Once a Myth (Goddess Isles Book 1)

by Pepper Winters

  I lagged behind the tired, shuffling captives, going as close to the punched girl as I could.

  She pushed herself upright on wobbling legs, groaning and wrapping her arms around her middle.

  Our eyes connected.

  Our voices stayed silent.

  We nodded in joint sisterhood.

  She had the same instinct.

  To fight.

  To stand up.

  To say no to injustice.

  But there was a time for violence and a time for patience. Only a few could balance the righteous heat with cold calculation. I shoved that fiery desire to destroy them deep into a heart pumping antifreeze through my blood, granting icy control.

  Tess and this other girl didn’t have that trick.

  They gave in to the wildness being in a cage caused. They stormed ahead with attitude and hands fisted, painting a target on their backs to be hurt.

  Up ahead, Tess refused another order.

  She earned a heavy cuff to her head.

  She stumbled.

  A noise of hatred rumbled in my chest.

  A swat came for me, but I ducked and kept my eyes on the ground. I didn’t let the monster touch me, but I didn’t look at him. I didn’t goad him into trying again.

  Tess tripped but didn’t fall, and together, we all marched where the men commanded.

  Passing door after door, I nursed my rage as we finally entered a room that looked transplanted from a jailhouse.

  Multiple showerheads all in a line with no privacy or seclusion. Cracked white tiles held yesterday’s dirt and yellowed soap littered the unsanitary floor.

  Tess was jerked forward by the man wearing a leather jacket. He laughed and commanded she strip.

  She spat in his face.

  A gasp sounded down the line of women.

  I smothered a groan of despair and winced as the man ploughed a fist into her cheekbone. Most of the girls looked away as the man muttered something, then stripped her. Ripping off her clothes, destroying any belief that her body was her own.

  By the time she stood naked and shivering, her cheek swollen to twice its size and tears trickling unbidden, my control over the lashing, licking fury rattled at its bars.

  I wanted to bolt forward and murder the man who’d hurt her.

  I wanted a gun to slaughter them all.

  I wanted to save these poor women, huddled like little sheep, bleating before the executioner.

  I was a swarm of buzzing, pissed-off hornets, and it was so, so hard to swallow back the sting of savagery. Instead, I focused on survival and undressed as men poked and prodded us to obey.

  The ritual was symbolic.

  Yet another play on our distress.

  Take away our clothes—the final pieces of our past, and they’d taken everything. Look at our bare skin and perve at our naked breasts and demote us to nothing more than a toy.

  A few girls reached their limit as the jailors leered and reached to sample the weight of a breast or the heat between their legs. They crumpled to the tiles only to be kicked until they crawled into the showers.

  Outwardly, I didn’t move.

  My spine stayed straight. My chin held high. My long brown hair kissed above my ass, and my firm breasts belied the racing of my vehemence-filled heartbeat. I didn’t look at them as they looked at me. I didn’t give them the satisfaction of breaking me just by a stare.

  My body was mine.

  It didn’t matter they’d taken my clothes or my freedom. As long as breath existed in my lungs and coolant continued to smother the tempestuous hate in my veins, then I was above them.

  The guy with the scar wrapped his hand in my hair and forced me to kneel.

  He spat as he shouted violent words in a language I didn’t understand.

  I kept the glowing hatred far away from showing in my grey eyes. I let him jerk me side to side. I ordered my muscles to go ragdoll with submission and not leap to my feet to destroy him.

  Patience was a virtue.

  Patience was a gift.

  Patience will grant my freedom.

  Bored with my aloofness, angry at my non-reaction, the man tossed me into the showers with the other women. Icy rain fell from grimy showerheads, plastering my hair to my shoulders.

  My nipples pebbled, and the urge to shiver became unbearable. But shivering was a tell, just like hate was, and I wouldn’t let these men see any reaction from me.

  None.

