Forbidden Fruit: Volume 1

by Harley, Lisa M.

  Connect with the Author

  www.jessicahawkins.net

  www.facebook.com/jessicahawkinsauthor

  www.twitter.com/jess_hawk

  www.goodreads.com/jessicahawkins

  More Titles by Jessica Hawkins

  The Cityscape Series

  Come Undone (The Cityscape Series, #1)

  Come Alive (The Cityscape Series, #2)

  Come Together (The Cityscape Series, #3)

  Lock & Key

  by

  R.S. Grey

  Chapter One

  “Get up, girl! Get up now!” A voice drifted in through the fog mere moments before a boot slammed into my stomach. I groaned in pain and clutched my abdomen, fearing another boot would soon follow. I was disoriented; there was no north, south, up, or down. Everything was black and pain radiated throughout my body. Then a hood was ripped from my head and the darkness lifted to reveal the hell that I had stumbled into.

  I had no clue how I got there or who the men staring at me were. They had guns aimed directly at my head, and in the blink of an eye, I started to stand up for fear that one of their fingers would slip and I would be nothing but a carcass lying on that dungeon floor. That’s what it looked like: a medieval dungeon. The walls were made of rough stone blocks and the only light was generated from a single bulb swaying gently above my head. One of the walls was made of thick iron bars and that’s when it finally sank in. I was locked in. I was a prisoner with nowhere to go.

  I held my hands up in surrender, trying to catch up to my surroundings.

  There were four men inside the cell with me, but no other prisoners that I could see. The men started rambling to other another in Albanian, and a memory pierced my brain like a sharp knife. I was on my way to interview one of the members of LARK, a guerrilla warfare group inside of Kosovo. I’d communicated with the member for the past few weeks in passing. We’d never met, but all of my connections had led me to him. I was finally going to have my chance to meet him when my taxi had been run off the road. We didn’t get into an accident; the taxi driver had turned out of the way just in time. It’s all hazy, but I remember hearing gun fire and then my passenger-side door was ripped open. A hand reached in to press something against my face, and everything after that was black.

  I wracked my brain, desperately trying to connect the pieces, but they must have drugged me. At least my clothes were still intact: slim jeans and a white t-shirt that now seemed entirely too flimsy.

  The men kept yelling at one another in Albanian, and eventually one of them tossed his weapon onto the dark-stained concrete and stepped toward me. He had a scraggly beard and a harsh scar that cut across his eyelid. His teeth were stained a dark yellow, and when he stepped toward me, he unfurled a wicked grin. I clutched my stomach for fear that he would kick me again. I could still taste the bile that had risen into my throat from their last hit.

  He didn’t go for my stomach though. He wretched my hands away from body and pushed me back against the wall so that my head slammed against the stone. I cried out in pain, but the man didn’t back away. I could feel blood trickling down the back of my head and down my neck, but the pain was nothing compared to the fear of what was about to happen next.

  “Please, let me go. Please! I’m an American journalist. I have money if that’s what you want! I can get you any amount of money that you need!” That wasn’t true, but in that moment I would have sold them the world if it meant that I could leave. I looked up into the man’s eyes and tried to plea with him, human to human, but he wouldn’t look back at me. He lifted my hand up toward a metal handcuff hanging from the ceiling and a new wave of fear flooded me.

  They were going to shackle me so that I’d be completely helpless. My cries turned violent and I snapped my hand out of his grasp and shoved his body away from mine. I had mere seconds to react. There were no weapons anywhere except for the one he’d tossed aside so that he could handcuff me. I dove for it, reaching with every inch of my body to grab it before he did, but my efforts were in vain. The other guards predicted my move. The one closest to the weapon kicked it away just before it was in my grasp. A hard boot slammed down onto my hand and I screamed — a wild, blood-curdling scream. The scarred man picked up me from the ground and tossed me back toward the metal chains. I reached back to catch my body against the stone wall and my hand screamed in protest.

