by Linzi Basset
HIS DEVIL’S MERCY
Club Devil’s Cove - Book 4
By
Linzi Basset
Copyright © 2018 Linzi Basset - All rights reserved
His Devil’s Mercy
Copyright © 2018 Linzi Basset
Editor: Anumeha Gokhale
Proofread: Kemberlee Snelling, Marie Vyer, Melanie Marnell
& Janine Janse van Rensburg
Published & cover Design by: Linzi Basset
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, business establishments, or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Linzi Basset has asserted her rights under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work. All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book/Book only. No part of this e-book/Book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner whatsoever without prior written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Warning: This book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. This book is for sale to adults only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase.
Disclaimer: Neither the publisher nor the authors will be responsible for any loss, harm, injury, or death resulting from use of the information contained in this book.
Contents
Author’s Note
Preface
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Excerpt: His Devil’s Chains
Club Devil’s Cove
More Books By Linzi Basset
About the Author
Stalk Me
Author’s Note
Dear Reader,
Club Devil’s Cove is a spin-off from Club Alpha Cove, featuring powerful men—Ruark Greer and Bracus LeLuc, Rhone Greer and Keon LeLuc.
Please note that books 1 & 2 must be read in sequence. Although, the rest are stand-alone novels, featuring the protagonists involved in the series; they are best enjoyed in sequence.
For your reference, please find books 1 – 4 blurbs at the back of the book.
His Devil’s Mercy, book 4, Max Shaw realizes that life doesn’t come with any guarantees and is forced to make the most difficult decision in his life.
Things Maximilian Shaw says:
“Horny, baby?”
Joanne blushed.
Horny was putting it mildly. Max was a weakness, her body refused to give up. Her life, for one reason or another always circled back to him.
Sometimes he saved her. Sometimes she saved him.
“Whatever makes you think I’m done with you, baby?”
Max was also insatiable—a ferocious lover and a devilish Dom. Fantasy material as he was, for a lot of subs at the Club Devil’s Cove, his hungry eyes were squarely on Joanne, who wore kink like she was born for it. She brought out something in him that no one else could. Max wanted to keep her safe from the danger still looming on the horizon. But who would save her . . . from Max?
“Mercy? When it comes to you and me, there’s no mercy, luv. For neither of us.”
As the dance of passion ensues, Max and Joanne must find the trust and resilience to weather the storm headed their way. The decisions that Max makes now, will decide the difference between life and death. Will he find the strength to deliver them through the vicious spiral of lies and espionage? Or will their hopes crash and burn?
And ultimately, who will save them . . . from themselves?
Editor’s Note: Best one. Yet. Excuse the typos in this book. #OneHandEdit #HornyMax
Wishing you all well and trust you will enjoy this story.
Best Regards
Linzi Basset
Preface
Club Devil’s Cove
The series you've all been waiting for. Rhone & Keon's stories.
If you liked Club Alpha Cove - this is the series for you!
Club Devil’s Cove is situated on the secluded, private Estate of Rhone Greer at the edge of Harmony Hall Park on the banks of Broad Creek, a tributary of the Potomac River in Washington DC. His best friend Keon LeLuc is co-owner and together they built a BDSM club to offer a safe and secure environment for members to practice their kink.
In this series we meet Rhone Greer and Keon LeLuc’s friends, Jack Blackmore, Max Shaw, Lance Talbot, and Ethan Brodie, who under the disguise of their company Precision Secure, run undercover ops for the President of the United States. Along the way we meet their Governor friend, Alex White, Mistress Pamela Seeger, who is in charge of the club’s legal aspects, Bruce Rickett, Keon’s cousin, war veteran Richard Almar, and the Club Manager, Wade Moore. Everyone, as dominant and powerful as the other.
During this series of take-no-prisoners suspense novels, we come to know each of the Senior Masters - big, dominant men and their strong, sassy women, along with their kinks, who you will either love or hate, as they carry on with their lives and fight against the pernicious grasp of crime syndicates, corruption, death and violence they were exposed to.
Catch up on Club Alpha Cove if you haven’t read it yet. Also available on Kindle Unlimited.
Click here to start reading now:
http://amzn.to/2wSmBnQ
Prologue
Nadqan, Saudi Arabia . . . one year ago.
The cruel sun beat down—its malevolent eye unblinking, and the sky—its co-conspirator, offered not even a wisp of cloud to soften the harsh rays.
“Finish up,” the guard growled behind them.
Joanne looked at the women, huddled together in an effort to maintain some modicum of decency as they relieved themselves under the ever-watchful eyes of the ten guards. Worse than the lack of privacy, was the fact that the women were filthy and smelled of sex. They looked defeated and demoralized, with their shoulders hunched and eyes fearful of what lay ahead of the rolling dunes.
