Take

by Pam Godwin

  There was no soul in the depths, no humanity or mercy as he silently commanded, Don’t move. Don’t make a sound.

  How could something so evil be so enticingly, flawlessly beautiful?

  She’d fallen for the devil’s trickery, and now she would pay the price.

  Letting her muscles go slack in the restraints, she conceded. There was no escaping his intent, and she would need her strength for it.

  “Let’s eat.” He lowered into the chair between her bound feet and filled his plate.

  The meal was an eternal hell. The chewing, the leering, the laughter from discussions in a foreign language… They carried on while she slowly died inside. The one time she glanced down the length of her body, she found Tiago with a knife in his hand, cutting his meat and glaring at her pussy.

  He was a psycho with the face of a model in a men’s fashion mag.

  Please, make this end.

  When utensils finally clattered to empty plates, Arturo started clearing the table.

  Tiago turned to Iliana, his lips lifting in a chilling smirk. “Remove your clothes.”

  A growl clawed up Kate’s throat, and she trapped it behind her lips.

  Iliana rose from the chair, eyes smoldering as she slowly peeled away her shirt, jeans, and everything underneath.

  No matter how hard Kate tried, she couldn’t look away. The woman had a body that wouldn’t quit, all hourglass curves, heavy breasts, and toned, tanned flesh.

  She sashayed toward Tiago and wriggled her way between his chair and the table, blocking Kate’s view of what they were doing.

  If he intended to hurt her by fucking Iliana in front of her, then… Yeah, that would do it.

  Her hatred for him stabbed punishing heat through her veins, spawned from a jealousy that made no sense. She hated him too much to want him. She hated him for making her think that wanting him was even a possibility. She hated him for fucking with her head so thoroughly she didn’t know what to do or feel.

  Don’t give up. How about that? Pull your sniveling shit together and stay strong.

  There was nothing stronger than the human spirit. She needed to stop underestimating herself. She’d survived horrors worse than this. She’d obeyed Van’s countless rules and restrictions, watched him fuck Liv for weeks, and came out of that experience smarter and tougher than ever. She would survive this.

  “Turn around and bend over the table.” His deep, husky voice sent her fingernails into her palms.

  Iliana twirled in place and leaned into the triangle of Kate’s bound legs, with her nose right there, up close and personal.

  Kate screwed her eyes shut, but her imagination choreographed Iliana’s ass in his face, his fingers between her legs, and his hard prick straining beneath his zipper.

  In a burst of anger, Kate jerked her arms, her legs, and twisted her hips, fighting against the rope. Until a knife skimmed the curve of her throat.

  She flinched, and her eyes flashed open, colliding with Arturo’s narrowed glare.

  Don’t move. Don’t make a sound.

  She swallowed a whimper and held herself as stiff as a board.

  “Put your tongue in her cunt,” Tiago said to Iliana.

  Kate’s mouth opened on a horrified breath, unable to silence the wheezing from her lungs.

  Arturo inched back the blade just a little as Iliana edged closer, focused on her target.

  Detestation curdled in Kate’s stomach. Iliana might’ve been following orders, but the woman was going to enjoy every second of it.

  Refusing to watch, Kate closed her eyes again.

  There was no build up. No easing in. Iliana stabbed her tongue inside, fast and deep, with a harsh suck of her lips. A scrape of teeth. A hungry moan. All of it rolled into a rude, nauseating open-mouth kiss.

  Enduring the invasion wasn’t physically painful, but humiliation and helplessness built a searing pressure in Kate’s throat. Tears clamored in, burning their way across her vision and dripping down her face.

  She opened her eyes and found Tiago staring at her from behind Iliana’s bent position.

  Heat inflamed that vicious glare as he watched with an invasiveness that felt more penetrating than the tongue lashing inside her.

  He was doing this, commanding this cruel molestation for his own perverted pleasure. His eye contact struck her with the severity of a fist. She couldn’t look away, couldn’t hear or feel anything but rage as a million rapid-fire heartbeats pounded into the space between them.

