Stryder (The Black Stallion Trilogy Book 2)

by Maggie Ryan

  “One and a quarter million,” someone else shouted from behind them.

  Stryder leaned in and whispered, “Let her go, man. We can’t win the first one. Let all these initial egos battle it out. Even if we can compete money wise, we don’t want to piss someone off. We have to stick to the plan.”

  “I know, man,” Anson whispered back. “But look at her. She’s terrified.”

  “I promise you,” Stryder said, “we will find her and rescue her. We will.”

  Anson nodded, never taking his attention off Natalia. Her eyes glistened and yet no tears slid down her cheeks. God, she was nude, standing before a room full of disgusting pigs, and yet she did so with as much dignity as possible, refusing to cower. “I’m going to hold you to that promise.”

  The bidding continued on and on while Natalia simply fought back her tears, showing an unusual but respectable sense of strength considering her situation. Stryder had known tonight was going to be hard, but he had no idea just how much it would take from him. He actually gave a sigh of relief when the final bid came in and Natalia would at least be able to leave the stage.

  “We have a winner!” Vasily announced with a disgusting smile. “Three million dollars to #17.”

  Both Stryder and Anson turned to see who the lucky winner was. Stryder had to calmly place his hand on Anson’s arm in preparation of what he might do when he saw it was Juan Montez from Buenos Aires. No doubt about it, the winner was the gluttonous, ruthless, murderous, Argentinian drug lord. Of course he wanted the Latin beauty. And of course he wanted to be the first to win.

  A trembling Natalia was escorted off the stage, and Vasily continued. “Our next little sex slave is from right here in Russia. Please welcome Zoya.”

  The blonde from the video was shoved harshly onto the stage. She too had long hair that flowed down her back in thick curls. Her white-blonde tresses and pale skin were the exact opposite of Natalia’s coloring. Even her dress was in stark contrast to Natalia’s. Zoya wore brilliant white, the dress hugging her curves, and her big blue eyes sparkled from the lights beaming down on her. That was where the differences ended as, exactly like Natalia, this poor woman was just as terrified, her entire body trembling. Stryder wanted nothing more than to jump up on the stage, wrap her in his arms and whisk her off to safety, giving her promises that no one would ever hurt her again.

  “Zoya here has a gentle soul. She is so very pure, and so very innocent. Naïve. Though she is not a virgin, her tight little ass is. Our little Russian has a very child-like appearance. Can’t you just picture her in pigtails with pink bows wearing a frilly little girl dress? What would you give to hear her sweetly calling you Daddy as you fuck her brains out?” Vasily laughed loudly, joined by others in the crowd. He walked over and unfastened the white dress, causing the fabric to crumple to the floor.

  The horde of shitheads celebrated, hooting and hollering, and some asshole called out, “Turn her around. I want to see her tiny little ass to see if it’s worth the price.”

  Vasily smiled and nodded. “Very good idea indeed.” He spun Zoya around and when she barely bent forward at his instruction, he barked, “Legs apart, palms on the floor!” With his hand pressing against her lower back, Zoya had no choice but to obey. Her position displayed her puckered hole as well as the lips of her pussy. Unlike with Natalia, there were no eyes to focus on, and Stryder was forced to see her most intimate spots. He felt dirty for doing so and felt that he had somehow betrayed her.

  Vasily spanked her ass as he held her bent over, not once, not twice, but three times. The audience heard each of her whimpers, and Stryder’s heart shattered. He would kill this fucking bastard.

  Not once.

  Not twice.

  But three fucking times.

  Vasily spun her around to face the crowd again, and the humiliation she felt was washed all over her delicate-featured face. She didn’t cry like Natalia had, but the pain ran so deep in her eyes, tears were not needed to show how miserable she was. And unlike Natalia, she actually stared directly into the crowd. It was as if she were forcing each of the men to stare at her. Force them to see what filthy beasts they truly were.

  “Let’s start, shall we?” Vasily said.

  “Two million,” someone shouted.