“Enough! Get back on the fucking truck,” the guard bellowed.
He grabbed the woman closest to him by her hair and shoved her in the direction of the vehicles. She tripped with her panties still around her ankles, drawing derisive laughter from the men. Their hungry eyes glimmered when the loose tunic drifted above her hips as she tumbled to the ground, exposing her naked buttocks to their leering gazes.
“Forget that. There’s no time,” Tarik warned the two guards who yanked her to her feet and started fondling her breasts.
“Why the fuck not? What’s the rush?” The other guard, named Butros, grunted.
Joanne had been careful to keep her face blank. If they knew she understood Arabic, it might put them on guard even more than they already were. It had become evident that the Bedouin Sheikh of the Qara Tribe had paid millions of dollars for the group of twenty women—to serve as sex slaves for him and his friends.
She hadn’t participated in the conjecture by
the other women on their fate. As a professor of anthropology, she knew better than most, what that would be—especially in a country such as Saudi Arabia. A cash-rich land, thanks to oil interests, the country was home to sleek, modern cities and technological advances, yet religious law governed all aspects of Saudi Arabia’s culture, making this nation a study in contradiction. Their rich culture was shaped by Islamic beliefs and its historical role as an ancient trade center, but there was the other side of the coin. There was no freedom—political, religious, or of speech. In fact, it was deemed as one of the most repressive regimes in recent history. Women had little or no rights whatsoever.
What chance of survival did any of us have? We’ll be treated like dirt, used without dignity and respect; Slaves for perverted sexual pleasures of the rich.
It is well documented that in Saudi Arabia, women are considered second class citizens and treated like children, rather than adults. They’re required to dress in black from head to toe, and need permission from a male guardian to work, to marry, even to simply leave their home.
Gmphf, I guess as sex slaves we’re not classed at all, which is why we’re dressed in these fucking transparent smocks!
“The sheikh wants us to deliver his merchandise by tomorrow morning. We can’t delay any further.” Sneering, the guard yanked her out of her reverie. She had to scramble to avoid the sting of his crop as he continued to herd the women toward the truck.
Joanne was aware that the Saudi Arabian Peninsula was the home of Bedouins—nomadic tribes of the desert—but was surprised that there were some still residing in the desert. Many had given up life in the sand dunes and opted for a more modern lifestyle in the cities. Joanne had been trying her best to keep the women from falling into complete despair and keep their spirits up. It hadn’t been easy, considering she was the only one in the group to have miraculously escaped getting raped by the guards, who had been gorging themselves every night on the defenseless women.
She settled in, shifting around irritably. They’d been driving for days. They were bruised from the bumpy ride and covered in a layer of sand and sweat. Her listless eyes found a lizard that had taken shelter in the shadows of a rock, where the sand wasn’t hot enough to roast him. She sighed, wishing that the guards had enough humanity to cover the back of the truck with a canvas at least, to offer them some protection from the sun.
I guess we can count our lucky stars they prefer a modern mode of transport. It would’ve been twice as bad on the back of camels.
The thought did little to soothe her when the truck pulled away with a jerk to continue the monotonous journey, surrounded by the rolling sand dunes.
Soon, the scorching sun beat down on them mercilessly. Joanne felt the sweat rolling off her nose and she lapped at the salty moistness. Her eyes stung from the blaring streaks of the sun.
“Fucking hate this heat,” she mumbled as she pulled at the smock which felt overwhelmingly hot. The dry desert breeze offered little consolation as it blew sand into her eyes. Her hair was sweaty and felt brittle.
“Bastards didn’t even give us water,” Morgan, one of the women who refused to be broken by the guards, complained.
Joanne didn’t respond. She had learned to preserve every drop of moisture she had; talking diminished the spittle in your mouth. Her tongue felt like it was coated in fur. She ran her tongue over her lips and shuddered at how chapped and dry they felt.
“What I wouldn’t do for a glass of crystal clear, cold water,” Morgan moaned, which a number of the women echoed; others, just stared blankly ahead.
* * * * * * * *
Two weeks later . . .
“How much longer, Dabir?” Kasim Ansar, Vizier to Sheikh Lufti bin Qara, barked. “The sheikh is losing his patience with your inability to tame his slave.”
Dabir glared at Joanne where she hung weakly in the chains hooked to the rafters of the underground cell. She’d been strung up with her feet off the ground. Her arms felt like they were about to be torn off their sockets. Her hands were cramping, trying to alleviate the strain on her wrists as her body weight kept pulling her down. She’d been bound since their arrival at the surprisingly neat and modern compound at Nadqan.
“She’s weakening. It won’t take much more to break her spirit. Tell my brother he can have his aphrodisiac cocktail in the meant time. This bitch will spread her legs willingly for his sword before the end of the day.”
