Stolen Desire (Outlawed Realm)

by Donahue, Tina

  Dedication

  To Allie, Lynn and Toni. You guys are great.

  Chapter One

  Two months before her wedding day, Paige Ross hadn’t expected to be fighting for her freedom and her life.

  Her head pounded with the steady throb of a migraine, its searing pain keeping time with the rapid thumping of her pulse. The side of her neck stung. The skin was puffy and tender from something that had burned or bitten her. What could it have been? When had it happened?

  Paige couldn’t recall. The last she remembered, she’d been guzzling a martini at Rozie’s, a Seattle watering hole where local professionals got a buzz on after a hard day. Hers had been particularly brutal because of the shitty news she’d gotten from her fiancé. When tears had threatened to overwhelm her, she’d hurried into the alley for a little privacy, not wanting to embarrass herself. The next thing she knew, she’d woken up in here.

  Wherever here was.

  Please let me be dreaming this.

  Even as she prayed, Paige knew what she’d begged for wasn’t possible. Her head hurt too badly and her senses recorded too many details for this to be nothing more than the world’s worst nightmare.

  What appeared to be velvet covered the walls. Some of the panels were red, the others a deep scarlet. Black candles, not lamps, lit the space. Black silk sheets draped the bed she was on.

  Paige groaned, then promptly froze. Don’t make any noise, she warned herself. If you do, someone might come inside.

  She stared at the door, suddenly realizing this room had one. After rolling off the bed, Paige swayed on her feet, then gaped at the floor. It appeared to be made of stone, possibly granite. However, it was warm, as though there was a heat source beneath it.

  Frowning, she noticed her feet were bare. No high heels or stockings. A quick search told Paige the items weren’t in here, nor was her purse. She hesitated, then slipped her hand beneath the velvet hangings. Holy crap. The stone walls were icy, as though this room lay inside a refrigerated meat locker.

  Whimpering, she snatched back her hand and regarded her clothing, relieved she still wore her power suit, blouse and underwear. The thought of someone touching her or undressing—

  Uh-uh. No way was she going there. Right now, she was alone. If she got hysterical and started to scream, someone might come in here to find out why or to shut her up.

  She stared at the door, then screwed up enough courage to try it. Locked. She searched the room for a weapon and settled on one of the candleholders. Made of metal, the fixture felt nicely heavy in her hand. With one well-placed whack, she could knock out the psycho who’d brought her here. Then she’d run like hell before he could—

  Paige’s thoughts paused. She forgot to breathe at the sound of footfalls, the steady tap-tap-tap of someone approaching the door.

  Skittering away from it, she bumped into the mattress, then thought better of being anywhere near the bed. She gripped the candleholder as hard as she could and went to the side of the door, hiding behind it so when her captor came inside she could clobber him.

  The footfalls stopped.

  Paige lifted the holder above her head.

  Nothing happened. Had he changed his mind? Was he going to—

  The knob turned. She focused on it as she’d never done with anything else before. To the right it went, to the left, as though the psycho was testing it. Didn’t he know the damn thing was locked? Had he lost the key?

  Oh shit.

  Then she’d never get out of here.

  She pressed her lips together to keep from making any noise. Her heart slammed against her chest, her arms ached from the candleholder’s weight, her migraine pounded.

  She squeezed her eyes, hoping it would relieve some of the pain.

  A key turned, and the door swung inward.

  The sound galvanized her. Blindly, she brought down the holder and hit the knob rather than the man. The metal ting drowned out her gasp.

  She’d expected a troll. Even through her panic, Paige could see this guy was possibly in his early thirties, tall, with olive skin and black hair combed away from his forehead. Dressed in what seemed to be camouflage gear, he was surprisingly good-looking and seemed sane, though troubled.

  Why? Was he a member of a SWAT team sent to save her? Did the operation tank and now he was a prisoner too? If so, how in the hell had he escaped his room to come into hers?