  Collecting a bar of soap from the feet of a girl sobbing hysterically, I touched her forearm gently. Her dark eyes latched onto mine, frantic and painfully lost. I wanted to shelter and shield her, but instead, all I could do was take her hand, press the soap into her palm, and squeeze her fingers gently.

  Turning my back on her, I grabbed another lonely soap and scrubbed away the degradation and dirt from the past few days of living in a black hovel, rinsed out my mouth from the rancid aftertaste of no toothbrush, and ensured I was clinically sterile before the man barked for us to stop.

  I was the first to step free from the chilly shower, heading toward the bench where a pile of threadbare towels waited haphazardly. They didn’t look laundered. They smelled musky with a whiff of mould. I schooled my features to show no disgust and wrapped one around my nakedness.

  I bent to reach for another to cocoon my dripping hair, but a man stepped behind me. A thick twine slipped over my head. A noose yanked tight against my throat.

  Down the line of towel-adorned women, some struggled against their new imprisonment as ropes cinched tight. Some cried out. Some begged.

  I just breathed.

  And hated.

  A man with black hair popping out the nostrils of his crooked nose leaned in to lick a droplet from my cheek.

  I shivered involuntarily.

  I stopped it immediately.

  My muscles locked. My eyes focused on a place they could not ruin. My ears rang with his nasty promise.

  “You not like the others.” Spinning me to face him, jerking the rope so it choked me, he looked me up and down with a leer. “Too good for us, puta? Why you don’t fight? Why you don’t cry? You think you safe? That we don’t do pain to you just because you stay quiet?”

  The others vanished as I stared deep into his black eyes. He was taller, yet I felt as if I looked down upon him. And in his stare, I said goodbye to everything. I said farewell to the world travel Scott and I had planned—how we’d only just begun our journey by backpacking through America before flying to Mexico.

  We’d met five months ago at a local travel show where tour companies and airlines came together and offered one-of-a-kind discounts. We were in the line waiting for a veggie burger from one of the food trucks. Before we’d even covered the basic get-to-know-you questions, we knew enough that we would get on. We were both vegetarians and seeking to explore the planet before forging a career path in whatever would grant us our dreams.

  His parents lived in California. My mother lived in London after remarrying an Englishman after my father divorced her for reasons I wasn’t privy to seven years ago.

  We clicked enough that we agreed to book two tickets on an adventure instead of one.

  Funny how I saw all of that in the eyes of a heartless trafficker. I saw my past, I mourned my loss, and I fortified myself for whatever came next.

  When I didn’t reply, the guy cursed under his breath and yanked the leash around my throat. The other women had already been dragged from the shower block. I followed as if I was a wayward stray, trotting as he jerked me to move quicker to the shuffling crowd up ahead.

  The corridor seemed to squeeze around us, giving the sense of being inside a giant snake. We were its prey, cracked and devoured by overwhelming force.

  A slur sounded in front. A female shout followed by sharp refusal.

  I side-stepped to get a better view just as the guy wearing a leather jacket threw Tess to the ground and relentlessly kicked her. He kicked and kicked until I was sure I witnessed a murder. She couldn�
��t survive such abuse.

  It happened so fast. So viciously.

  The man bent to grab the rope around her throat, tugging it like he expected her to heel. “Get up.”

  A feminine groan sounded, barely heard amongst the other cries and moans of the girls who’d witnessed such brutality.

  I waited for Tess to stay down. To accept defeat.

  But slowly, she stood.

  Blood smeared her freshly scrubbed skin, and her eyes blazed with such loathing it licked at my own, encouraging my temper to snarl and claw, desperate to let loose and fight.

  But now was not the time to choose carnage over careful obedience.

  This was no longer a waiting game to see what would happen. We knew what was happening. We were being trafficked. We’d been stolen from different lives, stored in darkness, fed by beasts, and now we’d been washed and prepared for sale.

  They’d kept us alive this long.

  There was a reason.

  A reason that came with a fat wallet to buy us and perversions to hurt us.

