by Monica James
Charging up the stairs, I throw open the hatch and almost fall flat onto the deck as my feet can’t keep up. “Help me! Please!” However, what I see before me has me skidding to a sudden stop.
The full moon is high above me, a true spotlight for me to see my colossal fuckup. Before me stands eight men. Three I know. The rest I do not. And from the filthy look of them, I don’t want to get to know them.
The man in uniform, my supposed savior, is indeed wearing a police outfit, but in no way is he here to protect me. His long dreadlocks fall limply around his dirty face. His toothless smile lifts when he sees me—I’m a lamb to slaughter.
The air is heavy with utter fury, and it takes my breath away. When I center on the reason, I forget everything and instead give way to the absolute beauty in front of me. A broad, golden back faces me, each sculptured muscle catching the moonlight, emphasizing the perfection to not only the canvas but also to the artwork which adorns it—Saint’s creation.
Angel wings which glisten to life are tattooed across his back and shoulders, and then running down the length of his hulking arms. The delicate feathers sweep across his rippling biceps and curve downward, stopping halfway down his taunt forearms. His name is all the more intriguing now.
I know it’s him because I’m intoxicated by those eyes as he glares wickedly at me over his shoulder. He is wearing his ski mask as he clearly doesn’t want this band of nomads to know his identity either. But he is topless, and seeing him bare does something—it makes him human.
The man in uniform who lurks toward me, however, is not. “Oh, I’ll help you,” he says in an accent I can’t quite place. Persian maybe? He is beyond tanned, his skin resembling leather from clearly being at sea for a while.
I don’t know how he got that police uniform, and I have no interest in finding out because everything about this man screams danger. His fellow sailors, dressed in ripped and dirty rags, follow him, sneering. Are they pirates? I suddenly wish for the friendly Captain Jack Sparrow.
I instantly back up.
“Now aren’t you a pretty thing. We haven’t seen a girl like you for quite some time, have we, boys?” They nod and grunt in acknowledgment. “With all the pretty soft skin, I bet you taste like a cherry.” He snaps whatever remaining teeth he has left together.
I stand tall, but the predatory behaviors of these men have me fearing for my life.
Saint turns slowly, watching to see how I handle myself. His chest and stomach are yet another creation adorned with more ink, but I don’t have time to appreciate it or the silver bar piercing his left nipple.
“How much?” the man asks, and I pale.
“She’s not for sale,” Saint barks. I exhale in relief.
“Everyone has a price,” he argues, continuing to advance. I am hit with his stench—stale piss, sweat, and rum.
“She doesn’t,” Saint replies, unbending. The two Russians stand by him, rubbing the back of their necks. They are clearly worried.
Saint, however, is as calm as can be.
The man runs a hand over his unkempt beard. His long fingernails have thick dirt caked underneath them. I swallow down my revulsion. “Okay, friend. How about I pay for an hour with her? A few bottles of wine and some precious jewels should do.”
“I’m not a whore,” I spit, storming forward. What century are they living in anyway? Who trades goods for sex?
However, setting sights on their wooden ship, which does resemble a pirate boat, I figure this is the law of the sea. These people are true nomads, sailing the seas and robbing and pillaging where they can.
“Good, I like them virtuous. They always seem to scream the loudest.” I feel sick to my stomach as his slippery tongue licks his dry bottom lip.
Saint is our barrier, the point of no return. When the man gets closer and closer, I peer around for a weapon because I don’t know if Saint will protect me or feed me to the wolves for my defiance.
“You smell like lavender,” he groans, rearranging the front of his pants. Just as he advances, I recoil swiftly, but Saint’s arm snaps out and stops the man from taking another step. “I only need twenty minutes. I’ll pay you two thousand dollars.”
His friends gripe, clearly not seeing my value to match that of what their leader just offered. “Pipe,” one of them says, but Pipe, the man in uniform, holds up his hand, signaling this isn’t negotiable.
“Two thousand dollars?” Saint whistles, shaking his head. “That’s a lot of money.”