  Anson leaned over and whispered, “Do whatever it takes. Save her.”

  “I plan to,” Stryder said and raised his paddle. “Two and a half.”

  “Three million.”

  “Three and a half.”

  “Three and three quarters.”

  “Four million,” Stryder shouted, not caring about the price at all.

  He could see out of the corner of his eye that an elderly man who held a cane in one hand was the one raising the price. The thought of that old fucker hitting Zoya with that cane while making her call him Daddy ensured that he’d keep bidding until he won.

  “Five million,” the old man called out.

  “Seven million!” Stryder shouted in a deep and booming voice.

  The room remained silent, and the old man put down his paddle.

  “Do I hear eight?” Vasily asked. When no one answered, Vasily finally announced, “Seven million to #36.”

  “Good job, man,” Anson praised with a pat to Stryder’s back.

  “Yeah, good job. I just bought a sex slave.” Bile rose in the back of his throat, and tears of rage burned the backs of his eyes. He had never been so disgusted in his entire life. Flashes of his mother being fucked against a dirty clay-brick wall in a rat-infested alley flooded his vision.

  He would kill every last motherfucker in this room…

  “Stick with me, man. The night’s not over. Focus,” Anson said softly, snapping Stryder out of his fucked up thoughts.

  The auction continued in a blur, and all Stryder could focus on was when he could claim Zoya and get her the fuck out of Russia. He had never missed The Black Stallion Ranch more than he did right now.

  The poor woman. Would she ever recover from this nightmare?

  And her nightmare, as well as his, was far from over. He would have to pretend to be her Master, make her believe he owned her, and scare the fucking shit out of her. It was the only way. He and Anson couldn’t trust that she wouldn’t blow their cover if she knew they were really there to rescue her, take her back to Texas, all to have her help them by giving vital details needed to bring Poplov’s empire down.

  Vasily and all those who worked around him had to believe she was frightened. No clue could be given that she was being rescued, and the only way to do that was to make her believe she would be going to America with her new owner to be his Russian sex slave. Stryder concentrated on the mission, went over the plans again and again in his head as woman after woman was paraded onto the stage.

  “Well, gentlemen, that is all we have for tonight. Rest assured that we will have another auction very soon with even more lovely ladies,” Vasily said, pulling Stryder from his plotting. “But I would like to end the night with a little voyeur fun. It is only fair, after all.”

  All the bought women—who were all still naked—were pushed onto the stage in clear view of the winning men as well as the losers.

  “So that we all walk away from this glorious evening feeling as if we all benefited from the night, let’s have all our lucky owners join us on the stage. I think the women would like to offer a welcoming gift to each of you.”

  Stryder’s heart skipped. “What the fuck?” he mumbled under his breath so only Anson could hear him. This wasn’t part of the plan. It had been difficult enough watching each woman being dragged forward to be sold. Every single one had looked terrified, including the three virgins offered as the bids rang about the room. Now this? They hadn’t even considered this scenario. Who could possibly have contemplated this as a possibility?

  “What that gift will be exactly is completely up to you as their Master and owner. But I do hope you will make it good for all the rest of us. Have them suck you off, fuck them for all I
care… frankly, demand whatever you want. Just allow the rest of us to watch.” Vasily laughed loudly and asked the audience, “What do you say, men? Wouldn’t you all like to see these little slaves get right to work?”

  The sick crowd shouted in agreement and a wave of motion began in the sea of monsters as the winners, some followed by their entourage, made their way toward the stage.

  “You have to, bro. Don’t blow our cover,” Anson said, obviously knowing what was running through Stryder’s head. “Think about the big picture.”

  “This is sick.”

  “It’s necessary. Don’t play the hero now. We will die, and none of those girls will ever get rescued.”

  “Fuck!” Stryder growled as he walked toward the stage. What the fuck was he going to do?

