Mercy's Angels Box Set (Mercy's Angel #1-3)

by Kirsty Dallas

  The chair that dragged across the tiled floor made a grating noise that punished my ears. Apart from my silent and hateful guard, I have been alone in this villa for two months now in maddening silence—no talking, no noise. I had escaped him, escaped his son, William, and for a brief moment I had been free. Then a phone call during the middle of the night to a hospital room in Claymont had dragged me from my short lived freedom, back into his callous hands. He had threatened my sister, and I would do anything to keep her safe. Even walk willingly back into captivity. My body stayed still, and my mind remained calm as he sat before me. A second set of booted feet stood to his side, slightly behind him—Nate, my guard. I despised him. Two intimating men were in the small room where I sat submissively at their mercy. Once upon a time this situation might have made me physically ill with fear and repulsion. Not anymore. There was nothing they could do to me that hadn’t already been done.

  “Sir?” came Nate’s familiar rough voice.

  He didn’t answer, but since Nate moved I assumed a non-verbal command had been issued. Nate’s boots stomped towards me. I still remained impassive and calm. Something hard nudged the side of my head, but I didn’t move an inch.

  “Eyes.” The command was said with a calm voice that demanded obedience.

  I raised my gaze to his and nothing inside me moved—the fear I once had for him had been buried long ago under the layers of his type conditioning and abuse —there was nothing left of me other than an empty shell. It had taken so long for him to break me, I had been stronger than most but eventually he had stripped me bare in every way. My gaze made a quick assessment of him. He had aged well over the years. His hair showed the slightest sign of gray and it somehow made him more handsome. His eyes were as I always remembered them: cold and calculating. His olive skin was smooth with only a few lines at the corners of his eyes. His body was still in perfect shape, wrapped in an expensive suit that would have cost more than the average yearly salary. That was on the outside though, inside he was ugly as sin.

  His head tilted a mere fraction before he spoke again. “We are at an impasse here, Pet.” Pet. I hated that term. That’s all he had ever seen me as—a plaything, a broken toy or animal easily discarded. Strangely enough, ‘pet’ beat some of the other names men called me hands down. “I don’t know what to do with you. You have become a liability, but somehow I feel it is my fault.”

  Of course it was his fucking fault. He was the one who took me a few weeks before I turned seventeen and stole my innocence. He was the man who gently took my virginity, then proceeded to break my mind and body for seven years. He had stood back and watched men rape me, beat me, defile me. He had impassively watched every torturous moment that I fought until I finally broke, when his dominance finally became something I required to merely function on. He took me as his, molded me, built me, crafted me, then tossed me aside like rubbish when my heart and soul could no longer cope with this life. So yeah, it was this motherfucker’s fault.

  “In hindsight, I realize I shouldn’t have given you to William, but we cannot undo the past. Now I am forced to make a decision about your future.”

  My future wasn’t mine to dictate. It was his. He chose to take me, he chose to break me, he chose to discard me and give me to William. William, his piece of shit son who forced drugs into my body and beat me like a dog. I had been married to his spineless, worthless spawn for an entire year. When William got greedy and tried to force my sister, Rebecca, into selling her valuable land for the cash he desperately needed to pay for his drug habit, he ended up on the receiving end of some ex-commando’s wrath. He had taken a bullet to the head and witnessing his death had been the highlight of my life thus far. For too many years, the Levier men had turned my life into filth and despair. In the end, it had been witnessing my husband’s brutal murder that brought some resemblance of peace back into my heart. That was until he came for me again, threatening my sister unless I complied. God how I hated him.

  He drew a deep breath and expelled a long suffering sigh. “To kill you or not to kill you, that is the conundrum I am faced with.”

  As if to emphasize his point, an object was pressed hard against my head and nudged me ever so slightly. So Nate held a gun to my head. Big. Fucking. Deal. I would not give him the satisfaction of a response. Though my heart rate rose a little, my face remained blank and my mind detached. To be honest, I was a little surprised that he thought taunting me this way would be effective. I was no longer afraid of death. In fact, I longed for it—I had attempted suicide many times over the years—putting a bullet in my skull would be a gift. If he wanted to punish me, he was going about it the wrong way.

  “You are tainted, marked and broken, completely worthless to me and my organization.”

  By his “organization” he meant his clubs. With the scars that now laced my back and the new ones that his son had added to my body, I would no longer be acceptable in the high class sex clubs that he owned. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his gaze penetrating and intense.

  “Are you even in there anymore?” he murmured.

  His guess was as good as mine. Someone was in here, but I no longer knew who. The girl inside was broken, damaged beyond repair.

  A few minutes later he shook his head in disgust and sat back. “What do you propose, Nate?”

  If I had remembered how to smile, I might have. I knew exactly what Nate’s response would be.

  “Take her out, quick and easy. You and your businesses remain safe. She is a liability.”