  That was the moment to fear, not this one. That was the time to fight…when the end had finally arrived. These were just the middlemen, and we were worth more to them alive than in pieces.

  With my heart pounding beneath the layers of control I clung to, I didn’t say a word as a door was opened and a shove between my shoulder blades pushed me into the depths.

  Other doors were opened.

  Girls disappeared one by one.

  We didn’t say goodbye, and I doubted we’d ever see each other again.

  A lock snapped into place behind me.

  A man stood beside a chair that looked like it belonged in a dentist’s surgery.

  I waited for what came next.

  Chapter Two

  I STOOD ON THE rocky ledge, overlooking the pristine waters and silky white sand of my beach.

  I might as well have been seated on a throne within a seven-story cathedral.

  Enter my shores, and I wasn’t just the owner of this establishment…

  I was god.

  And my women were goddesses.

  Goddesses to touch and worship and debase to the point of brutality.

  But hurt them past our contract, and I took lives as easily as I gave pleasure.

  Men came here for what I could offer. For the indulgences I promised.

  But not one of them was allowed entry until I agreed.

  That was my power.

  Piss me off, you’re evicted.

  Hurt my goddesses, you die.

  Simple.

  A warm breeze wrapped around me as the helicopter wound down, and the man who hoped he was my next guest climbed gingerly out of it. The helipad was built on a small circle surrounded by basalt rock, signature orchids of my island, and crystal blue water of the sea.

  It was a welcoming entry point into paradise.

  But it was also the gates of hell if you didn’t behave.

  I waited with my hands in pinstripe pockets, eyeing him up, assessing who he was.

  The investigation into his background showed a financial broker who’d struck it lucky in his early twenties, invested well, and turned one million into five by property developing. Sexual health clean. No physical or mental illnesses. One older brother. Father alive. Mother deceased. Name? Ricky Danrea. For thirty-nine-years old, he’d done okay by success standards but didn’t seem to have any luck with a wife.

  My staff ushered him up the small bamboo jetty, gave him a welcome drink with yet another orchid, and presented him directly to me.

  They all came to me.

  No one stayed on my island and played with my women without first being approved.

  A piece of paper could only tell you so much about a person.

  The eyes were where the truth lay.

  Smiling pleasantly, I held out my hand. “Welcome.”

  “Hello.” He shook it, wiping at the sweat already forming on his brow. In pressed taupe shorts and navy polo, he already looked on holiday. Me, on the other hand, looked as if I was headed into a business meeting.

  Which was true.

  My island was my boardroom.

  And this new shmuck?

  My latest cash cow.

  “Mr. Danrea, how nice of you to request a stay on my humble island.”

  His blond eyebrow flew up. “Request?” His shoulders braced. “I already paid. There is no request.”

  I nodded, hiding my patronizing sigh. “I understand. We do have a villa ready for you and are happy to escort you.” A staff member appeared with a leather flocked binder and a non-disclosure agreement. “The moment you’ve signed some paperwork, of course. Along with another minor formality.”

  “What formality?”

  “A trivial affair.” I smirked, moving toward him, going too close, popping the bubble of appropriate distance. “Nothing you’ll even notice.”

  He gritted his teeth, standing his ground but pissed off about it. “Tell me, whoever you are, why the fuck am I paying two hundred thousand dollars for a week on this island when your arrival committee is like a pat-down before going to jail?”

  My palms itched to do just that.

  To tear off his clothes and ensure he wasn’t concealing anything that could hurt my goddesses or threaten the private paradise I’d created. Instead, my smirk turned to an icy grin, and I dove deep into his eyes.

  Watery blue.

  Guarded but weak.

  A liar. A coward. A lucky sonuvabitch with no morals.

  I didn’t like him.

  I’d played my role as god for long enough to recognise a bastard.

  After all, I was one.

  My reflection was a perfect reminder of what not to let onto my shores.

  I stepped back, waved the staff member with the NDA away, and clasped my hands behind my back. The helicopter whirred, engines firing, the pilots fully aware they were about to repeat their journey.