  “Please, let me go,” I cried as hot tears streamed down my face. My fighting was useless. The man made quick work of locking me into the shackles, and as soon as he was finished, he stepped back to admire his work. His filthy hands reached up to grasp my head so that I had to look him straight in the eye.

  “This is home now, girl,” he threatened in thickly-accented English.

  My hot tears coated his dirty hands, but he didn’t budge. What did they want with me? Was I going to be trafficked as a sex slave? Was this only the tip of how cruel they would be to me? Had my planned interview been leaked? Had the man I’d been communicating with been a mole for the LARK this entire time?

  That had to be it. They knew I was trying to get information about their group and they weren’t going to let me slide.

  I tried to blink away my tears but nothing helped. They filled my eyes and clouded my vision. I told myself to calm down, that crying wouldn’t get me out of the situation. I took deep breaths, in through my nose and out through my mouth, scanning from one man to the next. I stared them straight in the eye, trying to memorize their features and commit them to memory. They would be the men I crucified in my articles when I broke free of this place.

  “Could someone fucking explain to me what all this noise has been about?” A voice asked as a shadow fell outside of the iron bars. The clap of dress shoes echoed in the confined space, but I couldn’t turn my head to see the figure. The scarred man was still clutching my chin tightly enough to leave a bruise.

  “We were locking her up, sir,” another man answered. He was the man that had kicked the gun away and stepped on my hand. The iron bars hinged to life as the figure stepped into the cell.

  “Let her go,” the voice said, and as soon as his words had filled the space, his orders were followed. The guards peered up toward him with revered silence. I shifted my jaw, trying to regain feeling in my cheeks. Then I looked up to see the man that was in charge of them all. The person that held my freedom in his hands.

  He was nothing like I’d expected. His accent was lighter than the guards’, mostly English with a hint of Albanian undertones. He was taller than the rest of the men by a few inches, and his entire body took up more room than most of theirs put together. He was dressed head to toe in a tailored, designer suit. The dark navy material hugged his well-formed figure and I was left momentarily confused. The juxtaposition between his attire and the dingy dungeon left me gaping. He eyed me once slowly, running his gaze from my shackled hands, over my tight shirt and jeans, and down to my sandaled feet.

  He didn’t look like he was born and raised in Kosovo. His features didn’t match the men standing in a line behind him. His hair and eyes were the exact same shade of dark brown, almost black, and in the dim lighting of my cell his chiseled cheek bones and jaw were cast into harsh shadows.

  “Would you care to explain to me why she’s injured?” he asked harshly, shifting on his designer shoes to stare down the four men. They all fidgeted awkwardly on their feet, trying to decide what the best plan of action would be.

  “She was struggling, sir,” the guard answered with a sharp attitude, as if annoyed that he had to defend his actions.

  The Leader stepped closer to him, and the man visibly cowered. What kind of power did this man have over them, and why didn’t he want them to hurt me? Would he help get me out of here?

  “And you couldn’t detain her? What the fuck kind of guard are you?”

  “Sir, she attempted to reach for my gun,” he said, fumbling for an excuse. The longer the conversation lasted, the more I feared the wrath of the sharply dressed man
.

  The Leader stepped closer to the man and gripped the guard’s shirt inside of his fist. “No one touches prisoners without my instruction. Do you understand, Erian?”

  “Yes. Yes, sir.” The man nodded like a bobble-head, trying to appease the angry leader.

  “Get out, all of you.”

  “But… sir,” the man who’d kicked away my gun protested.

  “Out!” he yelled back at them, and the four men shuffled out quickly, closing the iron bars behind them. I gulped, trying to keep up with the situation as it unrolled before me.

  Once I thought the men were out of the earshot, I shifted my gaze to the statuesque man eyeing me in the center of the cell.

  “Please, please. You have to let me go. This is a mistake, a terrible mistake,” I begged the man, praying that he would be my savior. This couldn’t be happening.