  Wait a sec. This wasn’t her room. She wanted out of here.

  Before she could flee, he took the candleholder from her all too easily, closed the door and put his forefinger to his lips, indicating she needed to be quiet.

  The sounds she’d repressed earlier poured from her now.

  “Don’t make any noise,” he whispered, “or the others will come.”

  Others? There was more than one maniac to worry about? What about him? His thick accent sounded Greek or Middle-Eastern. Even if he did look really good, Paige didn’t know him.

  “Who are—”

  “Who I am doesn’t matter.”

  The hell it didn’t. “Why are you here?”

  “Do you want to go home?” he asked.

  “Are you kidding? Of course, I do.” Big freaking time.

  “Then you’ll have to trust me.” He offered her his hand.

  For the first few seconds, she couldn’t move. And then she realized she could either go with him or stay here and wait for the unknown maniac. They couldn’t be one in the same.

  Paige forced herself to take his hand. His palm felt dry, nicely warm. Gently, he curled his fingers around hers. Hardly the touch of a lunatic.

  “I’ll do all I can to bring you back to E1,” he said.

  “What? Where?”

  He didn’t answer. After pulling open the door, he led her into a candlelit hall.

  At a tapping sound to the side of them, Paige stiffened. Footfalls? The others? They were coming? Following? She turned, ready to scream, bolt, do both, but only let out her held breath.

  The hall was empty. A good thing, given the utter weirdness of this place. The ceiling was low and claustrophobic, the walls and floors constructed of the same stone as the room she’d been in. As though this was an ancient monastery…or possibly Seattle Underground, a subterranean tourist attraction only a few miles from Rozie’s.

  Was that where she was?

  Her guess evaporated at the wall ahead. Shackles and whips hung from hooks, ready for a Dom to use on a submissive in a twisted BDSM fantasy.

  Oh holy shit. Was she in a brothel? Was she even in Seattle any longer?

  Paige’s throat tightened on a cry she didn’t dare let out, not knowing who the noise might bring. She shivered, wanting to run. Didn’t matter where. She just needed to take off and keep going until she couldn’t anymore. And then what? Paige didn’t know, a deeper, primal terror making her thoughts and movements sluggish. Haltingly, she took another step as though she’d just learned to walk.

  The man squeezed her fingers as though he needed her to move more quickly.

  Paige couldn’t.

  He glanced over at her.

  Candlelight deepened the richness of his complexion and shadow of beard. Several strands of his hair had fallen forward to skim his forehead, complementing his masculine features. Handsome didn’t begin to describe his male allure, his raw sensuality. Again, she noted his camouflage gear. The kind military people wear during rescues.

  If that was what this was.

  “Please don’t hurt me,” she blurted.

  He regarded her quivering mouth, the tears filling her eyes. When she yanked her hand from his, he didn’t try to stop her. He murmured, “Hurt you?”

  He leaned closer. Paige forced hersel
f not to edge back, uncertain what he’d do. His clothing smelled crisp and clean, the scent of air on a wintry day.

  “Never,” he whispered.

  In spite of his unnatural composure—given the weird situation they were in—he was obviously frustrated that she wasn’t following him blindly. Indignation crossed his face. It was in the way he glanced at her hand but didn’t take it, as though he wanted her permission. What rapist or lunatic did that?

  “If you don’t come with me,” he warned, “the guards will hurt you.”

  Guards? This was a prison? Where? Mexico? Afghanistan? Iraq? None of this made sense. How could she have been taken so far away? The candles’ flames flickered. Threads of dirt trickled from shallow fissures in the ceiling, making this place even mustier. The dust tickled her nose and the back of her throat.

  She swallowed repeatedly to suppress her cough, her body tense with the effort.

  “You have to trust me,” he repeated.

  Her legs grew watery with doubt and apprehension. Her head felt as if it might explode with her headache’s punishing pain. Steeling herself, Paige slipped her hand back into his. Although she was about to fall apart, he didn’t appear upset in the least. That had to mean he was a member of some elite military unit. Right?

