Violent Delights: A Dark Billionaire Romance

by Linnea May

  I furrow my eyebrows and roll my eyes at that idea and turn the card over to see if there’s anything written on the back. There are only two words, written in curly calligraphy: Violent Delights.

  Is that her motto? A promise? I wonder what it means.

  I put the card back in the pocket, and as I continue walking, I am reminded why I ended up in that bar in the first place. Not only is it extremely cold out, but my feet also hurt from all the walking I did earlier. I am not used to wearing heels all day. The only reason I wore them today was because they are the only shoes I have that match my black suit. Out of respect, I wanted to wear something black and formal today because I know Professor Miller would have appreciated it. He was always one for tradition and etiquette. This is my way of showing my respect to him.

  I can practically see his kind and paternal smile.

  A single tear rolls down my cold cheek as my thoughts wander to him. I will miss this man, my boss, my mentor, in some regard. He taught me many things, but most of all, he gave me a place that made me feel stable and secure.

  “Thank you.”

  The words escape my lips in a faint whisper. He thanked me so much, for so many things, even small things, like printing out a simple e-mail. He always wanted his e-mails printed out each morning and placed in a neat pile in the middle of his desk, that’s how old-school he was. If it wasn’t on paper, it wasn’t real.

  I turn up the huge collar of the hideous coat and start walking faster. I’m getting more and more miserable out here in the cold and need to find the next subway station, or call a cab.

  I take in my surroundings. The area I am walking in is empty and scary at night. There are no other pedestrians, and even vehicles appear to be a rarity. It’s time for me to find out exactly where I am so I can get home.

  I stop for a moment, turning and searching for anything that would help me figure it out, a street sign, a bus station. But I can’t seem to find anything.

  Just as I continue hurrying down the sidewalk, I hear a car approaching me from behind. I only notice it because it’s driving at a very slow speed. Other cars have passed by me, but they were traveling at what I would consider to be a normal speed. This one is making me a bit nervous because the driver seems to be slowing down, almost as if he’s following me.

  I don’t dare turn around to look to see if he wants anything from me. That’s rule number one on the street: no eye contact. Instead, I walk even faster and try to exude confidence, indicating that I won’t have his shit and have no interest in talking to him.

  The car keeps following me.

  There’s no corner to turn down, no narrow alley through which I could disappear, no storefront to enter.

  My heart begins to race. What is going on? Should I turn around? Should I yell at him to leave me alone?

  But I don’t get to do any of those things. Before I can do anything, I am grabbed from behind by two incredibly strong arms.

  I gasp in shock, unable to even scream because I am so overwhelmed by the abruptness of everything.

  A man of ample size and strength wraps his arms around me, pulling me off my feet as he proceeds to drag me with him. I lose my balance, my arms helplessly flying up in the air, as I try to regain control.

  And just as I find the will to shriek out in horror, the assailant presses a wet handkerchief over my mouth and nose, forcing me to inhale a pungent substance that turns the world black.

  Chapter 3

  Joseph

  I wonder if this is what normal people feel like before they embark on a first date. The excitement, nervous anticipation of what’s to come. I can’t imagine that their feelings even come close to what I’m feeling when I head out to collect my toy.

  There is never a set day or time, but always a window of when it will happen, a window of five days. I don’t want her to know exactly when it will happen, because it would ruin the surprise and affect her behavior. I want a raw and natural reaction when I take her, actual shock, actual fear.

  However, the woman has to be prepared for me to take her—she has to be in a proper state, clean and waxed, equipped with certain things I want to see when she comes with me.

  And one special item of her choosing. I know she will get lonely at some point, they always do. No matter how well prepared they feel, or how much they actually enjoy being in my possession, they all reach a point when it becomes too much to handle, when they wish for normalcy and a reminder of who they are outside of their temporary cage.

  Whatever it is they need in that moment to calm and reassure themselves, I want them to have it. But just that one item. In some cases, I never found out what the woman had chosen to bring with her. Other times, it turned out to be obvious, such as a stuffed animal, a certain item of clothing, or some kind of memento. I may do unspeakable things to them, but I will never strip them of this one item. It’s one of the clear lines that I draw for myself, the line I draw to keep them sane and connected to the outer world.

  Most of them expect me to come for them in the dark, which is why they scurry through the streets like little rabbits that are being chased, always throwing hurried looks over their shoulder to see if someone is following them. It’s fun to watch, but I never catch them this way. They feel safer during the day, while they’re out running mundane errands such as grocery shopping, or chatting with neighbors as they walk their dogs. They never check behind their backs then, and while it is harder to kidnap a woman during broad daylight, there is always a window of opportunity, a brief moment when they are oblivious and not expecting it, but they’re also out of sight of others.

  The perfect moment to seize them.

  That moment hasn’t happened with this one yet. My current prey is a perfect Barbie doll with blonde hair and svelte curves, who goes by the name Ruby Red. She is not only easily recognizable because of her striking red fur coat, but also very alert. The coat is her one distinctive feature, the token that sets her apart from everyone else.

