Beyond Ransom (The Ransom Series)

by A. T. Douglas

  I hear a key enter the lock. In an instant I turn on my side to face the wall and remain completely still. My eyes close in a silent prayer that whoever is entering my cell will just check on me then walk away.

  Any hope for that outcome dwindles as the light turns on. My chest constricts as I hear the door open wide and then close. My heart beats faster with each approaching footstep.

  “Look at me, Morgan.”

  It’s Mark. He standing over me. We’re alone in this cell.

  With each of these realizations, my breathing quickens further and fear takes hold of me. I find it physically impossible to move. I can’t look at him. I can’t do anything.

  “Morgan…” he calls out to me in a singsong tone.

  I need to refocus. I have to comply. With a deep breath, I open my eyes and slowly roll onto my back to look up at him. I’m completely vulnerable and at his mercy.

  “There she is,” Mark says with a sinister smile.

  He kneels down next to me, and I automatically cringe away from how close he suddenly is to my face. He’s right where Leo was making out with me only days ago.

  He leans down to whisper in my ear. “Someone was getting a little worked up in here a minute ago.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I barely manage to squeak out.

  Mark’s smile only widens. He gazes upon me in silence for a moment, observing my face and twisting loose strands of my hair around his fingers. “I heard you in here. You were practically moaning on this cot. Why don’t you let me help you find what you’re looking for?”

  I think I’m going to be sick. There’s nowhere I can go. No one I can turn to. I’m fucked.

  He’s going to fuck me.

  Tears instantly pool in my eyes. “Please don’t,” I beg. I feel pathetic and weak for resorting to this so early, for not fighting, but I’m not sure this is a battle I can win.

  “Pull up your shirt, girl,” he instructs.

  “Please don’t do this.”

  “You will pull up your shirt. Now.” Mark grabs my wrist, squeezing so hard that his fingernails dig into my skin.

  I reluctantly lift the bottom of my shirt with my other hand, exposing my pink cotton bra to him. He releases my wrist to lean over me and reach under my back. In his movement to unclasp my bra, my chest automatically rises up to make space for his hands, putting my breasts within inches of his face. In one fluid movement he pulls the bra away from me and grasps me in his hands.

  “So soft,” he whispers before taking my nipple into his mouth.

  I hate the reaction he’s causing in my body. The wave of heat that flowed through me just minutes before is back, except there is a man here only feeding the fire. The mix of terror and pleasure I’m feeling all at the same time is so damn confusing.

  A gasp escapes my lips as he bites me. He’s sucking me harder now, tugging on me relentlessly between licks of his tongue.

  I wish I could tell my body to stop, to calm the fuck down and realize that the man causing this pleasure is evil. My body doesn’t start to listen until Mark’s hands are working the zipper on my jean shorts.

  “No. No!” I cry out. “Stop! Please don’t.” I’m screaming at him by the time he has my shorts and underwear down. I try to move my lower body away, but he has me pinned down and there’s nothing I can do to stop him.

  “You will let me do this,” he orders. “I will make you come. I won’t stop until you come for me, Morgan.”

  I shake my head vehemently. “Please. I don’t want this. Please stop.”

  Tears stream down my face as his fingers move swiftly down the skin from my belly button to the wetness between my legs. I yelp as his fingers violently enter me, violating that sacred space that no man has ever been allowed to touch.

  “You’re so wet, dear,” he whispers as he forcefully moves his fingers in and out of me.

  I hate that it feels good, that I’m experiencing something I’ve wanted to experience my entire life but with the worst possible person. The devil is finger-fucking me, and it feels so damn incredible.

  I’m washed over with shame. I’m not sure I’ll ever get the stain of it off me.

  My body squeezes tightly around Mark’s fingers as his movements quicken even more. He’s pulling me where I want to go but don’t. I can feel the rise. The edge of ultimate pleasure is just moments away, and I’m about to fly off it.