“It’s worth every penny. As long as I have free rein.”
Free rein? Excuse me?
He isn’t actually considering this, is he? But when he looks at me, infuriated I defied him yet again, I know that he is.
“No…” I whisper, eyes wide. “Please, no.” But it’s too late. This is my punishment for once again mistaking him to be anything but a monster.
“Okay, she’s yours.”
“No!” I cry, backing up, but it’s in vain.
Saint lowers his arm, allowing Pipe to prowl toward me, grinning. “Oh, yes, sweetheart.” The two Russians shout at Saint, but he ignores them, his eyes never leaving mine.
Pipe grips my bicep and inhales deeply. I gag, his stench making my stomach turn. “Let’s go.” He drags me to the stairs, but I struggle, digging in my heels.
“Let me go! No!” I scream at the top of my lungs. “Saint! No! I’m sorry. I won’t disobey you again.” Saint is impassive to my pleas.
Pipe simply snickers. “Sweet surrender…music to my ears.” I have clearly proven his point that us virtuous ones scream the loudest. But when he presses his blunt erection into my leg, I soon will no longer bear that title. “I’m going to split you into two.”
Tears sting my eyes as I fight him, but he drags me down the stairs and pushes me to the floor. I frantically scramble to get to my feet, but he places his foot at the small of my back and kicks me back down. “Stay down, you bitch.”
I slide on my stomach, desperately trying to stand to fight him off, but he’s on top of me, licking the side of my neck. I buck wildly, flailing and screaming, but the harder I fight, the harder he becomes. “It’s been a long time since I had a girl like you…I’ll try to be gentle.”
When he unzips his fly, sheer terror overcomes me as I’m transported back to being fifteen years old.
Let me fuck that tight virgin pussy. You’re gonna come for Daddy.
Those words a forever manacle smash into me because this time, I won’t surrender. “No!” I shriek. “Get off!” I thrash about, intent on killing him when he gets my shorts down my legs. “You bastard! Don’t touch me! I’ll kill you!”
Adrenaline overtakes me, and just as I’m about to fight with everything I have, there is a hollow gurgle, followed by vibration and a sharp jerking. Time stands still as I have no idea what’s going on when I feel a warmth squirt all over my back and bare ass.
My heart is hammering, and every part of me is telling me to close my eyes and not look. But it’s too late. As I turn over my shoulder slowly, I scream a guttural howl when I witness Pipe clutching his neck, blood gushing from a wound to his throat. Behind him stands Saint, knife in hand, his chest scattered in warpaint from the fatal gash he just delivered. It seems I didn’t have to kill anyone after all.
He kicks Pipe from my body, who plummets with a wheezing thud, and reaches down, dragging him up the stairs by his dreadlocks. Each thud of his wounded body over the steps has me flinching. So does the trail of blood he leaves behind.
I lie sprawled out on the floor, certain I’m about to have a heart attack.
The Russians shout at Saint, and it’s no surprise a fight erupts when I’m assuming Pipe’s crew sees their leader’s body. Breathing in deeply, I pull up my shorts before crawling on hands and knees to the stairs, my body fighting me to turn back around. But I can’t.
In the stairwell, coated in Pipe’s blood, I watch as Saint plows through them, the punches he receives a mere tickle as he shakes them off. T
hree are down and two to go when a Russian raises a gun in the air and fires. It has the desired effect, and the men, bar Saint, freeze.
“Get off my boat,” Saint warns, spitting out a mouthful of blood. “And take that filth with you.”
His threat is downright frightening, and the men do as he says, quickly pulling the wounded to safety as they walk the plank to their boat. By this point, Pipe has stopped writhing and gasping for air.
Once they’re gone, the Russians’ and Saint’s eyes never waver, and they don’t turn their backs until the pirates are sailing off into the bitter night.
“Why?” screams one of the Russians, shoving Saint’s shoulder. He barely moves an inch. “You know what this means! We have to change route now. They’ll want vengeance. This puts us off by days! Weeks! Boss…”
“You let me handle him,” Saint cautions.