  “I’ll refund you in full, Mr. Danrea. Have a good day.”

  Turning around, I left my all-powerful ledge, the podium of power, and strolled back down the sandy laneways, through the orchid beds, and beneath the sweeping palm trees.

  Serenity fell with birdsong and soft waves lapping at the sand.

  I didn’t look back as security guards stepped forward, snatched Mr. Danrea, and stuffed him back into the helicopter.

  The lost money meant nothing.

  I had too much to ever spend.

  This wasn’t about business anymore.

  This was about fantasy.

  About freedom.

  About fucking.

  This was my world, and I was master here.

  My island, where I was the law-maker and ruler.

  Where I played gods and monsters with goddesses who loved me. Wanted me. Served me.

  Who spent their immortality shackled and subservient at my feet.

  * * * * *

  My office was off-limits to everyone.

  No cleaners entered, no staff of any kind. The floors were swept by yours truly. The shelves dusted by a man with untold wealth and severe control issues.

  When I’d first found my archipelago, I’d stood on the larger of the forty-four small islands and ushered the real estate agent away. I’d sent him soaring off in his company helicopter, so I could explore the land in peace. I was the only human in the midst of inquisitive parrots and tree frogs, jewelled fish and lethal anemones.

  I walked from shore to shore, trading my crisp suit for rolled-up sleeves and dirt-smeared loafers. And in the silence of nature and priceless serenity, I saw a paradise just waiting to be plucked from heaven and tempted deep into sin.

  The palm trees rustled with lust, their fronds fondling the warm tropical breeze. The sand whispered about sex and pleasure. The privacy promised any desires would be welcomed.

  I hadn’t been in the business of flesh peddling. I’d had no intention of using another’s assets against them. However, I’d always been shrewd and ruthles
s, and if I spotted an opportunity…well, I was an opportunist.

  As I’d waited for the real estate agent to return, I’d hastily plotted out a business that sprung from debauchery and debasement. I’d always swung toward the darker desires. I’d sampled the underworld of what was on offer in every major city around the world.

  And I’d found nothing satisfying.

  The clubs where submission and dominance promised titillating desire had been infiltrated by too many wannabes. The hard-core play had become contrived. The truth of no boundaries or borders no longer real.

  Subs came with strings.

  Clubs came with contracts.

  And the permission between legal and illegal became blurred by men who sought to use other’s exploitation for their own gain.

  And now, I’m one of them.

  I smirked at the irony. I shook my head at the inevitability.

  Flipping open my laptop, I typed in the thirteen-key password and swiped my fingerprint. The gauzy white curtains fluttered by the open driftwood doors. The squawks of parrots and the squabble of local squirrels fighting over the offerings of fresh fruit I placed on the intricately carved bird table each morning serenaded me.

  I’d bought these islands for me.

  To hide. To be free.

  After running my parents’ pharmaceutical company for a decade, after their yacht sank off the coast of Indonesia, I’d returned to the same area to pay my respects. They had no graves. There were no headstones to confess to. Just clear turquoise water and twinkling islands just waiting to be owned.

  Without Sinclair & Sinclair Group, I would never have been able to afford such an impetuous and impromptu purchase. As it was, thanks to my parents’ hard work investing in young scientists, along with my own natural inclination toward lab work and ability to cook up new drugs with untried recipes, the company went from private to public to unstoppable.

  A billion-dollar behemoth that stole hospital and pharmacy contracts worldwide, undercutting and outperforming so many other household brands of medicine.

  Thanks to my tireless work and giving my soul to that company, I had very deep pockets indeed.

  So deep, in fact, I’d never reach the bottom or figure out a total number because, each day, that wealth continued to grow. It grew organically, drunk on success, attracting more and more yields, allowing me to buy the secrecy and skills of a very special group of scientists—who I’d personally worked with previously—who ensured my Goddess Isles was more than I’d ever dreamed it could be.