  I close my eyes and imagine for a moment that it’s Leo touching me and feeling inside me. It’s the final push I need, and I completely explode. The pleasure rolls through me in wave after wave, but when I come down from the height of it, I realize what’s happened. My body has betrayed me. It allowed my enemy to push me to orgasm.

  I’m so fucking ashamed.

  “You enjoyed that,” Mark observes with a proud smile, more than pleased with what he’s just done to me.

  I remain speechless as a fresh wave of tears spill down my cheeks.

  “Tell me you enjoyed it,” he demands.

  I remain silent.

  “Tell me, Morgan.”

  A sob escapes me. I will not verbalize my shame.

  He slaps me hard across the face, the sting remaining long after his hand has left my skin. “You will tell me!”

  “I did!” I scream, unable to control the emotion exploding from me. “I enjoyed every fucking second of it, you sadistic asshole!”

  Mark only smiles at me. “Good.”

  He gets up without another word and leaves me alone with my guilt and shame.

  9

  Power

  My eyes open cautiously at the sound of footsteps outside the door. I pray it isn’t morning already. There’s no sense of time in here. With the lack of natural light in this cell, it could be the middle of the night or mid-morning and I wouldn’t have a clue either way.

  Given the exhaustion still weighing heavily on my body, I would guess I’ve only been asleep for a few hours. Getting over the events of Mark’s last visit took a lot out of me, not only because of what he did to me, but because I allowed it to happen.

  I should have fought harder against him and the desires of my body. I may not have been able to stop him, but I could have resisted more. It was careless for me to let myself get worked up and show it with the movements and sounds of my body when I didn’t know if someone was watching or listening outside my door.

  Keys jingle in the lock to my cell. The door opens with a slight creaking sound but the light remains off. I’ve tried to become stronger about this, learning to control some of my fear and panic. I focus on the wall I’m facing and breathe steadily, inhaling and exhaling through the rising pace of my pulse as the footsteps approach me.

  The slight wind through the back of my hair tells me someone’s directly behind me now. I’m just waiting for Mark’s voice to break through before he tortures me again. He’s probably come back to continue what he started earlier.

  “Morgan?” It’s Leo’s voice that finds me, and while I should be grateful and relieved to hear it, I almost wish it was Mark’s instead. Leo has to know what happened. Fuck, every man on Mark’s crew probably knows what Mark did to me and how much I enjoyed it.

  “You left me,” I say selfishly, sick of shouldering all the guilt myself. “You weren’t here.”

  Leo takes a seat on the cot and leans forward with his hand on my back to gauge my face. I’m still turned away from him toward the wall with no intention of moving.

  “Tell me,” he implores. “What did he do?”

  Tell me, Morgan. Mark’s words creep back into my head when Leo says this, and my whole body shivers.

  “Fuck. Morgan, talk to me.”

  “That’s what he did,” I say quietly. “He fucked me with his fingers. And he sucked me. Here.” I nod downward toward my chest before turning and pushing myself up some to meet Leo’s gaze more directly. “And I let him do it. I’m a horrible, fucked-up person who let him pleasure me.”

  I don’t n
otice the tears falling from my eyes until Leo’s hand is there on my cheek to wipe them away. I see the compassion in his face and something else. Maybe regret?

  He pulls me up to him so that my head is resting against his shoulder. We sit for a long moment like this, silent tears working themselves out of me as I cry away my shame.

  “I thought about you,” I admit to him. “Every day, and even while it was happening.”

  I don’t know why I’m saying this. Maybe it’s to move even more of the guilt off my shoulders. Maybe it’s to let Leo know that every day I wished he would make an appearance, that it was him I was thinking about when I got so worked up that Mark heard me, that I imagined it was his fingers and mouth pleasuring me instead of Mark’s.

