Naked Nights

by Vonna Harper

  The window. Dive through it while keeping the knife away from her body. Run no matter what happened to her feet. Run while the damn bastards were trying to decide what to do.

  She was still trying to convince herself that she stood a chance of getting away when big man took another step.

  “Don’t!” She sounded more scared than determined. “Damn you, don’t!” She pointed the knife at his throat.

  He reached for her. Gasping, she scrambled back.

  The way he studied her made her wonder if he was concerned she might cut herself. If he was, did that mean they didn’t intend to kill her?

  “You’re not going to get away.” His voice put her in mind of rumbling thunder. “Don’t make it any harder than it needs to be.”

  Were they here to kidnap her? That was crazy. No one would pay more than a few bucks for her return.

  “Use the Taser,” the other man said. “We aren’t here to play games.”

  The way the big man’s nostrils flared told her he didn’t like being given orders. All right, she wouldn’t make that mistake, which left her with one option—the window.

  “I want to see what you’re made of,” Big Man said. “Do you go down without a fight or…?”

  Not caring what he was trying to tell her, she jerked back her free arm. Her elbow struck the screen. The screen sagged but didn’t pop out. She hit it again, felt it give way.

  Holding the knife out from her body, she spun away from Big Man, leaned over, and started to push off with her feet. Before she could dive out of the window, however, powerful hands grabbed her around the waist and yanked her against a solid body.

  She screamed and twisted around, slashing wildly. Something struck her wrist, numbing her hand. The knife fell soundlessly to the carpet. She’d just started to kick out when monster-man lifted her off her feet, carried her over to her bed and threw her face-down on it.

  “That’s how it’s done,” he announced. She didn’t care whether he was talking to her or his companion, just that with his splayed hand pressing against the small of her back, she couldn’t push herself off the bed. She managed to turn her head toward him but wished she hadn’t because now she was staring at his crotch.

  “You could have injured the merchandize,” the other man grumbled. “That’s why the Taser—”

  “I know what I’m doing.”

  “Not in this you don’t. Damn it, you’re supposed to follow instructions.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  The bed dipped as he climbed onto it, still holding her down. He straddled her hips and brushed her hair off her cheek.

  “You’re all right? Nothing injured.”

  Did he expect her to answer, maybe thank him for being so considerate? Not in this lifetime. Much as she needed to get out from under him, she knew better than to wear herself out attempting the impossible.

  “I don’t want you talking to her,” the other man said. “Keep her off-balance.”

  “Oh she’s off-balance all right. Trust me on that. Okay, Marina, time for me to get to work.”

  He knew her name, which meant what, that they’d been following her? If they had they must know she lived alone.

  Her arms had been out from her sides and useless because she couldn’t reach back enough to attack him. When the pressure against the small of her back let up, she sucked in a deep breath. He locked his fingers around her wrists. Even though she resisted, he easily crossed one wrist over the other behind her.

  “This is why I don’t want her out of it,” he said. “I want her aware of everything that’s happening.”

  The other man grumbled. His clothes appeared more expensive than her captor’s. Maybe that meant Little Man was supposed to be in charge, maybe her captor’s superior. Any other time she probably would have laughed at the notion of Big Man allowing anyone to order him to do anything.

  Just as he had no intention of letting her up until he was ready.

  A shadow at the side of the bed caught her attention. She stared at Little Man, hating him with every fiber of her being.

  “What do you want?” her captor asked.

  Little Man folded his arms across a silk shirt and stared down at her the way a hunter with a fresh kill would. “I wanted to see if she’s trying to fight you.”

  She wanted to, all right. In fact, it still took every bit of self-control she had in her not to.

  “Fortunately no, she isn’t.”

  “What do you mean, fortunately?”

  “I’ve tamed horses. It’s a lot harder getting through to the ones that fight than those that understand who’s in charge.”

  Her captor had compared her to a bronc? She wondered if Big Man and she might have an understanding of horses in common—if she lived long enough to find out.

  “Tray, I don’t want to stay here,” the other man said.

  “Neither do I. Let me get her ready.”

  Ready for what? The smaller man had called Tray by name because they weren’t concerned she could identify them. Was their intention to take her somewhere, rape then kill her?

  For the first time since she’d spotted the men, terror threatened to overwhelm her. She didn’t want to die! Not at twenty-four. Her stomach knotted, her heart raced and she had to work at not losing bladder control. Early in her racing career, another horse had collided with the one she’d been riding and both animals had fallen. Even as the ground and flailing hooves had closed in on her, she hadn’t been as afraid as she was now.

  “She’s shaking,” Tray announced.

  “Good.” Little Man leaned down until his face was inches from hers. “Wondering what’s going to happen to you, are you? Go on. Conjure up every scenario you’re capable of. It’ll give you something to do, something that’ll contribute to your undoing.”

  What are you saying?

  “You’re messing with her mind,” Tray said as she willed her muscles to stop jerking.

  “You’re damn right I am. Does that surprise you?”

  “No.” Tray drew out the word. He closed one oversized hand over her crossed wrists, which left the other free for what? “I’m just taking note of your techniques.”