  Just like all the women before her, she was instructed to move around outside as much as possible—at least six hours per day, any time of the day, day or night—but she wasn’t supposed to draw attention by doing anything too out of the ordinary. She doesn’t have a day job that I’m keeping her away from—she is a full time escort, just like the others.

  Ruby appears to be a true night owl, and it’s obvious she has no intention of changing her habits. I have been observing her for three days, and she’s rarely outside before dusk. Tonight is no different. Much to my dismay, she has frequented a shit hole bar every single night since I started watching her. I don’t like drinkers, something I clearly stated in my requirements. Nothing about her profile indicated she drank, so I am assuming it’s new, perhaps something she developed this week to cope with the stress that comes with an arrangement like this. She seemed a lot more harried than any of the others, more frazzled, more worried. Definitely flighty – none of the others have spent as much time looking around as she does, moving like a nervous squirrel. Just tonight, she scurried down the street before disappearing into that bar, her refuge of choice, it seems.

  I considered following her inside, to do things a little different than I have with the others. But that would be breaking protocol. I hate breaking the rules, especially the ones I’ve set up for myself, and the rules clearly state that it has to framed as an abduction with no prior contact. No chit-chat, no winking, not even any looking at her face. I like the mystery of not knowing.

  I want to see her face at the same time she sees her cage for the first time. It’s a magical moment, one of the best, and almost better than some of the orgasms I will enjoy with her.

  And it can only be that special if I don’t know too much beforehand. The girls are always asked to hide their faces behind a fabric mask that covers most of their features. It may be awkward for them to walk around like this, but that’s not my concern.

  It is equally important that they don’t see me coming. Ruby, with her c
onstant turning and watching and searching, was a little annoying in that regard. She is making it surprisingly easy tonight, though I am not prepared when she suddenly darts out of the bar half an hour sooner than she usually does. I only notice her when she has already turned her back to me, walking in hurried steps and, for a change, not looking anywhere but straight ahead, as she practically flees from the bar.

  What’s going on with her? Did she get in trouble? Did someone harass her?

  I start the car and follow her, as I always do. Usually, I have to be extremely careful because of her nervous behavior, but tonight she doesn’t waste a second looking behind her. She seems to be acting differently.

  And it offers me the perfect opportunity.

  Chapter 4

  Joseph

  She struggles a lot more than any of the others have. Her desperate attempts to fend me off are like an unsuspecting victim who is trying everything to prevent the inevitable. If I hadn’t pressed the soaked cloth against her face fast enough, she would have yelled out for help, even though that’s not part of the plan. She can struggle, she can try to fend me off, but she cannot make any noise to attract the attention of bystanders.

  Her limbs go soft within seconds, and all her weight drops into my arms as she loses consciousness. I have to act fast because she won’t be out for long, and I’m not too familiar with this part of town. There could be people walking by any moment now.

  I quickly drag her over to the car, lift her up and lay her down on the backseat. I scan my surroundings to make sure no one witnessed this, before hurrying over to the driver’s side, positioning myself behind the wheel.

  My pulse is racing when I push down on the gas pedal and drive away from the scene as fast as possible. This rush of adrenalin is all part of it. The worry about getting caught, her short but intense struggle, having her in the back of my car, helpless, and soon to be at my mercy. The entire time I’m driving to my place, I’m worried that someone might follow us, or someone might see her motionless body in the back seat when I have to stop at a red light. Anything. There are so many things that could go wrong.

  But none of them happen.

  Her daze will only last long enough for me to get her home. I glance back at her through the rear mirror time and again, just to make sure that she really is still passed out. Some of them don’t inhale enough and simply faint due to the shock of being abducted. In those cases, they awaken within five minutes, and it’s always a risk without any restraints.

  But in her case, the drug seems to have worked. She doesn’t wake up the entire drive. It takes almost an hour for me to get out of the city and reach my residence on the outskirts.

  My domestic staff has been informed that this week marks the beginning of another “thirty-nine,” a code word they invented to let each other know. None of them know the full extent of what I do with these women, but they are up to speed with as many details as they need to know. They know about the agency and the kind of services I take advantage of. They have to know the bare minimum so I can have the space I need, that we need.

  But they don’t have to know everything about it, and most of them don’t—or wouldn’t—even want to. They merely think of it as me having a secretive play partner for thirty-nine days every so often. “Thirty-nine” is their signal to stay out of my way as much as possible. None of them ever enter the uppermost floor, and only one of my staff has ever even seen the rooms up there. Marcus, the head of my cleaning crew, had to sign a full disclosure agreement before I hired him for this particular job, so if he ever jabbers to anyone about it, he understands the seriousness of the consequences he will be dealt.

  The house is completely empty tonight, just as I have asked. My staff won’t return until I call for them. My beautiful renovated Victorian mansion awaits at the end of the dark driveway, seemingly harmless, but filled with all the tools I need to fulfill my darkest desires.