  “I’m sorry. I should have been here, but I’ve had to stay away. When I saw Mark went from pissed off to pleased in the ten minutes I hadn’t seen him, I knew I had to check on you.” He pauses, seeming to consider his next words carefully. “Nothing has changed, though. We still can’t do this.”

  Leo’s hand is in my hair now, working through the tangled strands. His touch moves to my arm, and he rubs the skin lightly. I can tell by the way he’s doing it and holding me that he doesn’t believe a word he’s saying.

  “Bullshit.”

  Leo stops moving and looks at me, surprised. “You have a bit of a mouth on you, don’t you?”

  I can’t help smiling in confirmation of his observation. It feels good to smile. The muscles in my face feel out of practice at it, like they haven’t smiled in ages.

  The smile is euphoric but also has a secondary effect as I look up at Leo holding me in the limited light coming through the small barred window in the door. I feel a reemergence of everything I’ve felt in thinking about Leo since our heated kiss. My body’s selfish desire is back and building to a raging force within me the longer I’m in his strong arms.

  At this moment I’m grateful there isn’t more light coming into the room from the hallway. I like that he can’t see the blush in my cheeks. It’s exciting to know that he’s not going to expect what I’m about to say.

  “I want you to erase what he did,” I suggest as Leo stills behind me. “Replace it with your own version, the way it should have been.”

  “Morgan…”

  “Don’t say it.” I take his hand from my arm and place it directly on my breast, compressing it slightly. “Tell me you don’t want this.”

  A deep groan emanates from Leo’s throat, and I love the sound. This is no boyish reaction to my advance. This is a sound from a man’s primal core. It’s natural and raw, and it only makes me want this more.

  I reach behind me and unclasp my bra before lying back down on the cot and pulling my shirt up as I go. My breasts are exposed to him in the direct path of the subtle glow of light coming from the hallway. My nipples are perked and ready, and Leo seems eager to receive them.

  “God, you’re fucking perfect.”

  He gently holds each side of my bruised torso while engaging my breast with his mouth, pulling, sucking, and licking me until I’m about ready to become undone. There’s a subtle intensity in his movements, something that almost amounts to admiration. He keeps me just on the edge of pleasure and pain, careful not to cross that line.

  I guide his hand down my waist to the hem of my shorts. That’s all the encouragement he needs to get to work on the button and zipper. His fingers slip inside my underwear and immediately find me where I’m swollen and wet for him. He teases me, rubbing me in soft circles, increasing the pressure then bringing me back down again.

  By the time his fingers enter me, I’m holding on to the sides of the cot for dear life. I love that he takes his time with it, that he’s not violent and quick about it as Mark was. It’s now that I realize, stupidly, that Mark hadn’t pleasured me. I see his actions as the violations of my body that they were now that I know what it’s truly like to be pleasured by a man.

  “More,” I gasp. “I need more, Leo. Please.”

  “I thought you’d never fucking ask.”

  The primal side of Leo is out in full force. I hardly recognize him as he’s ripping my shorts and underwear off me. His head is between my legs, and the moment his tongue touches me I feel like I’m floating with pleasure. Searing heat tears through my body as he licks me and sucks on me, and I can’t help the moans that escape me now.

  I grasp the sheet of the cot beneath me with both hands as his fingers enter me again while he licks me, and I can’t hold back a moment longer. A muffled gasp erupts from me as I come hard, my hips writhing against his continued touch. I ride it out all the way until the tremors in my body finally subside.

  Leo sits up on the cot. We’re both quiet and breathing hard for a few moments, trying to catch our breath, before he finally speaks. “Something better to remember, I hope.”

  “Fuck.” I throw my hand to my forehead and look to the ceiling as I take another couple deep breaths. “So much better.”

  I don’t feel guilty. I don’t feel shame this time. Instead I feel power. This is something I wanted, my one moment of control, and I got it.

  Fuck you, Mark.

  “I should go,” Leo says reluctantly. “This was…” he searches for the right word, “fun.”

  I give him a knowing smile. This was more than fun. This was fucking amazing.

