by M. S. Willis
The man finally put the phone to his ear. “Tell Patrick he’s needed at the warehouse.” He paused, listening to whatever the person on the line had to say. “I don’t give a fuck how pissed he’ll be, tell him he needs to get his ass here now. Xander is here.”
Flicking the phone off, the man replaced it in his pocket and looked back out into the expanse attempting to see where Xander had stepped back into shadow.
“Thank you.” One shot fired and the bullet met the man between the eyes.
“Well, that was rude. He made the call.” Hope spoke sarcastically behind him.
Xander chuckled, knowing full well that she would have done the same thing. “The fewer men Patrick has at his disposal — the better.”
~ ~ ~
The amount of men that came pouring into the building through the back storage door wasn’t surprising to Hope. She sat on the cold floor at Xander’s feet, waiting patiently to see if Xander could convince the men that he was now on their side. Her body stiffened with rage when the man who’d held her sister’s chain came walking through the crowd. Xander lowered his gun, obviously aware that holding it against the amount pointed back at him was useless.
“Xander.” Patrick walked towards them, hands casually tucked in his pockets, his voice echoing throughout the large open space. “I’d ask why you thought I had anything to do with the warehouse, however, given the bitch who sits at your feet, I’m not surprised you figured it out. I should have killed her in her cell at the mansion when I had the chance.”
“Thought you had a thing for twins, wouldn’t have worked if I was dead.” She heard the chain shake softly from Xander tightening his grip. Tugging it quickly, he caught her off guard, her body left splayed over the floor from the force of his pull. She looked up at him, her eyes opened wide with fictitious fear.
With a blank expression, he looked down at her. “Speak again, whore, and I may just give you to him so that he can play out his fantasy.” There was no emotion to his voice except for the hint of violence. His action had been a warning and she knew she’d fucked up by stepping out of character. Pushing herself from the floor, she brushed off the dirt and crouched once again face down at his feet.
“I see you got the bitch under control — for the most part, at least. I imagine that must have been a fun task. It’s a pity I wasn’t the one who had the privilege of training her.”
Hope’s stomach turned at his words and she wanted nothing more than to dig his eyes out with her fingers.
“I can’t say it wasn’t enjoyable.”
Even though Xander spoke the words to play a role, she knew they held truth. She smiled under the curtain of her hair thinking of how much of a bastard he could be.
“Yes, well, given her outburst, it appears she’s not as easily trained as her twin.” Patrick’s tone was mocking. The smile slipped from Hope’s face and rage rattled along her spine.
“Enough small talk. It appears we have a common problem. After I figured out that you were behind the attempt on Aaron’s life, I came here hoping we could work out a deal.” Fury dripped from his words and it was obvious to Hope that Xander was angry at Patrick’s reference to her sister.
Patrick’s sickening laugh sent chills running over Hope’s skin. “I heard you’d fallen out of Aaron’s good graces. Such a shame. How does it feel to be the intended target of the executioner’s blade?”
“Cut the shit, Patrick. We both have our reasons to kill Aaron Carmichael — one, so that I remain breathing and two, so that you can continue in your …” He turned to gesture towards the cages. “… habits.” He paused before adding, “I have information that can help you kill Aaron and you have the resources I’ll need to make that attempt a success.”
Stopping in his tracks, Patrick folded his hands behind his back, feet set shoulder width apart. Hope peered out from behind her hair, watching the confrontation unfold. Patrick glanced down at her before returning his gaze to Xander and asking, “What did you do to piss Aaron off to the point of demanding your execution?”
“I refused to give up my new toy. I presumed since he has one, it was only fair that I be allowed my own. Apparently, he didn’t agree.”
Patrick huffed out an indignant breath. “Then we see things the same way. Many men within the network are angry with the new rules set in place since Joseph’s death.”
“So, let’s do something about them.”
Patrick stood staring at Xander for a few minutes, the tension settling around Hope’s body like a suffocating blanket. Finally, without speaking again, Patrick raised his hand to his men indicating for them to lower their guns. Hope shoulders sagged with the tiny bit of relief it gave her.
“We have rules; one being that everything is shared.” Patrick glanced at Hope again, his vile thoughts written openly in his expression.
Tightening the chain around his hand, Xander responded, “She’s mine to touch, only. However, if you require a showing …”
Patrick smiled. “That will have to do. We’ll need to leave here. The women have been moved to another location.
Xander nodded before pulling on Hope’s chain. She stood up, her naked body exposed to the crowd of men in the room. Xander looked back at her. Although his face carried no expression, she noticed how his eyes teemed with fury at what he’d have to do.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Xander was somewhat surprised when the large SUV returned to The Estate compound. However, once they’d been hidden and snuck past the guards at the gate, the SUV pulled up to Patrick’s house on the outskirts of the property and Xander realized how brave the maneuver had been on Patrick’s part. Being that he lived within the section where he’d run the searches, Patrick must have been certain that nobody would have thought to check his personal space.
“The bitch will have to be drugged when we get inside. I like to keep the slaves compliant and quiet. You have no idea how annoying their screams and cries can be after a while.” Patrick spoke as if they were discussing nothing more than the weather.