He is lathered in bright red blood, and the sight contrasts with his angelic wings. An angel of death, that’s what he is.
“Why didn’t you let him have his way? Boss wouldn’t know…”
I shrink in on myself, horrified. But Saint slaps the back of his head. Hard. “She is for Boss, and Boss only…don’t you forget that.” It’s evident he’s seen the way they look at me.
My brain can’t keep up, and my teeth chatter at his promise. I have no idea what it means. I should feel grateful he protected me and even killed a man for me, but if he hadn’t offered me up on a silver platter in the first place, none of this would have happened.
So why did he?
When he turns slowly, privy to me eavesdropping, I suddenly know why. He did it to teach me a lesson…just how he’s going to once again.
I scuttle down the stairs, attempting to run to safety, but it’s too late. Saint charges after me, gripping my forearm to stop me from going anywhere. His golden flesh is now a bright red, his huge body dwarfing mine. His chest rises and falls, his heavy breathing deafening.
“You never fucking listen!” he roars, hurling me toward him.
“Let me go!” I shout, attempting to pry myself free.
“A thank you would be nice.”
“Thank you?” I scoff, my temper exploding. “You sold me for two thousand dollars to some…pirate! There is no way I’m thanking you. Not to mention you kidnapped me! I hate you!” I stand on tippy toes, not intimated as I invade his personal space. “You better kill me now because that’s the only way your boss will have me.”
Oh, shit. In my moment of anger, I didn’t consider the impact of my words. But it’s too late.
“You will obey me.”
“Fuck you. Obey this!” I raise my knee in an attempt to connect with his balls, but he’s too fast, and suddenly, things turn ominous. At this moment, he scares me.
A menacing growl gets trapped in his throat before he tosses me onto the seat and comes charging over. The wind gets ripped from my sails, but I don’t have time to get up because, before I know what’s happening, he’s dragged me over his lap and is yanking down my shorts.
My cheeks burst into flames as he exposes my bare ass, but what he does next puts my bashfulness to shame.
He spanks me.
It takes me a moment to register just what the hell he’s doing, and when I do, that’s when the pain kicks in.
“You bastard!” I scream, kicking and screaming. But he has a firm hold on me and strikes me once again.
My eyes bulge from my head as I shift upward from the force. I don’t know what to think. I am furious, but more than anything, I’m mortified. I’ve never been spanked before. This is new territory because with the blood whizzing through my ears and the adrenaline burning my tongue, it doesn’t hurt…it feels good.
I am ashamed and instantly shake such perverse thoughts from my brain.
“You sick asshole. Is this getting you off?”
Smack.
“I hate you!”
Smack.
Each defiance results in my ass getting slapped, and each strike stokes something primeval. Between each slap, Saint rubs me gently, soothing the burn with a tender touch of his strong, calloused hand.
“Enough?”
“Fuck you.”
Smack.
“You will break, ангел.”
“Never,” I rebel, bracing myself for the onslaught, followed by the softness.
Smack.
It should bother me that my ass is bared to Saint, but it doesn’t. And I need to figure out why.
“You will, soon enough.” It’s a promise, one filled with so many questions…and I have a sneaking suspicion the answers lie with Boss, whoever he is.
We will see, you asshole.
Smack.
He gently strokes my ass before pulling up my shorts, which once again confounds me. Is that it?
I don’t know what to do because now that the adrenaline has subsided, embarrassment kicks in. I just let the angel of death spank me…and I liked it. Something is seriously wrong with me. Maybe the knocks to my head scrambled my brain.
He sits me up and stands casually like something weird didn’t just transpire between us. It wasn’t sexual as such, but it felt like Saint was training me, preparing me…but for what?
The cuffs sit by me, and he snaps one around my wrist. I don’t bother fighting him. “Submit,” he warns, folding his arms.
In response, I flip him off.
His broad shoulders rise in an inhale before he exhales in finality. “Have it your way then.”