  “Please don’t stay away,” I call out to him as he turns toward the cell door. “Make this a regular thing, this stopping by, and not just for this.” I nod to where he was attacking me with his tongue and mouth just moments before, a slight smile curving up my lips.

  Leo considers my request for a moment before opening the door completely and turning back around to me. The shadowed look on his face is intoxicating.

  “I’ll try.”

  I breathe a sigh of relief as he disappears and closes the door behind him.

  10

  Message

  I stare at the piece of paper in front me, the blank page as confusing to me as why I’m sitting at one of the tables with three of Mark’s men instead of in the hot seat at the front of the room.

  It’s strange to be in this room again. It’s the first time I’ve been back here since my throat was almost cut completely open. It’s also strange to not be bound to a chair or writhing on the floor in pain. Some of the men have been eyeing me up, but other than that, I’m being treated like any one of them, even allowed to eat a meal with them here instead of in my cell.

  When Mark finally enters the room, anxiety creeps into me. I haven’t seen him since his visit the prior evening.

  He gives me a knowing smile, and my cheeks immediately redden. “So nice to see you, Morgan.”

  I nod and smile, maybe a little more than I should be given my situation. This doesn’t go by Mark unnoticed.

  He bends down close to my ear. “Someone’s looking smug today. Tell me what’s causing that smile on your face.”

  He’s not going to ruin my little victory. I’m going to bask in it a bit, enjoy it while I can.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” I bite back.

  “I could beat it out of that pretty little face of yours, you know.”

  He’s right, and I should be scared shitless by his threat, but I find he’s only bolstering the tough facade I’m putting forward. A tiny portion of me is screaming to cut the attitude and go back to being obedient and submissive, but I tuck the voice away.

  “You won’t touch me.”

  The room suddenly goes quiet, and I know I’ve crossed a line. I’m playing with fire here, letting it dance around within inches of me, tempting it to engulf me.

  In one swift movement, Mark slams my head cheek-down to the table at the same time he twists my arm back as far as it can go. He holds me there, on the edge of pain, exerting his power and force over me, and he is strong. I hold my breath, trying to keep this position he has me in from becoming more painful.

  “You forget your place, little girl,” Mark says through gritted
teeth. I feel him barely maintaining control in the slight shake of his hold on my head and arm.

  The moment he loses it, I feel every bit of his fury. He yanks my arm back unnaturally, and with a slight click in my shoulder, a sharp, intense pain explodes from me. I scream out at first, as loud as I can possibly scream because my body can’t do anything else. In my natural reaction to try to move my arm back to its normal position, the pain only increases and Mark’s grip on me tightens.

  I don’t know if this pain is beyond tears or if I’ve actually become stronger in the last week, but I don’t cry. I’m stuck under his grasp and at his mercy, my tiny period of power having slipped from my fingers, but no tears run down my face. Mark’s back in control, a message he’s made loud and clear.

  By the time he lets go of me, I’m gasping for breath, trying desperately to work through the stabbing sensation in my shoulder. I try to move my arm again, achieving some success but no longer able to bring my arm back to a normal position.

  He fucking dislocated my shoulder.

  I look up at Mark circling the table with a pocket knife in his hand that he keeps opening and closing over and over, taunting me. “You’ve just made what’s coming next a lot harder on yourself, dear.”

  I don’t say anything. I can’t. I’m afraid that if I open my mouth I might spit out something I’ll regret, and I really don’t feel like giving Mark a reason to make me scream again.

  Mark slams the pocket knife blade-first into the table in front of me, just inches from the blank sheet of paper that rests forgotten there.

  “It’s time to write a message,” Mark says, motioning to the knife.

  I stare at him blankly. “I don’t understand.”

  “You’re writing a letter home, to good old mom and pop. They’ll love to hear from you.”

  I look over the table then glance at the floor around us. There are no writing utensils in sight. Only a knife.