he's focused entirely on ripping off my attire, finishing the deed by tearing my stockings as he pulls them down in one brute motion.

  I stand there, naked and confused, when he turns away to attend to the tub. He adds two bath bombs, and we both watch as they dissolve and form colorful mountains of soap suds at the surface. He stops the water flow once the tub is about halfway full and turns around to me.

  "Get in."

  His eyes are on me the entire time as I climb into the admittedly beautiful and luxurious hot tub. All of my clients have been financially well-off - otherwise they wouldn't be able to afford the services my agency has to offer - but this must still be the nicest bathroom I have ever found myself in. The room itself is pretty big, entailing a lavish rain-shower next to the hot tub, a particularly beautiful vanity with a mirror spanning almost the entire wall to my left, and golden fixtures on white marble all around. And it's only the basement bathroom! I can't even begin to imagine what the ones upstairs look like. I wonder if I’ll ever get to see them.

  The water is very warm, but not too hot, perfectly comfortable. I can't help but let out a soft moan as I sink down into the welcoming valley of bubbly warmth. The water feels good against my strained muscles and sore skin. I have no idea how long he left me alone in the dark, tied to that horribly uncomfortable bench, but it felt like an eternity. It was a terrible experience, and probably one of the worst things anyone has ever done to me. The dark is one of my biggest enemies. But I’m a warrior by nature, so I refused to let my anxiety win out over me this easily. I remained calm, enduring the blindness, the solitude, the uncertainty. Still, it didn’t take long for my monsters to find me. Tears came, and along with them, horrid desperation. I alternated between a sad sob and angry wailing. Time dragged along, but it did pass, and by the time he finally showed up to rescue me, my biggest problem was no longer the darkness, but the call of nature that threatened to humiliate me even further.