  “My techniques are based on successful methodology. We know what works—and we expect new employees to follow protocol.”

  When Tray didn’t respond, Little Man frowned. She didn’t know what to make of the relationship between her captors any more than she could make sense of what she’d heard about technique, methodology and protocol. With her nervous system on overdrive, she was hard-pressed to accept that her world had been turned on end.

  Above and behind her, Tray changed position. She was afraid he’d rest all his weight on the backs of her thighs. Instead, suddenly her left arm was free. Before she could think what to do, metal touched her right wrist.

  “No!” She tried to jerk her arm free then started bucking. Doing something felt good. Maybe useless but better than surrender.

  Despite her struggle, Tray easily locked the cuff around her wrist and pulled up on the metal, increasing the strain on her shoulder.

  Sweating, barely able to concentrate on breathing, she forced herself to stop fighting. Tray lowered her tethered arm so her hand again rested on her buttocks. Then he took hold of her left wrist, pulled it back, and handcuffed her. He released her and leaned back. Was that his erection against her crack? She imagined him thrusting his arms above his head like a cowboy who had just roped and thrown a steer.

  “It’s simple.” He placed his hands on her shoulders and lifted her upper body off the bed. “All it takes is a pair of handcuffs and you’re under my control.”

  That and his much larger, stronger body.

  And her fear.

  He continued pulling up until the strain in her back made her gasp. After holding her like that while she likened herself to a hooked fish, he let go. She fell back onto the bed, smashing her breasts. He didn’t have to speak for her to understand his message. He could do whatever he wante
d to her and she couldn’t do a thing to stop him.

  He’d rape her and she’d let him. Get the violation over with. Not let him get off on her resistance.

  Unless the instinct for self-preservation made that impossible.

  Tray’s companion brushed her wet hair away from her face. Instead of leaning close again, he stepped back. His gaze roamed over her, every inch Tray’s bulk didn’t hide. Even though the smaller man was no longer touching her, she felt as if he was mauling her, invading her private space.

  Would she ever have that space back?

  His attention settled on her face, and she returned his stare. “Lift her again,” he said. “I want to check something.”

  She thought Tray might object to the command, hoped he would. Instead he vised his fingers over her shoulders and effortlessly hauled her back up. The other man grabbed her T-shirt in front and pulled it up, exposing her hanging breasts. She tried to twist away.

  “There isn’t much substance to her,” Tray said. “Pretty small, are they?”

  Instead of immediately answering, the man cupped the breast closest to him and kneaded it. She felt sick.

  “Surprisingly,” he said, “they aren’t. What are they, Marina? C cups?”

  Like she’d tell him! Like she’d acknowledge what he was doing!

  “Decent knockers,” Tray said. “That’s good.”

  “Damn good.” Little Man’s fingers slid down her breast. Instead of letting it go as she prayed, he caught her nipple between thumb and forefinger and squeezed.

  Hissing under her breath, she again tried to twist free. Waves of helplessness washed over her. She’d never felt more alive.

  “Hey,” Tray said. “I thought you wanted to get out of here.”

  “I do, but the merchandize is distracting.”

  Merchandize?

  The pain radiating out from her nipple, and now over her breast, distanced her from the incomprehensible word. The horrible thought that she’d been given a hint of her future seized her. She fought to keep from sobbing but couldn’t.

  Her tormentor’s hold on her nipple tightened, forcing her to clench her teeth to keep from crying again. She was losing this battle, couldn’t keep her pain to herself. Just then Tray again let go of her shoulders and she hit the mattress. A moment passed before she realized Tray’s action had forced Little Man to let go of her.

  “What the hell was that?” he grumbled. “I wasn’t through teaching her a lesson.”

  “I’m going to be her trainer, not you.”

  Trainer? As in sex slave trainer?

  Her world blurred as she recalled a snippet of conversation she’d overhead between a couple of local businessmen who wagered heavily on horse races. She’d been coming out of the women’s restroom one afternoon when she’d spotted them standing near the men’s restroom.

  “I’d love to see her with a collar around her neck,” one of them had said. “Naked and on her knees before me.”

  “Yeah,” the other had responded. “A well-trained sex slave.”

  Chapter Three

  Robert was there because that’s the way things were run at Carnal, but the older man’s presence was the last thing Tray wanted. Sure, he was going to make mistakes on this, his first capture, but as long as he got out of here undetected with his captive unhurt, what did the nuances matter? There wasn’t a time clock, let alone a checklist of what had to be done when and in what way.

  If it was just him and Marina—he wasn’t ready to call her slave—he’d be trying to determine why she wasn’t screaming bloody murder. Granted, she lived so far out in the country that no one would hear, but wouldn’t she holler anyway?

  Instead, she’d pulled out a knife and would have buried it in his neck if he’d given her half a chance.

  Hoping to hell Robert wouldn’t try to take charge, he climbed off her and stood up. Marina rolled over onto her side, exposing what were indeed size C breasts. They were so damn feminine on her slim, athletic body, larger and riper than the glimpse he’d caught when she’d been getting on her horse had led him to believe. Obviously, she wore something to minimize and constrain them when she was riding. He wondered if her fellow jockeys and others who hung around the county race track knew what she was hiding.

