Trey

by Shandi Boyes

  When K’s body temperature notches up a couple of degrees from me pulling my car into Clarks, her unusual scent doubles. I suck in the fear bubbling in her veins like it’s a line of coke while searching for a spot to park. I don’t want to walk far while carrying dozens of bags of greasy food.

  Although Clarks is newer, cleaner, and more up-to-date than the compound K was rescued from, I can understand her panic when she drinks in the modern fortress. The men here are as rowdy as they are horny. She has no reason to fret, though. Nikolai put a no-touch order on the women rescued, so unless they have a death wish, the men will follow Nikolai’s command.

  “I’m just helping you take the food inside,” I assure K when a growl rumbles in her chest about me snagging the bags from the backseat. “We’ll camp out here until the heat dies down, then work out where we go from here. The rest of the girls are inside, so how about we get them the food before it’s stone-cold?”

  In silence, she watches me gather up the rest of the bags before she joins me outside my car. She looks more scared than strong as we make our way inside, but I still see the tiny flicker of hope in her eyes. Her strides are as lengthy as mine, just ten times shakier.

  “No one will touch you. I promise you that.” Since my assurance was straight-up honest, it sounded that way. It was also possessive, but we’ll keep that snippet of information between us. With the adrenaline high of a raid having my head teetering between the past and the present, I’ve got a set of fucked-up circumstances fueling my emotions, so a little leeway wouldn’t go astray.

  Eight’s eyes lift to mine when I enter the main living area of Clarks with K shadowing just behind me. With a handful of the men sporting bullet wounds, the smell of blood is stronger than the chemicals pumping out of the jacuzzi housing half a dozen topless whores. Well, I assume they’re topless. I can’t see their lower halves, so there are no guarantees. Most of the women get around here naked. It’s how the men like it. They battled hard today, so they’ll celebrate just as intensely.

  I’m usually just as eager, but my mind is elsewhere right now. Once I get K settled, I’ll work on getting my head screwed on right.

  “Where are the rest of the girls?” I ask Eight, talking loud so he can hear me over the music pumping out of the stereo at his side.

  Eight nudges his head toward the sleeping quarters at the back of the space. “Nero said to put them in the bunkers. Is Nikolai staying at P’s tonight?”

  P is what my brothers call the Popov compound. Nikolai usually resides at Clarks, but I can see how that would be awkward for his girl with the number of naked women wandering around, and don’t get me started on the horndogs in his crew. They’ll bat one off right outside your door if your hookup’s moans are enticing enough.

  I lift my chin, answering Eight’s question before gesturing for K to head in the direction Eight nudged his head at. Nikolai’s order for the girls to remain untouched pops back into my head when I notice a handful of eyes following K’s slow retreat. Bags of greasy food hide her chest from view, but they don’t do shit for the lower half of her body.

  Even with her being tiny enough for my cock to snap her in half, the shadows under her nightgown are mighty enticing, and my brothers in arms are more than happy to drink them in.

  Generally, I’m happy for them to look as long as they don’t touch, but that isn’t cutting the mustard today. “If anyone needs a reminder about Nikolai’s directive, I’ll be back in ten.”

  You’d swear K suddenly turned ugly when numerous sets of eyes drop to the floor. I’m not surprised. The punishment for disobeying Nikolai’s direct order is death. Mine is almost as bad. You’ll be wishing you were dead by the time I’m done with you.

  Proof K can understand me is awarded when I tell her to take a left at the end of the hall. Although I’m pleased she has no issues following instructions, unease melds through my veins when her quick pivot causes the hair hanging to her waist to swish away from her back. Blood is seeping into her nightgown. It isn’t coming from the lower extremities of her body—thank fuck. It’s a diagonal pattern across her back, similar to how a sash would be draped if she won a beauty contest.

  Rage unlike anything I’ve ever felt pummels into me when reality dawns. Those fuckers didn’t just rape and starve her, they beat her as well. Vladimir was a sick fuck, but this is worse than I realized. I’ve seen a lot of sanctions in my twenty-eight years. None have been this fucked-up. Nikolai has his work cut out for him, even more so when he discovers the full extent of Vladimir’s quirks.