  If she thought he had a heart, she’d been wrong. There wasn’t a hint of humanity or softness in the sharp angles warping the sick perfection of his face.

  The slash of that hard mouth parted, speaking to Iliana without looking away from Kate. “Describe the taste.”

  “Sweet. Lively. Heaven.” Iliana leaned up, blocking the view of Tiago as she met Kate’s gaze. “The essence of want-to-get-fucked.”

  Bitch, Kate mouthed.

  Iliana laughed, a tinkling sound of joy. She was in her happy place, stark naked between Kate’s legs, with her ass arched in his face like a cat in heat.

  He stood and moved his chair a few feet away, positioning himself with a sidelong view of the show. “Arturo.”

  The massive guard pocketed his blade and lumbered around the table to stand behind Iliana. A zipper sounded, and a heartbeat later, Iliana’s mouth fell open in a silent scream of rapture.

  Good for her.

  She writhed and bucked and bounced her breasts in the spread of Kate’s legs. Arturo didn’t hold back, his gaze locked on Iliana’s backside as he slammed his hips and scooted the table across the floor.

  Each thrust evoked the groans of impending orgasm. Their bodies heaved and slapped together, but no part of them touched Kate. They didn’t have his permission.

  She didn’t look at him. Not as the scent of sex infused the kitchen. Not as five minutes pounded into ten. But eventually, her eyes moved on their own, rolling in his direction.

  He wasn’t watching them fuck. His stare fixed directly on her, his jaw tight and hands fisted on his thighs.

  Fire spread through her, chilling her skin and hardening her nipples. She sucked in a jagged breath, detesting the effect he had on her, hating that he hadn’t forgotten she was here.

  He was just biding time, tormenting her with it, until he could hurt her in deeper ways.

  Jerking her gaze to the rafters, she couldn’t help the tears that trickled down her temples and collected in her hair.

  Eventually, Iliana moaned and trembled through her climax, marking the end of the pre-show.

  Kate’s pulse detonated. She was up next.

  “Move her to the edge of the table,” Tiago said, his voice a languid drip of sex and smoke.

  Iliana floated around Kate, adjusting the rope for the new position. As the tension on Kate’s wrists released, the bindings on her ankles took up the slack.

  Calloused hands gripped her thighs and yanked her to the end of the table, drawing her attention to Arturo. He was still clothed, save for the sag of his pants and the angry, wet erection jutting from his open fly.

  Bile hit the back of her throat, and her insides clenched against full body tremors.

  He couldn’t put that thing inside her. He wasn’t gentle. Or small. It would rip her apart.

  He stepped between her legs, his fingers biting into her thigh as he positioned himself.

  The trembling in her chin shook more tears loose.

  Why was she so terrified? It was just sex, just sex, just sex. People did it all the time.

  She needed to loosen the tension down there, make her inner muscles more pliable. Liv had coached her about that, hammering on the importance of relaxing the rectum during anal. But her body refused to calm down. She felt as though she were careening toward a complete loss of heart function, breathing, and consciousness.

  “Shhh.” Iliana put her mouth at Kate’s ear. “He’s gonna feel good, babe. I promise he’ll be the best you’ve ever h
ad.”

  She’d never had vaginal sex, anal sex, or any kind of sex. Who knew which hole he would tear open? She only knew she didn’t want it, not like this. Not tied to a table, against her will, in front of an audience.

  “Fuck her, Arturo.” Tiago’s voice thrummed with impatience. “Make sure she feels it.”

  She locked her jaw down so hard it throbbed. The pain flared into defiance, and she twisted her neck, giving Tiago the full force of her eyes.

  As he met her glare with a meaner one, she poured all her fear and misery into that shared look. He didn’t twitch, didn’t react with a trace of emotion. There was no moving him.

  In a desperate last-ditch attempt, she let a whisper tumble out. “Please, don’t take this from me. It’s all I have left.”

  His spine snapped straight, his expression frozen in malice.

  Shit. She’d made a sound, broken his rules. This was about to get a whole lot worse.