Playtime is over, and I instantly regret my words because Saint leaves me alone, wondering if Boss goes by another name…and that name is Master.
This is the only kindness I can show her because where she’s headed, he will show her no mercy. She’ll be expected to submit, and if she doesn’t…he will kill her, regardless of how beautiful she is. And she is…beautiful.
Day 4
TWENTY-SIX CANS OF tuna fish. Eight lemon pepper. Seven honey barbecue. Five herb and garlic. Six ranch.
Forty-eight ounce tin of classic roast ground coffee.
A bottle of vodka.
There are three hundred and sixteen panes of wood decorating the ceiling and walls.
I know all this because I’ve been stuck down here for two days. Forty-eight hours of utter hell. I ache. Mind. Body. And soul.
After that very strange evening when I was sold to a pirate for two thousand dollars before Saint slit his throat and then spanked me, all to teach me a lesson, he left me down here in hopes the solitude would break me—it didn’t.
He visited every hour, proposing the same thing—submit. And each time, I replied the same way—fuck you.
The visits became less frequent, and before long, it seemed I was the only one who could stand my own company. But that suited me just fine as I needed the quiet to process everything that has happened.
I don’t know much, but what I do know is that Saint intends to give me to someone named Boss. That’s why he kidnapped me, it appears. But the thing is, I have no idea who Boss is, so I don’t know how he knows me.
Yes, my face may be recognizable to some because of my modeling, but it’s not like I’m in the league of Victoria’s Secret models. Besides, my audience is more homegrown and not European, which is where we are clearly heading.
I also can’t deny that talks of submission, breaking, obeying, and the spanking are very troubling. Whoever Boss is doesn’t want a companion…he wants a slave, and apparently, I fit the bill.
Swallowing down my fear, I reach for the bottle of water left for me by the Russian with the birthmark, who I have named Mark. He also left a bucket and some food close by, cementing that I am indeed a prisoner.
Reality has set in, and my bravado is slipping every single minute I am caged down here. The fight in me is slowly fading because each sunrise brings me closer to my doom. And that’s why he’s left me down here covered in my attacker’s blood…to break me.
The hatch opens, and like a vampire confronting the breaking dawn, I
shrink backward, protecting my eyes from the bright light. I know it’s him, and a small part of me, a part I loathe, is relieved he’s here.
When I see him, all dominating and commanding, I blush, thinking about the control he showed when he threw me over his knee. But I soon forget such ridiculous thoughts. “I’ve been too lenient with you. We need to set some ground rules,” he states, ducking as he walks down the stairs to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling. I hate how refined he looks and smells.
I could ignore him, but I desperately want to take a shower and change my clothes, so I simply arch a brow, indicating I’m listening.
He pulls up a chair and spins it around, so he’s straddling it. I can’t believe that after four days, I still haven’t seen his face. “Thanks to the shit you pulled, we’ll now be spending a lot more time together.”
I lick my dry lips. “What does that mean?”
“It means, everything has changed. So if you disobey me…I punish you.”
My mouth parts, and I half laugh in disbelief. But when I see that he’s serious, I blanch. “Excuse me?”
“You talk out of line…I punish you.”
“Wha—”
“You try to escape again…I punish you,” he says, interrupting me to prove my point. “We clear?”
“Where are we going?”
He inhales through his nose, clearly annoyed I’m not acknowledging his ground rules. “I said, are…we…clear?” His pause between each word is a warning.
“Very,” I snarl, glaring at him.
“Good. You will no longer address me by my name. From now on, it’s мастер.”
I have no idea what that word means, but it’s no doubt Russian as it rolls freely off Saint’s tongue. He can’t be serious. But when he taps his boot against the floor, awaiting my response, I cave. “Fine.”
He clears his throat while it takes all my willpower to yield. “Yes…мастер.” I don’t know what I just called him since my pronunciation is horrible, but he nods once.
Victorious, he stands. I want to cut out my tongue. “Good. You behave; I reward you. You don’t; I punish you.”