Tower: A Dark Romance Rapunzel Retelling (Ever After)

by Measha Stone

  “Too late.” Moving his hand from her face to her arm, Peter gripped her bicep and walked to the front door, dragging her along.

  “No.” She pulled back, but he didn’t stop. He intensified his grip and yanked her along the way. “No! Peter! No!” she yelled and smacked at his hand.

  Fear embedded her demands to be let go. Poor girl didn’t realize how much more that made him want her.

  When he got to his car, he pulled his gun back out and pressed it against her back until she stopped fighting him. “Get in the car, Azalea. If you get back out, if you run, you will regret it. I will keep you safe, but you have to fucking listen to me. Any deviation from my directions, and you’ll find out the consequences.”

  “Safe?” she hissed. “You’re kidnapping me!” she yelled into the chilled wind of the night.

  Peter glanced around. No crowd had formed, but if she kept up her fit, the neighbors would come to investigate.

  “Don’t make me gag you. Get in the fucking car.”

  “No.” She shook her head and tugged again. “Fuck you.” She spat at him, missing his face but getting his shoulder.

  “Not on your first night. But if you’re really good, maybe tomorrow.” He pulled away from her, pushing the barrel of his gun into her back. She stilled, but it wasn’t enough. She’d spat at him!

  He yanked on her dress, a flimsy cotton thing, until her ass was exposed. Round, pert…fucking perfect.

  “Peter.” She didn’t yell this time, probably not wanting to draw attention to them now that her ass was on display to the neighborhood.

  He brought his left hand back and landed it on her ass three times in a row, same spot, same severity, eliciting the same muffled screech from her with each one. The darkness of the night, and the cotton panties she wore hid the blush of her ass from him, but he knew it was there. Knew the heat had been created. She stopped struggling.

  “Get in, Azalea, or do you need more motivation?”

  “No.”

  He hadn’t hurt her, not really. She was probably shocked that he’d done it. Hell, he was a little surprised, too. Middle of the street, in the middle of getting her out of that house while his men were still dealing with Santos, but it needed to be done.

  She’d be feeling a hell of a lot more if she didn’t cooperate soon.

  He yanked the door open. “You keep that dress up at your hips. I want your spanked ass on the seat,” he ordered when she smoothed the dress back down.

  She glanced at him, anger shooting at him while she did as he told her.

  “Asshole,” she shot at him as he closed the door.

  “You have no idea,” he said, more to himself.

  “Peter.” Daniel jogged down the steps of the brownstone, Travis and Johnny following him. “You sure about that?” he asked, glancing at Azalea sitting in the car, her arms folded, her eyes focused straight ahead.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean—we don’t usually steal women for debt,” Daniel said quietly. Travis and Johnny made their way to Daniel’s car without commenting.

  “Don’t worry about what I’m doing. You worry about getting that cash logged in, and I want a man stationed on this fucking house. I want to know the second Santos’s boss gets back.”

  “Sure. Uh, what are you going to do with her?” He jerked a thumb at the car.

  Peter didn’t respond. He walked around the hood, keeping her in his side view as he made his way to his door and jerked it open.

  She remained silent when he turned the ignition.

  Daniel’s question had merit.

  What the hell was he going to do with her?

  Chapter 5

  The man obviously had a few screws loose in that head of his.

  “You can’t just take me,” Azalea said after too many moments of silence stretched between them.

  He grunted in response. A damn grunt. Maybe he was more animal than human.

  “I mean it, Peter.” Remembering the skirt of her dress was still hiked up over her hips, she grabbed the hem and wiggled it back down. She’d been too surprised at the short spanking to fight him at the moment, but his gun was no longer pointed at her, and her ass was safely pressed against the warm leather seat.

  “Don’t.” His paw of a hand moved from the steering wheel to her own, gripping one hard and yanking it from its mission. “I want your ass on the seat. I want you to let it sink in that from this moment on, you’ll do what I say or feel the consequences.”

