by Henry, Jane
Savage Dom: A Dark Romance
Savage Island Book One
Jane Henry
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Previews
About the author
Prologue
Finley Morose pulled up an article on his phone and read it one last time. His pale, too-thin lips pulled back in a smile and his gray eyes glittered like granite.
“She’s the one,” he said. His heavy frame, swathed in a luxurious custom-made suit, rocked in his desk chair, and he ran a hand through his snowy white hair.
“You sure?” Jay Hunter sat across from him, dressed in a neatly pressed military uniform, his face cast in shadow.
“Positive.”
Morose stood from his desk, laced his fingers behind his back, and paced the room slowly, his heavy jowls swinging as he walked, his voice shaky with age and excitement. “She’s so perfect for my plan—our plan, it’s as if fate herself has orchestrated this, offered her to me for my very own.” He waved a hand toward Hunter. “Read that section I highlighted in her latest article.”
Hunter cleared his throat and read aloud. “Though modern-day society’s fascination with sadism glorifies the disorder, romanticizing the disease as a form of sexual fantasy, wide-spread psychological evidence is clear: sadists need mental help. Even the mildest forms of pain play can lead to a deeper need to hurt a loved one, and it’s time we put an end to the glorification of such base acts.”
Morose chuckled. “Mental health indeed. Base acts. If she had any idea. It’s so obvious, it’s almost comical. She’s been demonizing the alpha male in her column now for months and vilifying dominant men. She’s earned widespread anger from certain crowds and applause from others. It’s why you earmarked her, no?”
Hunter nodded. “Yeah. It is.” He looked down at his hands.
“Then why the hesitation?”
Hunter huffed out a breath. “Because when word gets out about what you’ve done—and if I’m implicated in any way—”
Morose slammed his palms on the desk, his glittering eyes nearly bulging out of his reddened face. “They will laud me as a fucking genius and give you the highest honors. We will go down in history.”
Hunter drew in a deep breath, then let it out again but didn’t talk. He wasn’t so sure.
People had died. People had fucking died because of Morose’s insane plan, and he’d implicated more than Hunter. Scientists had taken the bait, padding their bank accounts with his tainted millions, actors had agreed to stage the cruise. Technicians orchestrating what he needed, valuing money over humanity.
Morose continued. “I’ve spent my entire life’s work leading up to this moment. To this very experiment. And I won’t have you backing out now. Not when I’ve invested everything I own in this operation.”
Hunter blew out a breath, and Morose waved a hand in his direction. “Give me her specs.”
Hunter opened up a file on a tablet on his lap. “Five foot five, red hair, and hazel eyes.” He looked up at Morose. “She’s fair and will burn easily.”
Morose grinned. “That ups the stakes, though, you see. Go on.”
Hunter’s jaw tightened before he continued. “Never been married. Works for The Times, but we can arrange for that to change. I have connections. She’s somewhat private, has no real friends to speak of. She’s been working in investigative journalism for the past year, though right out of college she worked for a few tabloids.”
“Of course, she did. Family?”
“Almost all dead,” he says.
“Almost?”
“She has a younger brother she has custody of, but he’s in state care.”
Morose scowled and nodded. “We will arrange to take care of that situation.” His eyes grew bright while he rubbed his chin in concentration.
“What did she find in her research?” he muttered. “Does she fantasize about being tied up and dominated when she’s alone at night? Are the very perversions she decries publicly the ones she conjures up in bed, with the shades drawn, under the cover of sheets?”
Hunter shifted uncomfortably. “Sir, that’s far outside of our interest. I don’t—”
Morose interrupted impatiently. “They may not interest you, but they interest me. Are the men ready?”
Hunter sighed, then nodded. “More than ready, sir. There are three left.” He shook his head, a note of sadness in his voice. “It worked better than we even hoped. They’re damn near feral.”
“All of them?”
“All of them.”
Morose grinned. “Find her. You know what to do.”
One
Harper
“Holy shite,” Malorie says, walking into the break room holding a huge golden envelope. “Babe, this is addressed to you, and just arrived via certified mail.”
I look up from my novel and place my fork down in my salad bowl.
“If it arrived via certified mail, why are you holding it instead of me?” I ask her, more curious than upset with her. This girl is so annoying sometimes.
“Oh, I forged your signature,” she says, waving her hand at me. I grunt at her and shoot her a disapproving look, but it seems to be lost on her. “Open it!”
I take the large, rather ostentatious envelope in hand, pursing my lips and looking at it. There’s no return address, and the front is embossed in thick, black letters. I flip it over, sliding my finger under the flap, but it doesn’t budge easily. Malorie watches me, and I swear she’s holding her breath.
“Don’t you have some hot celebrity to interview or something?” I ask her.
She sighs, rolling her eyes. “Not until next Monday, and I want to see what this is. C’mon, don’t be a stick in the mud.”