  Several grubby faces snap to the door when we enter the dormitory the women are being held in. When they spot the bags of food in our hands, the once-dormant mob activates. They race our way like scavengers discovering a giant X on a sandy island to snatch the greasy food out of our hands.

  I let them have it without so much as a fight, suddenly not hungry. K isn’t as willing to give up her stash. She’s more than happy for them to take two of her bags, but she fights to keep the third one.

  Grunting, K pushes the women back with the aggression she used to sock me in the face. Although she’s half the size of most of the women, she gives as good as she’s getting.

  I discover the fuel behind her gallantry when her victory sees her joining a woman at the back of the pack. It’s the blonde I’m assuming is her sister. She has a similar shaped face and eyes, but hers aren’t holding the fighting gleam K’s have.

  When Eight bumps me with his shoulder, I work my jaw through the annoyance of K handing her entire bag of food to the woman she was glued to earlier. “I asked the cooks to rummage up some grub. They should bring more supplies in around twenty.” After following the direction of my gaze, he asks, “Who is she to you?”

  “She’s no one.” That was harder to articulate than it should have been, and Eight is happy to call me out on it with a mocking grin.

  After backhanding him in the chest, wordlessly warning him to stand down before I rearrange his face with my fists, I instruct, “Come find me when the food arrives.”

  I’m not hungry, I just need to make sure K eats. At the moment, everyone in the room is taking advantage of her selflessness, including her sister.

  That shit needs to stop.

  People become fucked-up when they place themselves at the top of the agenda, but that doesn’t mean the people stuck on the bottom rung have to take their shit. You can rule without being an asshole. Both K and her sister need to learn that, and perhaps the men I once called my brothers, but that’s a story for another day.

  Seven

  Sales Docket Number 12574

  When a chunk of the patty from Ana’s burger she’s practically swallowing whole falls out of its packaging, I try to catch it before it lands on the filthy floor. Although this holding cell is newer and cleaner than the ones I’ve seen the past ten weeks, there’s no denying it is dirty. Just the soot off the women’s feet when they scampered to steal the food the bearded man purchased for us has me cringing when I miscalculate the fall of the fat-laden meat.

  It lands on the floor a mere inch in front of me. It’s flip-flop-flap routine almost breaks my heart. Not because I hate wasting food, but because I snatch it up and shove it in my mouth like my desperateness won’t have the bearded man peering at me with even more sympathy.

  I don’t want his sympathy.

  I want my freedom.

  A string of whimpers breaks throughout the crowd when my swallow of the greasy meat causes the thud of boots to race across the room. The brooding stranger who made me feel safe for the first time in years when he saved me from the yearning gawk of his friends charges across the room. His jaw ticks like it did when I couldn’t get the stupid match to spark, and his fists are clenched into tight balls.

  When he stops a foot from my dirty feet tucked under my bottom, I slant my head to the side with a flinch, prepared for the sting of his strike. He didn’t retaliate to my violence earlier when I struck him, but men are less forgiving whe
n they feel humiliated.

  Me eating food off the floor mere seconds after standing up for me like I’m worth something would most likely humiliate him.

  Although my cheek doesn’t feel the scorn of his annoyance, my wrist sure does when he uses it to pluck me from the floor. I don’t know if he’s hurting me on purpose, or he doesn’t realize how strong he is. Whatever it is, whimpers rattle my ribcage, although not a snivel escapes my lips. I don’t want him to see me cry, even with my willpower having nothing to do with my time in captivity.

  When he walks me toward the door we walked through only seconds ago, I shoot my eyes to Ana, hopeful she’ll fight for me as hard as I fought for her in the past. Her eyes, along with a dozen or so more, watch me being dragged out of the room, but her lips don’t twitch in the slightest.

  Mercifully, help arrives from someone I never anticipated. The giant standing at the door scrapes his hand across the stubble on his chin as his eyes lock with the man separating me from the pack. “Trey… you know Nikolai’s orders. He won’t be happy if you disobey him.”