  Chapter 4

  Zoya shrank back as men began to walk onto the stage. The events of the last hour seemed surreal. And yet she had witnessed every agonizing moment, had heard the descriptions given of each woman, all being forced to stand naked and vulnerable before a room full of strangers. She’d been forced to display her body in a way she’d never imagined, and could swear she’d felt the searing burn on her skin from the hundreds of eyes staring at her most intimate places. And now, as the clomping of feet clad in expensive shoes echoed across the stage, she knew that the horror of the nightmare was nowhere near its conclusion.

  As she took another step backwards, her eyes darted to the left, seeking an escape path, only to watch as Natalia was yanked forward to stand in front of a hugely obese man. Though the man took a seat in the chair that magically appeared, he still loomed over the petite woman. Zoya felt bile rise in her throat watching the winner reach out and take hold of his newest acquisition… not by her hands or even her arms. No, he grabbed Natalia’s breasts, squeezing the soft mounds and grinning when his actions caused her friend to cry out. Without thought, Zoya took a step towards them only to feel her arm taken.

  “Nyet.”

  That single word had her reality crashing down. She couldn’t save Natalia… hell, she couldn’t even save herself. With her heart threatening to burst, terrified at what she’d see once she was forced to lift her gaze, she had a brief moment of confusion. These men were some of the wealthiest on the planet, and yet whoever had hold of her was wearing… cowboy boots?

  “Vwee govereetye po Angleeskee?”

  Before she could consider her response, she answered automatically, “Yes, I speak English.”

  “Good. Look at me, Zoya.” When she didn’t immediately do so, the man lowered his voice and repeated his order, “Look at me.”

  Instead, she turned her head at a shrill cry that came from her right. A woman had been forced to her hands and knees, a large black shoe against the back of her neck ensuring she’d not lift her cheek from the stage floor. Another cry came as she was struck repeatedly between her thighs, the man’s hand flying back and forth against the tender skin of her inner thighs until she opened her knees wider. Once she had, her new owner wasted no time in plunging into her, grunting with the effort required as the poor girl’s body was in no way ready to accept his cock. That fact didn’t stop him, it only earned her more pain as he repeatedly slapped her ass while he continued to thrust into her dry pussy. With a sob, Zoya turned her head away only to see Natalia had been placed on the fat man’s lap, his sausage like fingers gripping her waist as he ground her down onto his pelvis.

  “Oh, God,” Zoya moaned, closing her eyes and swaying a bit at the atrocities she was being forced to witness. She was exactly like these women. She, like each of them, had just been sold into slavery, had been bought by a complete stranger who would no doubt use horrible means to force his slave into obedience, and yet she just couldn’t find it within herself to lift her eyes. If she never did, she’d never have to acknowledge that a man like the one who was raping that woman, or the monster who was continuing to maul Natalia was her… what? Owner? Master?

  “Zoya, don’t look at them. Look at me.”

  The words were spoken so quietly, and yet she heard the authority in each one. What surprised her was that they weren’t accompanied by a slap, a twist of her arm, or a threat. That and the sound of yet another scream cut short, the sight of Anya kneeling, her head bent back, a cock being forced down her throat and the raucous laughter and cheering from a group of men further down the stage had her finally obeying. Her blue eyes lifted to find a pair of dark eyes looking back.

  “Good girl.”

  Good girl? What is that supposed to mean? Is he being kind? What response am I supposed to give to such an innocuous statement? No! I can’t think this way. Despite his words, this man has just paid for me like I am some sort of delicacy at the corner market. She gave a strangled laugh at that thought. What delicacy cost seven million dollars? Not one that is to be set upon a mantle and gazed upon as one would a priceless painting. This stranger has paid to own you, Zoya, don’t forget that… not even for a moment.

  The hand wrapped around her arm gave her the gentlest of tugs, pulling her closer to the man before her. He didn’t look like a monster. His eyes remained locked on hers, the black mask doing nothing to disguise their color which reminded her of the darkest chocolate… warm chocolate. That surprised her as she’d never expected a predator, a deviant, could have eyes that seemed to offer empathy. She’d expected them to be beady and, well, threatening. His hair was also dark, wavy against the collar of his suit. He wasn’t old, as a great deal of the bidders seemed to be… far younger than the man with the cane who’d bid so aggressively against him. But that means nothing! It doesn’t matter what he looks like. He did exactly as each of these monsters did—he bid—it doesn’t matter if it was one dollar or millions—he paid to own another human being!