“I’m quite familiar.” Xander reminded him. “You forget that I was raised within the mansion itself. I’d just learned to block out the noise, I hadn’t considered drugging the bitches. Although, to do so, would have been the same as asking for death. Joseph preferred to hear their screams.”
“He was something else. Despite the unfortunate rules set in place by Aaron, it has been somewhat easier to breath since Joseph’s death. No longer fearing asking for additional money from the network is nice, however, being babysat constantly by Aaron tends to drown at the relief. Hopefully, when I take over The Estate, the men can benefit in both areas.”
Xander eyed him while stepping out of the vehicle. Tugging on Hope’s chain, he stepped aside so she could climb out, noticing how another man immediately restrained her at his side so that they could inject something into her body. He nodded his head toward her and asked, “Will this knock her out completely?”
Patrick smiled. “Not at all, it will just make her a little more lively when you demonstrate her worth. I’ve been looking forward to hearing her scream.”
Xander’s hand fisted around Hope’s chain and he resisted the urge to pull his gun and spray Patrick’s brain over the interior of the truck. He knew they had less than forty-eight hours to determine the identity of the men involved in this ring and he had to play nice if he hoped to obtain it before Aaron discovered their location. He wasn’t nervous that they’d been removed from the warehouse and knew Aaron would be smart enough to look closely at Patrick when he discovered that Xander and Hope were not there.
Approaching the building, he noticed how Hope tripped over her own feet, the drugs already taking effect. When she fell, he fought to restrain himself from turning to assist her back to her feet. Staying in character, he yanked at the chain, tensing to hear her cry from the force. “Get up, slut. This is just the beginning.”
Patrick laughed while walking through the doorway. “You’d think she�
��d be stronger than the others.” Glancing back, he smirked. “But I guess it’s the same with all whores. You drug them and they offer their asses up in the air like cats in heat. The chains really aren’t necessary, but they are helpful to hold the bitch down for the more violent encounters.”
The interior of the house was dimly lit, the windows blacked out to prevent people from seeing in. The practice wasn’t unusual and Xander knew that no man trusted the other within the walls of the compound. The narrow hallways were quiet as they walked and Xander had to take a deep breath when they finally reached their destination in the underbelly basement of the house. The room stretched the length of the house and, much like the warehouse, contained cages large enough for a crouched human. These cages, however, held live women, their frightened eyes also bleak from the effects of the drugs pumped into their systems. Xander scanned their faces, noticing that none of the cages contained Hope’s sister. He did recognize one face, however, and instantly felt sorry for the decorator, Erica. Working for The Estate was a hazardous occupation, regardless of the position you took.
Rather than having shackles attached the walls, the men were using tables, crosses and other equipment to restrain the women not held in cages. Their bodies hung heavily from the chains and memories of his many years under Joseph resurfaced — the all too familiar twisting of his stomach to see how the women had been treated.
“Take a seat.” Patrick held out his arm indicating an arrangement of couches and chairs within the room. “I say we have a drink with some entertainment before getting down to business. We’ll leave your toy with you for now, however, after you’re done with her, I prefer she be caged like the rest.”
Immediately turned his head to lock eyes with Patrick, Xander’s contempt rolled in waves through his body. “She stays with me.”
Patrick smiled. “Then I’ll give you the key to her box. I will not allow an assassin — no matter how incapacitated she may be — to roam freely. If she were to escape, it would lead to some serious issues for us both.”
Xander didn’t like it, but if he held her key, he could live with it. “I prefer we talk before starting the entertainment. I need to know the extent of your resources. How many units are involved?”
“Three, so far. But, that number is growing.” Patrick arched his brow. “I’m not willing to discuss any more details, however, until after you’ve performed your demonstration.” Raising his hand, he motioned towards a metal table situated in the center front of the room. “Please feel free to use our facilities.” His lips curled lewdly at the suggestion.
A chill ran down Xander’s spine. Turning to look at Hope, he instantly noticed the haze in her eyes. Whatever they’d given her was stronger than what he’d slipped her previously. She staggered on her feet, but didn’t appear lethargic. Her breathing had sped, her body glowed from a light sheen of sweat, her pupils were as large as saucers and she rubbed her hands over the skin of her arms, leaving trails where her nails had dragged across it.
“Fine.” He pulled on the chain softly and noticed that even the small amount of force had almost thrown Hope to the floor. He took her arm to steady her and lead her towards the front of the room, being sure to make the gesture look like it was done more from annoyance than from concern.
When they approached the table, he recognized it as one that had been removed from Joseph’s wing. Taking a deep breath, he resigned himself to what he’d have to do. Years ago, when Aaron had been requested to present Maddy in a similar way by Joseph, Aaron’s refusal based on not ‘fucking in public’ had been a brilliant way to avoid having to perform. Unfortunately, Xander’s situation was not as easy. The men had to believe he was as much against Aaron’s hatred of depravity as them.