  Did the two men who’d wanted her harvested?

  She looked down at herself and shuddered. Then she struggled into a sitting position, shaking her upper body until her top slid over those luscious breasts. His fascination with her boobs surprised him. From high school on, members of the opposite sex had thrust their breasts at him. He’d seen some pretty spectacular ones, including dozens with implants. Marina’s were natural.

  Even without the use of her arms, she reminded him of a predator. There was no surrender in her. He’d demonstrated how easily he could control her, but maybe the lesson hadn’t taken. He should’ve been anticipating teaching this little bitch what she needed to do in order to survive and please men. Instead, he asked himself what the hell he was doing.

  For nearly a year now he’d been educating himself in what Carnal Incorporated was about. He understood that the organization’s primary function was to supply wealthy and powerful men—and a few women—around the world with well-trained sex slaves. He’d invested in the company and, so far, had no complaints about his dividend checks. At first his involvement had been minimal. Hell, all he’d initially known was that a wealthy alumnus from the university he’d attended had recommended it. That alumnus had gone from dropping a few hints about what went on behind the various Carnal walls to taking him to a party to end all parties. Once he’d recovered from the sight of collared, naked women crouched between splayed male legs, he’d started asking questions. Bit by bit he’d been introduced to the company’s inner workings.

  Now, maybe, he was about to become an employee.

  Shaking off the matter of what had brought him here today, he set his sights on the next step. Getting the slim jockey out of her place wasn’t going to be a problem. He could simply throw her over his shoulder and head out the door, but, unless he restrained her legs, he’d have to keep his hands on her for the foreseeable future. She also needed to be gagged.

  Before coming here, he’d packed a sports bag with the equipment a senior trainer had recommended. He’d thought the trainer had gone overboard with the variety and amount of restraints, but hadn’t argued. Now, as he contemplated what to hobble her with, he realized he liked having options. The trainer had let him in on a not-so-secret secret—that the actual capture was a huge turn-on. Watching Marina watch him pumped up the erection that had sprung to life the moment he’d seen her coming out of the bathroom. As a defensive player, he’d loved staring down at an opponent he’d just knocked to the ground. This was better.

  “What are you planning to do?” Robert asked. “You’ve thought this over?”

  He’d always resented coaches who pushed their opinions of how he should do his job on him. It took considerable self-control not to tell Robert to shut the fuck up. Ignoring him, he backtracked, picked up the sports bag and opened it so Marina could see the contents. She blanched and leaned away when he withdrew a long leather strap with a buckle on one end and holes in the other.

  “Really?” Robert muttered. “You’re sure—”

  “Just watch.”

  As he draped the strap over the back of his neck, he decided to talk to Carnal management about not having to work with Robert anymore. Then Marina bared her teeth and nothing else mattered.

  “What do you think you can do? Biting me isn’t going to get those cuffs off you.”

  She glared at him. “You bastard.”

  “Don’t let her get away with that,” Robert insisted. “She has to learn—”

  “She will, but I don’t want to knock all the fight out of her.”

  “Breaking her down’s the whole idea,” Robert grumbled. “Don’t you get it?”

  “Oh I get it.” That said, he vowed to stop responding to Robert. He wa
s doing something he’d been fantasizing about for months.

  When he leaned over the bed and reached for her, she started to scoot back. Then, to his surprise, she stopped, straightened and glared at him. No matter how many times he’d mentally played out this scene, he hadn’t expected this. She was supposed to fight and scream, beg and cry, not immediately give up.

  No, she hadn’t surrendered. She simply understood how futile resisting was. The question now became whether she’d remember that or whether the instinct for survival would take over.

  He grabbed her arm and pulled her toward him, jerking as he did so she lost her balance. As she toppled, he planted his free hand on the back of her neck, spun her in a quarter circle, straightened her legs, and pushed her face into the bedding. He gave a moment’s thought to robbing her of oxygen, but he already had an unfair advantage. Besides, he didn’t want her in fear of her life.

  “Concentrate on your timing,” Robert said. “Every move has to be your idea. Don’t let her control anything.”

  Carnal trainers had told him the same thing and he’d taken their advice to heart. Just because the warning had come from Robert was no reason for him to want to do exactly the opposite. He let up the pressure enough to allow her to turn her head and breathe. She stared at his crotch, then angled her gaze so she was looking up at him. Chocolate eyes widened. He wanted to explain why he’d broken into her place but this wasn’t the time. First came hammering home the lesson that he was in charge of everything where she was concerned.

  Keeping her in place via the neck hold, he snagged the ankle closest to him. He bent her knee until her heel pressed against her ass. That’s when he realized he couldn’t get hold of the strap this way. As he slowly lifted his hand off her neck, her eyes narrowed.

  Keep the slave off balance. Never let her think she knows what’s going to happen, or what you’re thinking.

  The advice had made sense at the time. Now he acknowledged that it was easier said than done. At the same time, he didn’t see anything wrong in letting her anticipate.