  She was pulled from her thoughts when another person became visible. This man had been standing beside the first, out in the audience. His hair was blond, his blue eyes gazing from the holes in his mask and yet, they too, seemed kind. Could it be that these two were different from the others? Feeling a surge of hope flood through her body, she was about to speak when the worst monster of them all stepped up beside her.

  “Is there a problem, Mr. Gardenzio?” Vasily asked.

  “Not at all,” the man holding her arm answered.

  “Then might I ask why you’ve yet to join your fellow winners in the entertainment I’ve requested?” He chuckled and grinned. “Perhaps it is not true that Italian men are incredible lovers, or perhaps you require assistance?”

  Zoya felt the fingers around her arm tighten and yet felt no real pain. She watched her owner’s brown eyes go even darker as he stared at the man who’d arranged the debauchery going on all around them. She held her breath, every cell in her body sensing danger, and yet that danger didn’t seem directed at her. Confused, she looked between the three men, each one far taller than she even in her heels and appearing ready to not give an inch in any sort of dispute. It was the blond man giving the smallest shake of his head that broke the staring contest.

  “You’ll have to forgive Michael. He never did earn very high marks in sharing.”

  “Or following others like some fucking lemming,” Michael said with a glance around the stage, where every man was already well involved in showing off their slaves.

  Poplov nodded. “I can understand, and yet I must insist. It simply wouldn’t do for you to deny your slave the opportunity to be a part of the entertainment,” he said, sweeping his hand to encompass the acts being performed across the stage.

  Zoya couldn’t help but notice the fingers around her arm tightening yet again when Poplov had said the word slave. Was this man—Michael—different from the others? Was he going to…

  “Your whip.”

  Whip? Zoya felt her heart stop when Michael uttered those words and gave a nod towards Poplov… or rather towards the coiled whip attached to his belt. Her blood ran cold as she saw a grin appear on Poplov’s lips. How could I have forgotten? Haven’t I heard countless tales o
f monsters disguised as handsome, kind-hearted humans just waiting to entrap an innocent soul?

  “Ah, a man of my own tastes,” Vasily said, dropping his hand to the snap that held the whip in place. The sound of him popping it open had Zoya’s insides turning to liquid. Surely not—he couldn’t, wouldn’t—would he? As Poplov caught the whip in his hand, holding it out to be taken by Michael, she had her answer. When her new owner unfurled the whip with a simple twist of his hand and then snapped his wrist, the leather cracked through the air and she felt as if she were going to be sick.

  “Pozhaluysta, nye,” Zoya whispered, then repeated it in English. “Please, no.”

  Her plea was ignored by Poplov. “Of course. Why mimic another when you can be original? And from the look on your pretty little slave’s face, she’ll learn a far better lesson than from simply being fucked.”

  Zoya’s queasiness was replaced with a pull so strong, so primal—to fight, to flee, to survive—that she attempted to yank her arm free, her scream for him to let her go drawing the attention of those around them. Poplov just laughed at her fruitless struggle.

  “Yes, an excellent choice, Mr. Gardenzio. A good hard whipping will have her begging to spread her legs or even her own ass cheeks for your use instead of this pathetic attempt to escape.” Vasily then stepped back, clapping his hands loudly to garner the attention of those yet to take notice.

  “Gentlemen, it has been quite a delight watching you stake your claim upon your slaves. Quite enjoyable indeed—at least for the men.” He waited for the chuckles to die down and for some of the men to finish pushing their slaves away or to tuck their spent, limp cocks back into their pants. Once most of the men’s attention was upon him, he continued. “It seems we will be receiving a demonstration by our comrade Mr. Gardenzio. Please, gather around and enjoy the spectacle as his slave Zoya experiences her first taste of the whip.”