  I park the car in the driveway and pause for a moment, my eyes glued to the rearview mirror. I can see her laying on the back seat, still unconscious and unaware of what will happen to her over the next thirty-nine days. She may have signed up for this voluntarily, she may even be into this sort of thing —or she is just here to endure a little more than a month of tortuous and sadistic hardship in exchange for an amount of money unattainable through traditional means. After this, she may never have to work again, if she doesn’t want to.

  Eventually, I will get to know all about her, her secrets, her fears, her desires, her dreams. I will be as close to her as anyone has ever been before, and I will make her do things she never thought possible. I will expose a new side of her, a side that will be exclusively mine. Forever. Even after we’re done here, that side will remain with me, and she will share things with me that she would never share with anyone else.

  They all do.

  It’s all part of it. The pain, the sex, the intimacy, the humiliation, the revelation.

  My impatient body craves her without even having seen her face. The tension of the first few days is one of the best parts. It may take days until I fuck her, but my cock is already yearning to be buried deeply inside her, straining painfully against its fabric cage, as I get out of the car and walk around to the passenger side.

  The first thing I notice when I open the door to the back seat is that she’s not wearing her mask. I can only see parts of her face because it’s hidden behind the massive collar of her fur coat and her tousled hair.

  I only catch a glimpse before I tear my eyes away, cursing as I turn around.

  Why the fuck is she not wearing her mask?

  I avert my eyes and wonder what I should do. She isn’t even inside the house yet, but she has already amassed two strikes for punishment. Drinking and forgetting to wear her mask. This hasn’t happened before.

  Breathe, I tell myself. I clench my fists in anger and close my eyes, as I take in three deep, cleansing breaths to calm myself.

  She will get punished, but in due time. And I won’t ruin this for myself by looking at her face before I am ready, before it’s time.

  I grunt with anger as I take off my scarf and open the door to the car again, making sure not to look directly at her as I wrap the garment around her face.

  Done.

  I saved myself from immense disappointment, and cannot help but smile as I carry her inside, eagerness building in my gut for the actual reveal.

  Chapter 5

  Liana

  I feel as if I’ve drowned in a big puddle of mud, immersed in a numbing darkness that pulsates inside me and around me like the heart of a giant beast. When I try to open my eyes, they refuse, as do my limbs when I try to move. They lay limp and heavy on the ground, as I realize that I am sprawled out on a wooden floor, unable to move or even see where I am.

  There is no sound and no light, but there is pain. I have a blazing headache.

  As I try again to open my heavy eyelids, I realize they are covered by something that’s been wrapped around my head. A soft and warm piece of fabric that’s pressed tightly against my skin, pushing my eyes shut and only leaving a small slit right below my mouth to allow me to breathe.

  What the hell is this? What happened? Where am I?

  I want to verbalize all these questions, but I can’t. When I try to speak, I’m suffocated by the same scarf that’s keeping my eyes shut. I need to get it off of me.

  A strange-sounding groan leaves my mouth when I send another command for my arms to lift. This time, they obey. My hands feel as heavy as dumbbells when I move them up to my face to remove the blinding scarf. I expect there to be light once I manage to unwrap my head as well as I can without lifting my tired and throbbing head, but there is hardly any. I’m still consumed by darkness.

  I find myself staring around a very dimly lit room when the scarf is removed. The only thing I can see clearly is a ceiling far above me, and a pitch of the roof to my side. A single light bulb is dangling from the ceiling and providing what little light there is.
It provides nothing more than a low glimmer that helps me recognize contours and vague orientation of the room around me.

  Wherever I am, it’s in a room on the uppermost floor of a rather old building with high ceilings and a wooden floor.

  I remain on the floor, as if my body was nailed down to it. A terrible sense of foreboding sends trickles of fear through my veins, and it forbids me from moving.

  Where is this? How did I get here?

  I lazily turn my head to the side, only to find an empty wall about three feet away from me. There is nothing there, only a wall.

  But then I notice something.

  I’m not alone.

  I hear another breath joining the faint sound of mine.

  I roll my head to the other side and almost let out a shriek of panic when I see him. Suddenly, my entire body is painfully awake and my mind suddenly aware of the danger I might be in.

  I jerk up to a sitting position so suddenly that I escape unconsciousness only by a whisker. An aching vertigo claims me as I tumble backward until my back is brushing against the empty wall, and I hold up one hand in a silly attempt of protection.

  A short and violent cry fills the room as I try to cope with everything at once, the confusion, the pain in my head, that fucking dizziness, and the realization that there is a strange man sitting at the other end of the room.

  Who the hell is he? Did he bring me here?

  For what seems like an agonizingly long time, we just stare at each other while tense silence stretches between us. My eyes needed a while to get accustomed to the dim lighting, but now that they are, I cannot only detect the shape of the man sitting across from me, but I also get a better picture of the room we’re in. It’s small, the roof sloping on three sides, and there is only one very small window, which appears to be closed with a shade on the outside. An attic, that’s what this must be. I am in someone’s attic.