  She stared at him, slack-jawed, while he kept his focus on the road stretching out in front of them. Yep. Bona fide crazy.

  “Let me go,” she demanded in the hardest voice she could conjure up. He ran his thumb over her knuckles before releasing her.

  “Leave that dress the way you have it.” He went back to gripping the wheel with both hands.

  “You’re a lunatic,” she accused.

  He gave a dark chuckle. “I’ve been called worse.”

  “Santos won’t let you take me. He’ll come for me.” If only to save his own sorry skin, but he wouldn’t let her disappear. Her mother would have his head.

  “I doubt that, Azalea. He’s a hired thug. You’re his boss’s daughter, isn’t that right? He’s probably already packed a bag and hightailed it out of town.” Peter glanced over at her. “If he’s smart, that’s what he did.”

  The car jarred as it ran over a pothole, and she gripped the door handle. Her head spun.

  Before Jackson had come into her room demanding she follow him downstairs, she’d been making plans to get out of the house the next evening. Now, it seemed she was out, and she needed to figure a way to get back in.

  “What do you want with me?” she asked, folding her hands over her lap. Her thighs were completely bare, with her dress hiked up around her waist. The spanking hadn’t hurt, not really. A few swats to her ass had been enough to shock her, but there wasn’t much pain. The tingle it sent through her body bothered her more than the brief sting of his hand.

  She shouldn’t have a tingle. She shouldn’t have anything except anger and contempt for the asshole stealing her.

  “Not your concern at the moment,” he answered and turned off the main road and onto an access drive.

  As he drove up the winding road, a mansion came into view. With the dark night blanketing the background, the lighted windows sent a shiver through her. She recognized the mansion, its peaks visible from her bedroom window, and there were pictures of it in the papers from time to time. Ash Titan lived there.

  She’d heard murmurs among her mother’s men about what went on inside the walls of the Annex. Women were auctioned off, contracted out for deviant play and sex. Women sold from one man to another for whatever pleasure their new owners desired.

  And Peter was taking her there.

  He’d said the debt had been forgiven. That’s what he’d told Santos when he took her. He was going to sell her to repay a debt? Whose debt?

  She closed her eyes for a moment and swallowed back rising panic. Nothing ever got accomplished by crying. She wouldn’t allow this. She was so close to gaining some freedom. Her mother was finally going to let her move out. She was finally going to have a life of her own.

  As soon as he parked, she moved into action. She flipped the lock and threw open the door, jumping out of the car before Peter could grab her.

  “Hey!”

  She heard him yell for her, but she didn’t stop. She raced down the cobblestone path to the gates they’d driven through. If she ran fast enough, she could get through before they closed. But they were already moving, the moonlight flickering off the metal as they crept closer to one another.

  “Azalea!” He sounded closer.

  She pumped her arms and pushed herself to move, to get there, to get out, to get away from the Annex and from Peter.

  “Goddammit! Grab her!”

  A man appeared from out of the little house near the gate. She hadn’t seen him before. Had he been there?
<
br />   She shrieked and tried to jolt around him, but he was in front of her and his hands were on her, holding her arms tight. She fought against him, kicked at him, but the damn mammoth didn’t even flinch.

  With another cry of frustration, she watched the gates come together. The bolt latching echoed in the courtyard. She was stuck.

  “Where the hell did you think you were going?” Peter jogged up to her and gave the mammoth a nod, which she assumed meant he could release her, since he did. He didn’t leave, though, instead, he blocked her from behind.

  “I won’t let you sell me.” She took a step back, feeling the danger of the guard too close behind her. With nowhere to go, she could only gain a few inches of space between her and Peter, but it was enough to let her breathe easier.

  Peter’s lips thinned as he pressed them together. Each puff of air flared his nostrils, but he didn’t say a word.

  He snagged her hand and pulled her back up the driveway. She took deep breaths to calm her lungs, burning from the run, and to keep her heart from jumping out of her chest.