I bristle. Not the first time I’ve heard that one.
“Fine,” I say, finishing the final tear on the envelope. I blink in confusion at the message. “I’m sorry, but I think you got excited over nothing.” I roll my eyes at her. “It’s just some sort of Publisher’s Clearing House thing, Mal. Like some kinda hoax.”
Blinking in confusion, she takes it in her hand and reads it, her wide brown eyes growing as large as saucers.
“This is not a hoax, babe,” she says. “It’s from Paradise Cruise Lines.”
“So?”
“So?” she repeats. “Is the rock you live under really that big?”
I huff out a breath and cross my arms on my chest. “Apparently. Spill.”
“Paradise Cruise Lines are legit. They’re one of the biggest luxury cruise lines in the country. How can you call yourself a reporter and not know this?” She waves the envelope under my nose as if I just got the golden ticket to Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory.
“Of course, I’ve heard of them,” I tell her. “But did you read this? They’re saying I won an all-inclusive two-week cruise. That’s huge. And there’s no way I won that. Hell, I didn’t even enter anything.” I shake my head, dismissing her and turning back to my book. “It’s a scam.”
But she’s ignoring me while she reads on. “Um, this is not a hoax,” she says. She shakes her head at me, pulls out her cell phone, and dials.
“Hello? Hi, my name is Harper Lake, and I’m calling about a letter
I received via certified mail?”
I glare at her, but she ignores me, plowing on. “I don’t recall entering to win such an amazing prize,” she says, glaring right back at me. “Can you tell me how I got entered to win?”
Her eyes go wide. “Ohhh,” she says. “Can you hold just a minute?”
She places her call on mute, then hisses to me, “You went to Vegas recently, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” I say, giving her a curious look. It was a business trip and brief, only three days long. “So?”
“So? The hotel where you stayed at had a massive giveaway they were doing, and the grand prize was this all-inclusive vacation.”
I blink at her in confusion, then swallow hard. “Really?”
God, I need a vacation. I so need a vacation. I’ve done nothing but work and care for my brother now for months, since that Vegas work trip she’s asking me about. It was the last trip I took out of my office in San Diego, but it was rushed and cut short when I had to come home to my brother. It was hardly a vacation.
If this is actually true… if this were actually legit… I would love this.
I take the envelope from her hand while she finishes her call, not even listening to what she’s saying, and pull out my phone. I type in the name of the cruise line, then add all-inclusive cruise prize.
Several hits immediately come up, with five-star reviews and people talking about how in previous years they won this very cruise.
“It was life-changing,” one article reads. “The most luxurious vacation of my life. Exactly what I needed for some respite.”
I read on, story after story of people saying how amazing this cruise was. And for the first time in so long I don’t even remember, something that resembles hope blossoms in my chest, and my throat tightens.
“Did I really win?” I ask Mal.
She grabs my hands and squeezes. “Babe. You so did. Now call them before I call them and pretend to be you and go myself!”
I sigh. “But what about Daniel?”
“Honey, your brother’s in good hands. You need to let the good people who take care of him take care of him. Go recharge yourself and when you come back, all this shit will still be here waiting for you.” She smiles sweetly and I playfully smack her arm.
“Gee. Thanks.”
“I mean it, babe,” she says. “He’ll be fine.”
He will, I guess. I mean they’ll make sure he’s fed and gets his rest and sees his doctors, though no one quite knows what he needs the way I do. They don’t know how he likes his hot chocolate or how his bedsheets need to be tucked in just right, or how we’re only on the seventh chapter of The Prisoner of Azkaban and we’re supposed to read chapter eight tonight, or where to find the seamless socks that don’t drive him crazy.
“Will I have phone access?”
She snorts. “Of course, you will. And Wi-Fi. None of these places are off the grid anymore.”
“You sure about that?”
“Pretty sure,” she says with so much confidence, I actually let myself believe her.
“But what if—”
“Harper.”
I stop and look at her. “Yes?” My throat feels strangely tight, my nose a little tingly, and I’m not sure why.
“Please, honey. Do this for yourself. Don’t just do it for you. Do it for all those women you write for every single damn day. You’re the one championing women’s rights, no? You’re the one who speaks to the plight of the working mother, the overtired stay-at-home mom. You’re the one preaching self-care and neglecting your very own. You’re not a hypocrite, are you?”
I huff out indignantly. God, this woman knows how to push my buttons.
“Of course not,” I mutter.
“Then do this. And while you’re gone you can bring your laptop and write all about how important it is to take time for yourself and replenish, and how to champion rights for those of us stuck back here in the office.”
I finally nod, take a deep breath in, then let it out slowly. “Okay. Alright. Okay, I can do this.”
She hands me my phone, and with trembling fingers, I dial.
Two
Harper
I sit beside Daniel in the crowded cafeteria, reach for the straw for his chocolate milk, and remove the wrapper.