  And there we had it, it was the same thought that Nate had expressed since Jonas had first made me his. I hated him just as much as he hated me. My fists clenched for a moment before resuming their relaxed position.

  He grinned. “I think she expected that of you, Nate.” Nate simply grunted, the gun still shoved hard against my head. “I’m not sure I’m ready for that though. You have been an entertaining piece of merchandise, Pet.” He stood slowly, and his hands slipped into his pockets as he considered me. “I think I could squeeze a little more money out of you yet.”

  He planned to put me back to work, most likely in one of the smaller clubs, less exclusive where men cared little for the appearance of their women. Women who serviced these clubs were just an object for a man to stick his cock in. I was nonchalant to the idea. I had been forced many times before; it would be nothing new. I had learned how to control my body to minimize the pain and discomfort.

  “Make sure she is made presentable,” he commanded Nate. His eyes held mine. “She is still young, and even with the scarring, she is quite beautiful. I have a buyer in Russia who has shown interest.”

  My heart hammered hard in my chest this time. Finally, I reacted, his words spinning around in my head like a confusing and jarring ride. He planned to sell me, move me offshore and into the permanent keep of a complete stranger. This truly scared me. I never thought he would do this. Palming me off to William was a way of removing me from his care, yet keeping me close enough that he could keep an eye on me. He was proposing to move me away, far away, and into the keep of a complete stranger. The saying, ‘better the devil you know than the devil you don’t’ had become my motto. Now I was going to have to face a new devil. This was beyond frightening. I wanted to grab the gun from Nate’s hands and pull the trigger. Not to kill him, but me. Instead I kept still, kept my eyes on him just as he had commanded, and remained in position.

  He shook his head. “Perhaps someone else can rectify her behavior problems. God knows I have tried and failed.”

  The gun at my skull was gone and Nate moved forward. His hard eyes watched me with barely contained fury. Even though my eyes never left my former Master, I could tell Nate was seething; he really wanted to put some lead in my head.

  “Rise.”

  At the command I gracefully stood, showing no outward sign of the cramping in my limbs.

  “So close to perfection,” he whispered as he stepped closer to me. His finge
rtips gently traced the line of my cheek bone and the tender contact made me gasp. He smiled, his eyes almost soft and yearning. “Now perfectly broken.” His fingers left my skin, and his tender touch became something I was more familiar with. He lowered his hand to my breast and squeezed it hard enough that I knew it would bruise. I didn’t flinch. Soon enough his hold moved lower and he cupped my sex through my shorts, rubbing hard, almost violently. It didn’t stir anything in me except disgust. With a sneer, he let go and turned to leave the room. He didn’t say another word, didn’t even spare me a backwards glance. Nate followed him out, closing and locking the door behind them, leaving me alone once again. My heart was racing and my hand grasped at the ache in my throat. A small noise broke free from my lips, and my eyes gathered tears which spilled over. It had been years since I had cried, so long I had almost forgotten what the emotion felt like. It was crushing and painful, and I hated it. Crying meant feeling and feeling meant acknowledging that as much as I thought and hoped I was dead inside, I wasn’t. His touch just now had reminded me of that one time he had shown me such care, the time he took my innocence with such exquisite gentleness. So fleeting, yet it had left something akin to hope inside of me. Now it was gone and my future would be placed in the hands of another. Someone foreign, somewhere foreign. I would be completely alone. I should have been grateful to be rid of the man who had destroyed my world and shattered my soul, but emotions have a way of twisting themselves into confusing contours that were barely distinguishable from one another—fear, hate, relief, sorrow—all blended together. I didn’t want to fear the loss of my Master, but I did, or maybe I simply feared the unknown. I had disgraced him, embarrassed him beyond measure, and he had punished me severely, yet it seemed my punishment was not over. The final nail in my coffin would be banishment. It was official. I no longer belonged to Jonas Levier, and the fear of that reality brought me to tears.

  Thoughts of my sister, B, danced through my mind. I had always called her B, unable to pronounce her full name as a child, and my nickname for her had stuck. After being absent for far too many years to count, I had finally been close enough to touch her, hug her. I didn’t dare though. I wouldn’t taint her with my sins. But I had gazed upon her for the first time in years. She had changed—her hair was lighter, and her was skin paler, but she was just as beautiful as I had remembered. And she had found love. Even though I barely remembered the concept of love, I saw the strength and devotion in the eyes of the one called Charlie. He cared for her on a level as deep as the possession I had come to see in Jonas’ gaze. The difference being he wouldn’t give her away, or I assumed he wouldn’t, because what did I really know about such things? Nothing, that’s what. I knew obedience and servitude. I had protected B as best as I could from William, and in returning peacefully to Jonas, I had protected her from him, too. He wouldn’t touch her. If I trusted nothing else in this life, I trusted that. My former Master was a man of his word, and he had promised no harm would come to Rebecca or her friends. I would never see her again, but at least I knew she was safe.