“Bend over.” He eased Hope’s body over the silver surface of the table, noticing instantly how she flinched at the cold bite of the steel. Kneeling down, he secured her ankles in place and moved to the front of the table to secure her wrists. Once locked, he moved her head so that her chin rested against the notch on the edge. He could hear her teeth chattering in her mouth and he angrily ground his in reaction. The last thing he wanted to do was violate her in front of the men, but this wasn’t about what he wanted to do — it was about what he had to do.
“There’s a strap hanging from the wall. It’s quite useful as reigns to ride the bitch as raw as you’d like.” Patrick spoke from the couch that sat fifteen feet from the table. His posture was relaxed back into the cushions, one arm hung casually over a pillow, and he held a glass of dark liquor in his hand.
~ ~ ~
When they’d first entered the house, Hope had struggled to focus on the faces of the women held in cages at the back of the room. Desperate to find her sister, she was disappointed when none of the women in the cages had been Honor. The acrid taste of fear filled her mouth, but she refused to believe that Honor was no longer alive.
The longer they’d remained in the room, the harder the drug wore against her thoughts. She couldn’t focus her eyes, and it felt like she was floating even when she’d knelt on the floor at Xander’s feet. Each candle in the room was nothing more than a fuzzy halo, leaving her lost within a dark space of shadow and nothing more. Even though she could comprehend the words spoken between Xander and Patrick, it sounded like they were in a tunnel, each sound echoing against the other, mingling to a point where she needed to concentrate to follow the conversation. When Xander had finally moved her towards the table, the sudden weight on her legs caused her knees to buckle, her own feet so heavy she tripped over them as she walked. She wanted to scream when he’d bent her over the surface of the table. It was like lying on a block of ice. The cold surface of the table bit at Hope’s nerves, just before a numbing sensation fell over the skin. The drugs that coursed through her veins amplified pins-and-needles bursts that exploded all over her body. Her head swam from the drug; however, despite her rapid loss of self-control, she could still think somewhat clearly. It was as if they’d made her own body a prison — taking her ability to move, but failing to completely numb her mind against the horrors occurring within the house. Slowly, she sunk further, the poison finally reaching her mind, her thoughts consumed in waves of confusion.
She could hear Xander move around the table securing her in place, each shackle buckled with a soft click of metal against metal.
Patrick spoke again from somewhere she couldn’t see. His words sounded odd and foreign — strap, wall, hang — fuck! He was saying something but the sequence of words slipped from her grasp, folding over themselves to the extent she couldn’t form a coherent thought.
White noise washed over her ears as the room went silent and Xander’s response brushed across her thoughts, even though she was unable to understand what he’d said. She fought against the fog that was thickening over her mind, desperate to remain aware enough to hopefully learn the fate of her sister. Losing the battle, she felt Xander’s hand on her head, felt his thumb move between her lips and pull her bottom jaw down. He slipped something bitter between her lips, so big that it hurt the skin at the sides and she tried to spit it out. He caught it, forcing it back in and securing it tightly to her head. Tears formed at the back of her eyes, but stopped when her attention was drawn to something warm on her skin, something sharp softly being dragged down her spine until he reached her lower back. Her body responded out of instinct, arching upwards to push against whatever he held against her that felt so fucking good. It was sensation times ten because of the drugs, the softest brush against her skin sending waves of excruciating pleasure through her body.
Like a cat in heat … that bastard’s vile words replayed in her head, but she realized the bastard was right: if the restraints hadn’t held her down, her body would be pushed up, exposed, inviting the intrusion she knew was to come. The faint sound of a zipper pulling, her hips grabbed, the tip of each finger sending a spear of exquisite pain shooting up her nerves, settling lazily against her mind, exciting her more than the drugs had
already done. She was suddenly mad, an internal battle inside her to resist what was being done because she didn’t want to give those men the entertainment they sought. But, his hands … fuck … his hands, he fed her bits of pain, bits of numbness within her thoughts, a place she could sink into. He woke up the darkness inside her, left her within a familiar place where he knew she could hide.
She went emotionally dead, the hormones mixed with the chemicals mixed with her blood and when he shoved in, when she was suddenly filled, each muscle gripping and her teeth biting down even when her lip split at the sides from the motion — thought was removed and she was left floating within a space far from the pounding rhythm against her body. The hurt, the pain, the feeling of being ripped apart and put back together, and then there was heat, blooming, igniting, sparking along her muscles and bones. And the scream that tore from her throat from the relentless slap of skin against skin, from the tips of his fingers gripping into the flesh of her hips, and from the contrast of the burning heat of her body against the unbearable cold of the steel table — it was a scream she didn’t recognize as her own. It was pleasure and pain, fur and razors, intense ecstasy wound around a violent release, and her body swam within it, her ears ringing from the sound that she wouldn’t believe had come from her own throat.
He pulled away and she was left empty, the void growing and settling through her stomach and chest, her body shivering against the sudden loss of his connection. In the distance, someone clapped, the sound pounding within her head, anger returning now that his fingers had released their iron grip from her skin. Metal snapped from her ankles, and the thud of his boots sounding from his path back to the front of the table. The strap was pulled from her mouth and she tasted the bitter iron of her own blood where her lips had split at the sides. Her tongue flicked out, the salt of her skin sinking into the wound, returning small bits of the same pain he’d previously given.