“How long, Harper?” he asks, his wide, innocent brown eyes looking at me with concern etched in the depths. Daniel, at fifteen years old, is ten years younger than I am and the spitting image of our father. Tall and thin, with a wild shock of light brown hair that frames his freckled, oval face, it’s almost startling to me how much he looks like dad when I pause to think about it. But Daniel’s eyes will always be innocent, his voice always childlike, and he’ll never grow to mental maturity.
“Two weeks, honey. Fourteen days,” I say gently. This was the part of going away I dreaded the most, telling my baby brother that I’d be gone for a little while. Since the accident, when I became his legal guardian, he’s lost the ability to track time.
“But it’s my birthday,” Daniel says sadly, his whole body drooping in resignation.
I smile sadly. “Sweetie, your birthday’s—”
But Adrianna, the petite spitfire staff member who loves Daniel arguably as much as I do interrupts me. “I bought you a cupcake with sprinkles, and we’ll sing to you in a bit, okay?”
I give her a grateful smile. It isn’t Daniel’s birthday until December, but every day he likes to think it’s his special day.
“And won’t we have a good time while she’s traveling? Hmm?” Adrianna says. She gives him an affectionate look while she takes his lunch tray, then leans over and ruffles his hair. Her dark hair, tied in a messy ponytail, flounces when she nods her head. A little older than I am, having just celebrated her thirtieth birthday, Adrianna came to this country from the Dominican Republic as a child, but still has the faintest trace of an accent. “Sweetheart, your sister works hard and deserves a little break. While she’s gone, lucky you, you get to spend more time with me.” She’s fiercely independent and loyal to her core, and it gives me immeasurable relief to know she’ll be taking care of him in my absence.
Daniel almost smiles, his lips turning up at the edges but his eyes still sad.
“You’re not my sister,” he says to her. Adrianna and I share a look and a sigh, and my own eyes water.
Maybe I shouldn’t do this after all. But before I can open my mouth, Adrianna steps in. “I’m not your sister, honey,” she says. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you. And I will take the very best care of you I can. Got it?” My throat tightens. God, I’m a mess.
He sighs. She continues. “I’ll even play that game you love. What is it?” She rolls her eyes with mock frustration. “Chinese something?”
“Chinese checkers,” he says, his eyes lighting up. “And I’ll win.”
I glance at my watch. Maybe it was a mistake coming here on my way to my vacation. My stomach clenches with nerves, and there’s a lump the size of a golf ball in my throat. I hate this.
“Ha! I’m not as nice as your sister,” Adrianna says, whisking a rag across the tabletop. “I don’t throw games.”
“Hey! I do not throw the games!” I protest, but I’m only teasing, because Daniel gets a kick out of the two of us bantering. Predictably, he cracks a real smile.
Adrianna continues. “Now you sit here and wait for your dessert while I walk your sister out. Give her a big hug before she goes, and before you even blink your eyes, she’ll be back.”
He frowns, blinks, and shakes his head. “It doesn’t work that way,” he says. “That isn’t true.” Figurative language is sometimes lost on him.
I walk to him, marveling at how much he’s grown and tousle his hair. “You’re like a full head taller than I am now,” I muse. “When did I tell you that was okay?”
He laughs good-naturedly, but when he leans down to hug me, he holds me so tightly in his embrace that I wince a little.
“I’ll miss you,” he say
s. “I will miss you so so much. Call me?”
“Of course, I will,” I tell him. “Whenever I have a connection, I’ll call you.”
“Pinky swear?”
“Pinky swear.”
Letting me go, he wraps his larger pinky around my own and shakes. I swallow hard and pull him to me again, burying my face on his chest. He wears a faded Black Sabbath tee that’s too tight around the arms and almost too short, but it’s his favorite, the memory of my dad’s obsession with classic rock fading as much as the tee.
I can’t bear to take it away from him. It’s hard enough leaving him in the care of someone else, but with his seizure condition I have no choice. And they take good care of him here. His residency is set up like a well-furnished home, with large dining tables in the dining room, comfortable furniture in the living room, each bedroom private with its own bathroom, only there are nurses here around the clock, transportation, plus doctors and therapists who pay frequent visits. Daniel is one of the more high-functioning people here, others in wheelchairs and still others more seriously mentally disabled. But for all his innocence and abilities, leaving him makes me ache inside.
I sigh and hold him tighter. Daniel is the only one I have left after the accident, and knowing I’m leaving him almost makes it impossible to go.
But how can I champion self-care and women’s rights if I don’t take my own advice? Adrianna and Mal are right. I haven’t had a vacation since I took over guardianship of Daniel. Still, it doesn’t make it easy.
I sigh for the umpteenth time.
This vacation is free. It seems almost irresponsible not to take this opportunity.
It’s time.
“You’ll be fine,” I whisper, because I’m afraid if I speak out loud, I’ll cry.