  The man tucked his hands into his suit pockets and shifted on his heels to face me. His body turned slowly so that each millimeter of his face was highlighted for a brief moment by the light hanging over head. He was beautiful. His face was sculpted in proportions that struck a pang of both lust and fear inside me. He was a fighter, his body was broad and strong, but his lips were soft. I thought that he would see reason. I thought that he would unlock my handcuffs and set me free.

  Instead he stepped toward me with slow, thoughtful steps.

  “Do you expect me to treat you differently than my men just did?” he asked, his voice calm and eerily cunning. His eyes were sharp. They pierced through my last bit of hope.

  I whispered, “Yes.”

  “Do you think what the guards have done to you is cruel?” he asked, looking up to where my swollen hand hung in the shackles. “They won’t touch you unless I order them to touch you. They fear me above all else. They’re despicable human beings, and I’m the worst of them all. Do not forget your place, prisoner,” he spat before turning and leaving me in the cell, alone and shaking.

  “Please!” I screamed, salty tears seeping into the corners of my mouth.

  Chapter Two

  My hands went numb in ten minutes. My arms went numb in fifteen. My head fell forward and I tried to connect any clues that I’d gathered. I was more than likely in one of the LARK prisons. I should have seen the mole for what he was. Getting any member of LARK to talk was impossible, my editor at the paper had said just as much, but I insisted. I wanted to be the reporter to break the notorious terrorist group’s secrecy. I wanted to push my limits as a journalist and this is where I ended up.

  A set of keys raked against the iron bars, drawing my attention away from the concrete floor. Standing behind the bars was the scarred man from earlier, Erian. Except this time he was alone and the inside of the dungeon was even darker than before. His sinister smile drew my attention as he unlocked the door and stepped inside.

  “What do you want?” I asked, not trusting him in the least. If he was a member of LARK, then he was most likely sent down here to torture me for information about my article. They’d want details on my research and who I was receiving intel from.

  He narrowed his eyes on me. “Loran wanted you to be let down. I volunteered.”

  “Loran?” I asked, straightening up.

  “The boss.”

  So his name was Loran.

  Erian moved closer to me and my whole body shook in protest. It was encoded in my DNA to separate myself from this vile man, but if he was here to release my arms, than I would let him. But I would detest every second he was near me. My shoulders were already stinging from the awkward angle and I feared they’d pop out of their sockets if I pulled my body weight down on them for much longer. He pressed his body as close to mine as he could while he reached up to free my hands. He smelled as if he hadn’t showered in days; putrid body odor wrapped around him like a blanket and my nose tingled from the unwelcome smell.

  “Please let me go. What do you want with me?” I asked with a calm tone, trying to remain in control of my emotions.

  “You aren’t going anywhere. Loran wants to question you about your involvement with our group.”

  So this was about my research.

  “I don’t know anything about your group. Please, you have it all wrong.” The second my hands were free, they fell with a heavy thud to my side and I slid down to the ground so that the weight of my arms could rest on my legs for a moment.

  “Do you expect me to believe that bullshit?”

  His hand came out of nowhere and smacked me across the face. Stars exploded in my vision as I tried to collect my bearings. I could taste copper in my mouth. The time for rest was over. I clutched my face in my palm and looked up into his evil eyes. “You don’t have to do this. Please let me go. I don’t know anything about your organization. I was supposed to meet with a man, but it fell through. I have no information that could bring you harm.” I was arguing with a terrorist and I couldn’t see the hole I was digging myself into as I shoved my spade even deeper into the ground.

  “We’ll see how willing you are to reveal information after I’m done with you,” he snarled, pointing his gun at the top of my head. The barrel stabbed into my scalp as I tried to cower away from him. Where were the other guards? Where was Loran? Had he instructed this man to torture me for information?