  Arturo’s hips bumped her inner thighs, and her entire body locked up on reflex. She sealed her eyes shut, willing the trembling to ease from her muscles.

  His breathing grew heavier, closer, and fingers dug into her leg.

  “Basta,” Tiago barked. Footsteps sounded his approach, and his next words came from above her. “Open your eyes.”

  She couldn’t look at him.

  Keeping her eyes squeezed tight, she angled her head away.

  His fingers stabbed into her hair, fisting it near her scalp. Then he yanked, wrenching her face to his and forcing her to meet his terrifying gaze.

  He looked at her, really looked for an eternity, as if searching for some answer behind the anguish in her eyes.

  Whatever he found there slackened his expression. He released her head and stepped back.

  “I changed my mind.” Gripping his nape, he swung his glare to Iliana, then Arturo. “No one touches her but me.”

  What the fuck am I doing?

  Tiago scraped a hand down his face, reeling from shock.

  She’s a virgin.

  It shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t mean anything at all.

  But it fucking did.

  Actually, the only thing that mattered right this second was getting her away from Arturo, who was standing there with his mouth ajar and his dick in his hand.

  “Iliana.” He gestured at Arturo. “Finish him.”

  She crooked a finger, and Arturo followed her into the front room. As she pushed him onto a mattress, Tiago didn’t miss the suspicious look she flung in his direction.

  Yeah, something was definitely off with him. He never reacted on impulse or emotion. Everything in his life was studied, rehearsed, designed with patience and purpose, and meticulously positioned to prevent undesirable outcomes.

  Except this.

  Kate lay on the table, motionless, watchful, her face pale and soaked with tears. Long golden hair rippled around her head, and full lips bowed downward, conveying all the ways she wanted him dead. As her steely glare held fast to his, he reminded himself to breathe.

  She was the fiercest, most exquisite creature he’d ever laid eyes on, and she was his.

  His prisoner.

  His property.

  His only source of light, glowing through a crack in the coffin of a twelve-year purgatory.

  Grunting sounds drifted from the front room, breaking his trance. He fished the finger blade from his pocket and tackled the rope on Kate’s arms and legs.

  The instant she was cut loose, he tossed her over his shoulder.

  There was no reason to carry her. But he was operating on instinct, and for the life of him, he couldn’t stop.

  He left the kitchen, took the stairs, her warm body draped over his as he navigated each step and turn. Her sweet natural scent was so pervasive his skin heated, and he quickened his pace, speeding toward a delirious unknown.

  Every movement was unpracticed, every step uncharted. He had no strategy, no agenda but one.

  Claim her.

  Blood rushed to his cock, making him thicker, hungrier, more impulsive. He charged straight to his room. Shut the door behind him. Locked it. Carried her to his bed.

  The second her feet found purchase on the mattress, she attacked.

  In a whirlwind of fangs and claws, she went for the wounds on his head.

  Knocking her arms away was easy. Sweeping her legs out from under her and dropping her onto the bed with a knee on her chest took less than a heartbeat.

  Her eyes illuminated with blue fire, signaling her next move before she swung a balled fist toward his groin. Even with the warning, that bony-knuckled punch required him to jerk back. She missed but kept coming, flinging herself at his chest with a glorious, bloodthirsty expression on her face.

  He caught her, rolled them onto the mattress, and landed with her on her back and his weight pinning her down. But she wasn’t finished.

  With a battle cry, she reared back an arm, and for reasons unknown, he let her have the hit.

  Her fist skidded across his jaw and mouth. He tasted blood, a kiss of pain, and grinned. “That’s the only one I’ll give you.”

  “I hate you.” She bucked and thrashed underneath him.

  “I’d question your sanity if you didn’t.”

  With the rope still tied to her wrists, he secured the ends to the cast iron pipe on the wall. She held her murderous rage behind clenched teeth until he finished restraining both arms above her head.

  “You’re a heartless kidnapper,” she spat.

  “Can’t argue with the evidence.”

  “You’re a murderer.”

  “Yes.” He put his face in hers and smiled a humorless smile. “I’m the reason people lock their doors at night.”