  Not having the courage to ask, she followed him, her naked feet slapping the stone floor.

  Of all the things to be missing, why her shoes and pantyhose? Wait. Her watch and engagement ring were also gone. Stolen by whom? A sexual sadist who liked jewelry…or took them as a trophy?

  The thought made her want to gag.

  They’d reached the far wall and the stuff hanging on it. Numerous pairs of shackles glinted in the gauzy candlelight. Next to them were metal collars, each sporting long, menacing chains.

  Page averted her gaze from the sex toys and spotted a large room a few yards ahead, its double doors opened. Candlelight flickered inside. From where she was, she saw movement, what appeared to be people. Startled, she stopped.

  The man pulled her forward. Maybe coming upon someone at this point didn’t make a bit of difference because they were already unbelievably screwed.

  Paige still tried to hold back, but he was stronger. “What are you doing?” she whispered, fighting him. “Don’t you see those people up ahead?”

  “They’re not real,” he said.

  What?

  As they got closer, Paige saw that the light source wasn’t from candles but from a piece of equipment she’d never seen before. It was small, circular, possibly made of metal and had to be what created the amazing life-size hologram of a man and a woman. Both young, nude, exquisite, his cock erect, his balls pendulous.

  Again, Paige held back, taking in everything as fast as she could.

  The young woman’s dark hair flowed past her waist, the ends bobbing above her plush buttocks. Her eyes were an unusual violet shade, her smooth complexion a warm caramel color. Manacles surrounded each of her slender wrists, the chains pulled tight to keep her arms above her head. Exposing her nudity. Trapping her for a man’s use and an audience’s entertainment.

  Several chairs faced the images, sort of like a matinee for voyeurs.

  The man in the hologram was tall, his shoulder-length hair thick and blond, skin golden, eyes blue-green. He lifted the woman so she could wrap her legs around his narrow hips. Damn. It slackened the chains, allowing her to rest her fingertips on his shoulders. Even with their nudity and her chains, they touched each other with what appeared to be awe and striking tenderness rather than lust.

  Unless they were remarkable actors, Paige sensed this wasn’t only about sex for them. There was an emotional connection.

  Despite that, their eyes never met, nor did they speak.

  He slanted his mouth over hers, and she surrendered completely, her lush breasts crushed against the hard planes of his chest. A soft, feminine moan escaped her. She trailed her slender fingers over the small area she could reach on his shoulders. As he turned them in a slow circle, Paige gaped at the cruel welts on his broad back, as though he’d been whipped repeatedly.

  The young woman traced the wales with loving care. He responded with a gentle caress, seemingly concerned that his strength and passion would hurt her.

  Paige swallowed, unexpectedly stirred by the tender scene, a man cherishing and loving a woman, protecting her from harm.

  How nice was that?

  She glanced over to ask the guy who rescued her who these people were. He’d stopped without her realizing it. She’d been too absorbed by the images, the advanced technology. Even an iStore didn’t have stuff like that.

  His attention remained on the hall, the intersection at the end, his head cocked. Listening for the guards’ approach?

  Bile stung Paige’s throat. She swallowed hard. A second ticked by. Then another. The only thing she heard was blood rushing in her ears and her ragged breathing.

  At last, he looked at her. If he was worried, Paige couldn’t see it.

  “Where are the guards?” she whispered. “Where would they be coming from?”

  “I don’t know.” He studied the hall behind them. “There are far more rooms than those you see here and more areas to enter than you can possibly imagine. When the ones who were gone return, they could be anywhere inside.”

  The ones who were gone? “That means there are others here now?”

  “None that can harm you. I saw to it.”

  Paige wasn’t certain whether to feel relief or dread. “Where would the other guards—the ones who were gone—return from? Where had they been?”