  My eyes snap to Trey’s so quickly, I make myself dizzy, but before I can work through an ounce of my confusion, he growls out, “I’m not fucking her. I’m going to feed her. If Nikolai has an issue with that, he’ll have to tell me himself.” With my pulse roaring in my ears, I could be forgiven for mistaking his last growled sentence. “Because I won’t have her eating off the fucking floor like a savage.”

  After instructing the giant to keep an eye on the other captives, Trey commences walking me down the hall. He takes a left at the end before he marches us past a jacuzzi full of scantily-clad women.

  I cover my chest with the hand Trey isn’t clutching, not just shy about the number of eyes I have on my almost-exposed breasts from the men we race by, but embarrassed my body looks nothing like the women eyeing Trey with interest. Even before I was imprisoned, I didn’t look like them. They have perky breasts, flawless faces, and perfectly made-up hair that looks professionally done each morning. They’re beautiful, even with them being seen more as a commodity than a person.

  How is that possible?

  Aren’t they ashamed of who they are?

  Before I can find answers to my questions, Trey bursts us through a large stainless-steel swinging door. The smells streaming into my nose has my stomach flipping. I can’t tell if it’s a good flip or a bad one. I’m as hungry as hell, but I’ve never been given anything without a consequence attached to the action, so I must remain cautious.

  I also don’t trust anyone. I’m a good enough person to forgive someone who does me wrong and admits it, but trust isn’t something that comes easy for me. I’ve been burned too much in the past to hand it around lightheartedly.

  “Out!” When the half-dozen middle-aged women working in the super-size kitchen fail to jump to Trey’s snapped command, he hits them with another. “If I’m forced to repeat myself, it won’t just be your pay I’ll slice.”

  When they scamper out of the room, I want to follow them. I would if I could. Trey is clutching my wrist too firmly for me to escape. Even being held captive as a sex slave hasn’t improved my knowledge of the opposite sex, but I’m confident his hold is as possessive as it is aggressive. It prickles the fine hairs on my arms as well as his underhanded glances do.

  He doesn’t look at me how most men do. Very rarely do his eyes drop to any of the areas below my face. It is like he can see my secrets in my eyes, so he doesn’t need to assess the damage firsthand.

  I’d be scared by that fact if I couldn’t see his just as easily. He’s dark and dangerous, but he wasn’t always this way.

  Someone broke him too.

  Is he damaged beyond repair like me? I honestly don’t know, but I can’t stick around to find out. I didn’t endure years of hell to forget my objectives now.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Trey mutters under his breath when he veers us past a butcher block brimming with super sharp knives. I barely glanced at them for a second, however, his worry is very much warranted. It only took a nanosecond for me to conjure up numerous ways I could escape with one knife, much less half a dozen of them.

  My stomach gurgles for an entirely new reason when Trey says, “I don’t want to hurt you, K…” He strays his eyes to mine. The gleam in them certifies my earlier assumption that his hold is as possessive as it is aggressive. “But I will if forced.”

  Either trusting me in a way he shouldn’t or hoping I’ll force him to hurt me, he lifts me to sit on a part of a bench not covered with apple peels and cores. Although the knives used to peel the apples aren’t as large as the ones we walked past, they could still cause a lot of damage to the vein in Trey’s neck that hasn’t stopped thumping out its own tune for the past twenty minutes.

  After dropping his eyes to the high rise of my nightgown for barely a second, Trey floats his eyes up to mine. They’re familiar, yet foreign. Both dangerous and welcoming. Beautiful and tormented.

  Dead, yet still alive.

  When his lips furl into a smirk, my heart matches the mariachi beat of the vein in his neck. He isn’t laughing at me. He is smirking about my brutal clutch of an apple corer. I would have preferred to protect myself with a sharp blade, but the apple corer was closer, so I worked with what I had.