  After a few long, deep breaths, I carefully contained my emotions. Burying them deep where I could no longer feel their presence. I methodically showered, following the same strict beauty routine I adopted years ago. Master Jonas and his exclusive cliental wanted clean and well-groomed women, so I had become the vision of what these men desired. Laser treatment had removed hair from the places men preferred there to be none. My eyebrows were waxed into a perfect arch, and my face was scrubbed clean of imperfections and blemishes. No matter that my future was uncertain, as far as clients and masters were concerned, I couldn’t move past the rule of looking presentable at all times. I carefully dried my skin and hair and applied the expensive array of lotions and creams that Jonas had allowed me to keep, for now. My hair had grown out a little in the twelve weeks since my last cut, and it was flicking around my ears in a style that I could do little with. The color had lightened considerably from the jet black dye I had become accustomed to. My face looked softer with the lighter coloring and less severe cut, but my eyes still looked cold and vacant. I finally sank gracefully into my bed. I couldn’t help the way I moved; it had been drilled into my carefully constructed persona over many years. I moved with poise and seduction, and did so without thought. I was nude but I had long passed a time when I was embarrassed or nervous in my own skin. Even now, slightly on the side of too thin and scarred, I could care less if someone walked in and saw me in my present state. As I ended every evening, I forced my muscles to relax and went over the rules that had been etched into my every waking thought.

  “I will always listen to my Master, my focus is important to my growth. I will always respect my Master’s choices for me as they are made with his pleasure in mind. Obedience is not asked for but expected. I will not only learn my expected posture and stances, but adhere to them without fault. I will never show disrespect to my Master or those whose company he is in. The needs of my Master come first. The needs of those my Master chooses to share me with come before my own. I will not speak unless spoken to. I will not eat unless commanded to. I will remain naked unless commanded otherwise. Punishment is a necessity to my growth, and I will take it without question or protest. I will always be graceful in everything I do as it is pleasing for my Master to see me as such.” I took a long breath as my eyes fluttered shut. “And I will always be grateful for my Master, as it is his care that has shaped me, clothed me, housed me, and fed me.”

  I vividly remembered the early days when I was still learning these rules. I would cry as I recited them, grieving for a life lost and an uncertain future. I didn’t cry anymore, even with my future still uncertain the mantra came to me as easily as breathing. I’m not sure if I believed the words, but I had certainly learned to accept them.

  As I lay there watching the blades of the fan spin idly above me, for the first time in a long time, my thoughts slipped back to the events that put me on the path to Master Jonas, the events that had led to my demise.

  Naïve. That’s what I had been, a sixteen-year-old dimwitted, naïve, impulsive girl. But I had been a happy dimwitted, naïve, impulsive girl. I left Claymont with nothing more than a backpack full of clothes and five hundred dollars, which I had secretly withdrawn from mine and B’s trust fund account. I slipped away in the dead of night, embarking on an adventure of a lifetime. My destination had always been known—Las Vegas—however, what I was going to do once I got there was another thing entirely. I knew my end game though—to become a professional dancer, living the bright and glamorous city life. It was a fanciful dream for a young girl who had spent barely a handful of years training as a ballerina. My instructor had said I had natural born talent, and if I worked hard, I could become the next Anna Pavlova. But I only heard ‘natural born talent’ and switched off after that, assuming I could dance to my heart’s content anywhere.

  On my fifth day in Vegas, my money had already dwindled down to a mere fifty dollars. Thankfully my best friend, Julia, had an aunt in Las Vegas who she had talked about incessantly. When I showed up on her Aunt Gwen’s doorstep, she hadn’t been at all what I envisioned. Julia had said her aunt was a successful burlesque dancer who was “raking it in.” Realistically, Gwen was a skinny, bleach blonde with fake breasts, bad skin, and had a cigarette constantly hanging from her collagen injected lips. One look at her unhealthy body and scantily clothed form indicated exactly what kind of dancing she did—and it was not burlesque. When she opened the door to her one bedroom apartment, her eyes had looked over me with disdain. Nevertheless, she invited me in. The apartment was small, old but mostly clean with only one window that was covered with bars. If that wasn’t an indication of the dangerous area Gwen lived in, the broken down cars, frightening looking men who looked like drug dealers, and the few homeless that loitered on the street out front certainly were. Strangely enough, as much as Gwen looked at me like I was dirt under her feet, she offered me her couch to sleep on. I gave her my last f
ifty dollars as rent in advance, knowing I need to find a job as quickly as possible. I learned that it was relatively easy for a girl to find a job if she’s willing to do just about anything. A small diner hired me to wash dishes. They paid me in cash and didn’t ask questions. I hated it—I hated my constantly pruned hands, the long hours bent over a sink, the humiliation of being nothing more than a human dishwasher—when in fact my dreams were far more ambitious. I constantly moaned and complained to Gwen, until she eventually snapped.