“She better. He paid the most for this one and he’s tired of waiting. He said it doesn’t matter if she is half-dead when you bring her, just to make sure she accepted that he is now her master.”
Joanne noticed the cruel excitement that lit up her tormentor’s black eyes at the leniency the sheikh had just granted him. She’d suspected her defiance had been the reason she’d been ‘softened’ in this way and not drugged into submission like some of the other women had been. From what she’d overheard, the demented sheikh wanted her as wife and therefore desired her consent. It didn’t matter that it was forced as long as she bowed freely to his will.
“Then so it shall be,” Dabir cackled gleefully as Kasim left. He picked up a cat-o-nine tail whip and cracked it in air.
Joanne winced as she detected the sound of metal connecting. She realized that the whip’s lashes were tipped with metal balls, intended for maximum pain. She licked her lips as he walked around her, snapping the thongs softly against her naked skin, already covered in blue welts due to the constant whippings and floggings he’d subjected her to. She was weakened, but not as much as Dabir believed her to be. She still had enough strength in her to fight him—if she could get out of the fucking chains.
“No, please. Not that. I’ll stop fighting! I swear. I’ll be whatever the Sheikh wants me to be,” Joanne managed to shriek in a thin voice, her eyes wide and begging, with her body shuddering in the restraints.
“I’m not so sure I believe you,” Dabir snorted. He pressed his face into hers. “Do you really think I’m going to deny myself the pleasure of watching you buck and scream under my whip? Especially now that I know how much you fear this one.”
“I’ll tell the sheikh! Do you really think he’ll be happy to know you gave him a bloodied body when he could have had a willing wife to ride his cock like he desires?” Joanne countered him.
She’d overheard enough during her capture to know that Dabir feared his brother. She didn’t blame him. The rumors she’d heard were enough to make her shudder. Sheikh Lufti wasn’t known for being benevolent. Hah. But, since she’d overheard that he wanted to make her his fourth wife, it began to make sense why the Sheikh Lufti hadn’t chosen to ‘tame’ her himself. In some demented way, he believed she would be more susceptible to her fate if he wasn’t the one dishing out the cruelty. The sheikh had made it clear that she had to remain untouched by the guards and brought to him pure. She’d almost laughed aloud listening to that, wondering what had given him the idea that she was a virgin.
Dabir hesitated and glowered at her. “You’re trying to trick me. It won’t work, bitch.”
“No, please. I’ve had enough,” she whined fearfully, bearing back as he swung the whip in her direction again. Her breath wheezed out of her throat as this time the thongs connected with a lot more sting. “I swear I will be willing. I’ll do anything he asks of me!”
“I’m warning you, if my brother isn’t satisfied with your performance, there won’t be any skin left on your body when I’m done with you.”
Joanne shook her head and sobbed. “I’ll be good, I swear. Please, I beg you.”
Dabir fisted her hair and yanked back her head. He spat into her face, “You better be and be warned, slut, Lufti has decided that you are to be his bride. It’s an honor that others would kill for. That’s why he doesn’t want you unwilling. He wants his people to believe in your willingness and purity. Is that clear?”
“Yes, I’ll do whatever the sheikh asks of me.”
Dabir stared at her. She could see he was debating whether to
believe her or not. She intensified her sobs, forcing tears to roll down her cheeks. He nodded in satisfaction.
“Very well. Tarik!” he shouted at the head guard, who came running immediately. “Get her down and take her to the washroom. Make sure every inch of her is clean. She’s broken, but I don’t trust her. Make sure the guards keep watch while the women attend to her.”
“Of course, Ustaaz Dabir,” he said as he unshackled Joanne’s wrists. She slumped weakly against his chest. He bent forward and lifted her over his shoulder.
“And Tarik, make sure she has no hair on her body. Not one tuft anywhere. That task is yours to personally take care of,” Dabir ordered with a smirk.
“It’ll be my pleasure, Dabir,” Tarik cackled as he carried Joanne toward the bathing chamber in an adjacent wing of the mansion.
Joanne wondered why they still found as much pleasure in debasing her; especially as she’d been naked for weeks and had been subjected to their greasy hands all over and inside her body. She felt bile rise in her throat at the memory of Tarik’s thick fingers pressing between her labia to ‘test’ if she was big enough for their mighty sheikh.
“Ah, the sheikh is going to have a tight and wet ride with this cunt, Dabir,” Tarik bellowed as he plunged his fingers inside her. “She’s as tight as a holed-up desert snake.”
She spat in his face, which earned her a hard backhand across her cheek.
The slap had been so hard, it took more than a week for the swelling to go down.
Tarik lowered her to her feet. Joanne whimpered as her legs gave way and she crumbled to the floor. She was weaker than she’d thought. Maybe getting clean and fed first would give her limbs some time to recover. She needed to gain enough strength if she wanted to fight her way out of this hellhole.