  Like a man not in fear for his life, Trey hits me with a frisky wink before he turns his back on me. As shock bolts through me, my mouth falls open. I could strike now and hightail it for the screen door on my right, but for the life of me, I can’t. It isn’t just my wish to take Ana with me that has me ignoring the many inane thoughts in my head. It’s him, the man who felt the crack of my fist, yet doesn’t display an ounce of fear about me brandishing a weapon.

  I’d be impressed by his gall if it didn’t make me feel so pathetic.

  “I’m assuming by the chunk of meat you popped into your mouth, you’re not a vegetarian.” Although he isn’t technically asking a question, when he spins around to face me with a bowl full of meat, potatoes, and vegetables, I nod. “Good, then you can eat this. Although I suggest you go easy, so your stomach doesn’t get upset.”

  I accept the bowl he’s holding out for me, but I don’t touch the contents inside making my stomach grumble so fiercely, I’m afraid our gathering will soon be interrupted by spectators wondering where the rumbles are coming from. If I leave the hot dish in his hands, I risk being scolded by more than his eyes when I refuse his generosity. As far as Vladimir was concerned, being discourteous was as punishable as being disobedient.

  With his hip balanced on the counter next to my practically bare thigh, Trey’s eyes bounce between the bowl of stew and me for the next several minutes. They’re darker than they were earlier, somewhat fortified.

  “Eat,” he commands a few seconds later, his tone gravelly. I shouldn’t find his accent comforting, but for some reason, I do. It reminds me of home even with it belonging to a country thousands of miles in the wrong direction.

  Trey’s jaw is covered by a wiry beard, but I still spot its tick when I timidly shake my head. I’m starving, but how can I be sure he didn’t turn his back on me for no reason? The burgers were safe. I saw them prepared in front of me, and they barely left my sight during our trip.

  This meal wasn’t scrutinized in the same manner.

  Furthermore, I don’t know this man, so I have no reason to trust him.

  As his pupils dilate, Trey gives credit to my distrust. “Don’t force me to hurt you, K.” He brings his six-foot-three height down a couple of inches so he can meet me eye to eye. “You need to eat. If you won’t do that without me ramming food down your throat, so be it, I’ll do that. I will shovel it into your stomach until it bursts if that’s the only way I can get you to eat.” His words are barely whispers when he adds, “Then the hungry growls of your stomach might stop fucking killing me.”

  I peer at him through scrunched brows, shocked. I thought his threat to hurt me centered around a sexual preference. I had no clue
he was referencing my refusal to eat.

  Although the knowledge has me wishing I could sample the food warming my hands as well as his prolonged gawk heats up my dead-cold heart, I can’t. He isn’t the first man to bribe me with food. Vladimir starved me for three days straight before he entered my room with a sandwich. It was bland and boring, a combination many residents of the United States are a fan of, but it cost me a fortune.

  That was the first time I broke.

  I’ve not yet forgiven myself for it.

  I will never eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich without tasting Vladimir’s cum.

  With my stomach flipping in contempt, I thrust the bowl of stew back toward Trey. My refusal to eat means not a speckle of blue can be seen in his eyes. His nostrils flare as he rakes his hand across his jaw, pondering. He looks torn between wanting to backhand me or forcefully spooning the food into my mouth as threatened.

  I realize it’s the latter when he jabs a spoon into the meaty goodness with so much force, broth spills over the edge of the bowl and splashes onto my thighs. It sizzles on my skin, but I’m too stunned by Trey shoving the spoon into his mouth to worry about a little burn.

  “Do you trust it’s not laced with drugs now?” he asks through a mouthful of meaty goop. “Or would you like me to feed you like you’re a baby bird? I’m up for both, K, so spell out what you’d prefer.”

  I freeze, both shocked and excited by his comment. How is it that he already knows me well enough to know I’m panicked my food is tainted? We’ve only just met, haven’t we?

  I freeze again when panic slams into me. He couldn’t have been one of Vladimir’s guests. He hated him. I could feel the dislike pumping out of him when he helped me light the match that sent Vladimir to hell, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t one of Vladimir’s goons. This isn’t an industry where you must like the man throwing around orders. As long as it pays well, some men have no limits on how far they’ll go for a man they hate.