  She took a breath, one that seemed to go all the way through her, and released it. “What are you going to do to me?”

  “Everything you’re dreading and more.” He pushed off the bed and unbuttoned the cuffs of his sleeves.

  A tear slipped from her eye, but she didn’t sob or beg for mercy. She simply glared, and in that single chilling look, he knew she was his perfect match.

  Bending at the waist, he removed his boots while letting his gaze travel along the porcelain skin of her thighs, the dramatic tuck of her waist, and the delicate curves of her small breasts. His hunger for her was sharp and sick.

  She looked like an angel, her body too pure and ethereal to touch. But she wasn’t innocent. Even though Van Quiso hadn’t fucked her, he’d put her through weeks of hands-on training. She probably learned techniques Tiago didn’t even know existed.

  “Explain something to me.” He removed his socks, his shirt, and stared down at her. “How are you still a virgin?”

  “I’m not.”

  “Lie to me again and there will be consequences.” He unlatched his belt.

  Her eyes flashed, and a huff gusted past her lips. “Van couldn’t rape me. The slave buyer paid for a virgin.”

  “That was four years ago. Since then, you’ve been free to spread your legs for any man you desire.” Cocking his head, he absorbed her blinding beauty, savored every detail, utterly gobsmacked. “You lived with five hard dicks, and none of them fucked you.”

  Her face turned ten shades of livid. “There’s more to life than sex.”

  “Not for a man. Your roommates are pussies.”

  “And tying unwilling women to your bed makes you a man?” She dug her feet into the mattress and scooted back against the wall, tucking her knees to her chest. “You said you weren’t interested. Then you learned I’m a virgin and changed your mind? Is that your thing? You prefer your victims unsoiled, so you can be the one to plunder and defile them before you cut out their throats?”

  He was many things. Many repulsive, unforgivable things, but she was wrong about this. So fucking wrong on all counts. He’d never fucked a virgin in his life, not even when he lost his virginity at sixteen. He didn’t understand the appeal.

  Even now, imagining hurting her in that way, taking somethin
g so intimate and precious brought him no satisfaction.

  Worse was the thought of Arturo or any other cabrón touching her.

  This inconvenient possessiveness wasn’t new. He’d successfully ignored it since the night he met her. Didn’t matter that he wanted her with every vile, undeserving bone in his body. He never intended to fuck her.

  Until he heard her whispered plea.

  It’s all I have left.

  He would die before he’d let Arturo take that from her.

  Of all the women who tempted him over the last twelve years—the parade of virgins, prostitutes, and every level of experience in between—he couldn’t fathom why this mouthy, petulant, argumentative vixen was the one who had pierced through the tough, shriveled crust of his dead insides.

  Of all the goddamn women, why was she the one he wanted for himself?

  He had but one explanation, which wasn’t an explanation at all. “You’re mine.”

  “Oh, for the love of caveman clichés.” Her mouth twisted into a snarl. “Just kill me already.”

  Brave words, but she didn’t mean them. Her will to survive blazed in the molten core of her being. Not even he could douse those flames. And he wouldn’t.

  While the rational part of him analyzed all the reasons why he couldn’t wrap his life around this woman, the rest of him didn’t fucking care.

  This wasn’t him. This wasn’t how he operated.

  He flexed his hands, seconds from putting a fist through the wall. He wanted to hear the bones crunch, feel the hot gush of blood between his fingers, and remember the paralyzing pain. He needed to remember his penance.

  Tipping his head back, he stared at the rafters, exhaled roughly, and leveled his gaze back on her.

  Those destructive blue eyes fired a barrage of animosity and judgment. He could drown in her hatred and rise out of death in the intensity of her passion. Because she wasn’t just malice and vengeance. There were so many facets to her he wanted to carve her open, bleed all her layers, and preserve her strength in a canvas of beautiful scars.

  Fuck his penance.

  He was doing this.

  He was going to break his own rules.

  Resolve kicked his pulse into a gallop. He whipped his belt free and dropped it. His pants followed. Then he knelt on the mattress, wearing only his briefs.