  Fighting him wouldn’t get her anywhere. Not with the mammoth at the gate, and who knew what other animals lurked inside the mansion to help him.

  She managed to keep up with him as he took the steps up to the entrance, but when he pulled her to the large staircase inside, she resisted again.

  “I’m not going up there,” she said, shaking her head.

  He sighed and spun to face her. “You are. Either you walk up these steps, or I throw you over my shoulder and carry you up. Either way is fine with me, but I’m sure you have a preference.”

  Azalea clenched her teeth. A smartass remark would probably give him a reason to make the decision for her, and she had a good idea which way he would choose.

  She met his gaze, forcing herself to ignore the irritation lurking in his dark glare. “I’ll walk on my own.”

  He released her hand and moved aside, waving her ahead of him.

  Smoothing her dress, she raised her chin and climbed the staircase.

  “If you run again, Azalea, I’ll take my belt to your ass before you go to sleep. Go up one more floor,” he said as they reached the landing.

  She didn’t respond to his threat. Although, she knew it was more of a promise—a hope even. She’d seen him whipping the woman at Tower. She’d seen his thrill as the whip landed and the woman cried out. If she ran again, it would give him a reason to take the leather strap to her. An idea that once made her reach into her panties and ease the ache, but facing his dark glare and set jaw, she didn’t think the reality would match the fantasy.

  When she reached the next floor, he moved past her and walked down the hall. She glanced back down the steps, but decided to follow him instead. He stopped outside a door and pulled a key from his pocket.

  “The entire floor is mine.” He slipped the key inside. “You’ll stay in my bedroom for now.” The lock clicked as it unlatched, and he pushed the door open.

  He gestured for her to enter, but she couldn’t quite make her feet move. Inside was a prison. Santos had barely argued about him taking her. He’d seemed fearful of Peter and his men, and she’d never seen Santos fear anything.

  If she went in, he could lock her away. He could sell her to a monster who would beat her, rape her, and worse. Tears burned her eyes, but she took a deep breath and blinked them back. She wouldn’t let him see her fear.

  “Azalea, there’s no decision to make here. Go in.” His voice was velvety, his touch, when he placed his hand on her back, warm and almost soothing.

  She nodded, straightened her back, and stepped inside.

  Whatever was coming next, she would deal with it. She’d always learned how to cope, how to manage, and she would do it again.

  She would not be sold.

  She would not be owned.

  She would be free.

  ღ ღ ღ

  Peter left her to stew all alone in his bedroom. At first, relief had rushed through her when he hadn’t entered with her before closing the door. But the reprieve quickly turned into a chokehold of uncertainty.

  What if he came back with more men? What if he already had someone who wanted to buy her? She hadn’t formed a plan yet. She hadn’t had time.

  She stared at the door, the intricately carved wooden door that under any other circumstance would appeal to her artistic side, both fearing and hoping it would open.

  “Get a damn grip,” she chastised herself, and sat on the hope chest at the foot of the king-sized four-poster bed. She noticed the woodwork on the bed matched that of the door. But she couldn’t focus on things like design patterns. She needed to get her heart to stop trying to escape her chest.

  The room held a more menacing feel than the outside of the mansion. All dark wood furniture with sharp angles and edges. All very masculine. Tall candlesticks lined the nearby dresser, and three candle sconces hung on the wall over the bed.

  The furniture in the corner opposite the bed caught her attention. A black leather spanking bench in one corner, and a dark cherrywood cross in the opposite corner. Cuffs dangled from the cross.

  She left the bed and inspected the cross. She’d seen it before in pictures and understood how it was used, but she’d never been so close to one. Running her hand over the thick beam, she closed her eyes, letting the smooth surface run along her palm.

  “That’s called a St. Andrew’s Cross,” Peter’s deep voice announced. She hadn’t heard him come in. Losing herself in a damn fantasy again, she hadn’t noticed the door opening.