  “Come.” He pulled her down the hall past other rooms similar to the one she’d been locked in. All of them empty.

  Had she been the first one kidnapped and brought here? Or the third? “Who are the man and woman in the hologram?”

  “Escaped pleasure slaves.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll explain later. No more questions now.”

  “But—”

  The rest of what Paige had meant to say died in her throat as he stopped at the intersection, then quickly led her down another hall to the left. It was similar to where they’d just been except there was a large metal door at the end of it, along with the bodies of three men. Were they unconscious? Dead?

  Paige shuddered and stopped, unable to move closer to them.

  The guy tightened his grip on her hand and pulled her down the hall. “None of them will harm you.”

  They lay sprawled near the door, their necks thick, their short bodies almost too muscular, their features identical. Triplets? Had to be. Each man had curly black hair, a swarthy complexion and features that could have been a mixture of black and Hispanic ancestry. They wore dark pants and tunics, their feet covered in leather boots. Bright red darts, all very small, pierced the skin on their faces and throats.

  Paige touched the sore spot on her neck, what now felt like a puncture wound. From one of those darts, the kind she’d seen scientists use on animals in National Geographic specials? “Did you tranquilize them?”

  “No.” He released her hand. “I couldn’t chance them waking up.”

  They were dead?

  He plucked the darts from them and dropped the things into his front pocket. From a back pocket, he pulled out a square of silvery-blue material, then touched the front of his shirt.

  Paige gawked as his mottled brown-and-gold clothing turned the color of the fabric he held, tightening against his powerful body, fitting him as snugly as a wet suit. Even his combat boots morphed until she could see the outline of his large feet and long toes.

  She blurted, “How did you do that?”

  It had to be a trick. This couldn’t be real.

  He released the square of material. It drifted down in front of her, coming to rest near her feet. “Remove your clothing and step on it,” he ordered.

  Huh? Hell no. She pressed her fists to her chest and edged back.

  His expression didn’t change, though frustrat
ion flared in his eyes. He swung his hand to the metal door. “Do as I say, or you’ll die out there.”

  She wanted to throw up. “What’s out there? Where in the hell are we?”

  “If I explain now, the other guards may return. If I can’t neutralize them as I have these three, you’ll end up like the pleasure slaves you saw in the hologram or worse. Is that what you want?”

  A tear slipped down her cheek. When she’d gone to Rozie’s, she’d only wanted to forget her humiliation and hurt, not end up in this nightmare world. Where could it possibly be? He spoke fluent English, so that meant he was at least familiar with her culture. Maybe he even lived in Seattle after having emigrated from overseas. What he wore must have come from a top-secret government experiment, something right out of the X-Files. Clearly, he wasn’t SWAT as she’d first thought, but probably a federal agent. Maybe the CIA.

  That kept Paige from losing it, for the moment. She still had a bad case of the shakes as she removed her jacket. It hit the floor with a soft whoosh. Dust puffed up around it. Next, she touched her skirt’s zipper but didn’t lower the fastener.

  He turned away, his attention on the dead guards as though he understood her reluctance to strip in front of a stranger.

  His consideration made Paige want to cry. A few days ago, she’d never been prouder of her appearance, pleased at the weight she’d dropped for her upcoming wedding, urged on by her fiancé so she’d look really good.

  She still wasn’t model slender and never would be. Her curves were womanly, Rubenesque. What heroes in romance novels were supposed to find sexy and enticing.

  Didn’t work out that way in real life, where men promised forever and didn’t deliver.

  How could she have been such a damn fool, believing her fiancé, buying his endless excuses, letting herself get hurt to the point where she’d ended up here? She winced at her stupidity and the next stab of pain in her head. Grimacing, she pulled off her skirt and blouse, leaving on her underwear. No way was she going to ditch that.

  As Mr. Rescuer had instructed, she stepped on the fabric. It was as thin as cellophane…and moving.

  She inhaled sharply.

  “Stay still,” he ordered.