  “If you utter a word, I’ll blow your brains out. No one will question me. No one cares about you here.” I tried to blink away the room, this moment. It couldn’t be real.

  He pushed me back onto the concrete, reaching to pull my pants down. I stared up into the barrel of his gun. It was black and rusted on the end. Would he really use his gun or was he bluffing? Hadn’t Loran told him not to touch me?

  His grimy fingers tugged my jeans down to my knees and I cried out.

  “What did I say about making a sound?” he asked, shoving a hand over my mouth. My stomach’s contents rolled and I started to panic. If I couldn’t stop him, he was going to rape me. I had to do something, but in that moment I was paralyzed by fear.

  The smell of his filth invaded my nostrils as I tried to slow my breathing. He realized he was at a stand-still: if he held my mouth closed with one hand and his gun in the other, than he had no way to rip my clothes off. I guess he didn’t trust me not to make noise because he opted to drop the gun a few feet away from us. When he moved to toss the gun, he shifted his weight away from me for only a moment and I took the opportunity. I rolled away from him and pushed to my feet, trying to reach the iron gates. Maybe he hadn’t locked it, I thought. I was moving faster than I’d ever moved in my life. But it wasn’t quick enough.

  “Not so fast.” He grabbed my leg with a death grip and pulled my feet out from under me. My knees slammed against the concrete floor and my hands reached out to catch my weight. Within a heartbeat, he dragged me backwards toward the center of the cell. My fingernails dug into the dirt as I screamed for help.

  He spun me around and pinned me down with his legs before smashing his fist into my cheek. I’d never felt such acute pain before. It radiated through each of my bones until I thought I’d pass out. But instead of pushing me toward compliance, it fueled my anger. If he wanted to rape and torture me, then he had to kill me first. I wasn’t going to be the helpless girl screaming for help.

  His fingers found the top of my underwear and I fisted my uninjured hand, like they’d taught me in self defense, and thrust it as hard as I could against his nose. I heard bones crack the moment I made contact and he howled back in anger. I didn’t wait for him to respond. I attacked again, twisting his arm at a horribly awkward angle until I heard another pop. He groaned in pain, and then suddenly footsteps echoed down the hall.

  Erian jumped to action and I pulled my jeans up as quickly as possible. He reached for his gun and I scrambled back to a dark corner of the cell. I wanted to be invisible. I knew I would be punished for hurting him. They would torture me even worse now. I crouched down into a ball, willing the floor to open beneath me and swallow me like quicksand.

  �
��Erian, what the hell are you doing?” the guard began in English, and then switched over to spit-fire Albanian. Erian pointed toward me with his arm that wasn’t jutting out at an impossible angle. His tone held fury and I knew I was mere minutes from brutal pain. The other guard pried open the iron door and tugged Erian out, staring toward me with a wary gaze. Was he scared of me? Surprised that I fought Erian when he tried to rape me?

  The two of them scurried away and I was left in the dark corner, wondering when the other shoe would drop. The room smelled of filth and fear. I couldn’t move. I was paralyzed against that corner with my knees tucked under my chin. My hands wrapped around my legs, making my existence as minimal as possible. I slept off and on, unable to relax, knowing my fate was held in the hands of men I wouldn’t trust with an insect’s life.

  Chapter Three

  The next morning, footsteps echoed down the hall and I stayed cowered in the corner. I thought they would have come during the night, but I suppose my death wasn’t worth losing sleep over. Normally, I wouldn’t have been able to keep my eyes open, but fear shot endorphins through my bloodstream, keeping me alert the entire night. I peered through the bars. There were the same four men from yesterday with Loran at the head of the group. He unlocked the door and his eyes swept across the cell until he found me in the corner.

  A range of emotion swept across his face until a brutal scowl rested atop his beautiful features. He wasn’t dressed like he was the day before. He had on a simple white t-shirt tucked into hunter green pants. He looked lethal and fierce. Ready to get his hands dirty just as his disgusting guard had done the night before.