  She dropped her hand from the beam and spun around. “I know what it is.”

  He arched his right brow. “I was hoping a few minutes alone would help you calm down.” He stepped closer. “I suppose not.”

  “Calm down?” She fisted her hands at her sides. “You kidnapped me and are going to sell me to some monster who will do who knows what to me, and I’m supposed to calm down because you left me alone in a room with your torture equipment?” Years of maintaining her voice at an even level for her mother kept her from yelling at him, but if he lifted that eyebrow another centimeter, she wasn’t sure she could stop herself.

  “Torture?” He looked at the cross then made a pointed gesture of looking at the spanking bench. “I suppose, but it’s the most delicious kind of torture, I assure you.”

  She stared at him. Was he making a joke? Did he think lightening the mood was going to help make her pliable?

  “Where did you get the idea that you’re being sold?” He unbuttoned his jacket with one hand.

  “You brought me here. This is the Annex, right? Women are sold here.” Did he think she was that ignorant to not know where he’d brought her?

  “You have things twisted a bit there. You aren’t here to be sold. I meant what I said to Santos. You’re mine now.”

  “Yours?” She huffed a laugh. “Like I’m some toy on a shelf in the store?”

  He shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it on the bed, making his way toward her.

  “Why did Santos have your room locked?”

  It took a moment for her to register the change in topic. She hadn’t realized the door had been locked, but she wasn’t surprised. With her mother gone, Santos had the burden of making sure she didn’t wander around town, especially at night.

  “It’s a safety thing,” she said, unsure why she felt the need to defend her mother’s way of keeping her safe.

  “A safety thing?” He unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt and rolled each of them up to his elbows, exposing dark ink swirling across his forearms in patterns and words she couldn’t make out from her position.

  “The other night, you needed to get home in a hurry. Like you were some teenager breaking curfew. And tonight, I found you locked away in your room. What’s going on over there on Main Street?” His jaw tensed and his stare molten when he finally met her gaze.

  “N-nothing. My mother is overprotective.” He would never understand.

  “You�
�re a little old to be living with an overprotective mother. And that doesn’t explain why locking you away is for your safety. All I had to do was order Santos to get you, and you were served up. So, I’d say it had more to do with keeping you in, and less about keeping others out.”

  “Is that why you kidnapped me and locked me up here? To save me from some twisted version of my life you’ve built up in your head?”

  He was only a pace away.

  “I didn’t lock the door, Azalea.” He folded his arms over his chest. Without his jacket to hide his physique, she could make out the built muscles of his shoulders and his chest. She wondered if the tattoos ran all the way up his arms and how much more of him they covered.

  “What?”

  “I didn’t lock the door. But it’s interesting that you assumed you’d be locked in.”

  Of course, she assumed it. He was keeping her captive. Why the hell wouldn’t he have locked the damn door?

  She closed her eyes and took a slow breath. “Just-I—Take me home, Peter. My mother will pay the money Santos owes you. You don’t have to do this.”

  “Your mother. Another topic for discussion. But not yet. Not tonight. Tonight, you need rest.” He didn’t move, but she could feel him intruding on her.

  “I want to go home.” She fisted her hands.

  “I know you do. But it’s not going to happen.”

  “Why?” she demanded. “Why am I here?”

  He took the last step, closing the space between them, and grabbed her arms. Giving her a little shake, he said, “Because this is where I want you to be. And that’s the only answer you’re going to get tonight. You have two options, Azalea. Get undressed and into bed, or you can go over my knee for a punishment.”

  “Punishment?” She placed her hands flat against his chest, stabilizing herself more than trying to push him away. He had a hard grip; she wasn’t getting out of it.

  “Disobeying me. That’s punishable,” he said in a soft voice. “Start as you mean to continue, and I don’t allow disobedience, Azalea.”

  “You kidnapped me,” she said. He couldn’t possibly think she’d simply go along with him. She needed to get away. She needed to get home.