by Madison Faye
Devon let out a groan as he placed her in the center of the bed. The mattress dipped and creaked as he placed one knee then the other on the bed. Straddling her hips, he reached for the first bag of blood.
In that moment, Devon returned to her senses. Swinging an arm as her legs kicked out, she screamed.
Grabbing both her wrists in his one large hand, he forced them over her head as he placed his gloved palm once more over her nose and mouth, cutting off her breath.
Her hips bucked. The junction of her thighs pressed against his swollen cock.
His eyebrow raised as the corner of his lip quirked up when he saw realization flash across her eyes. It was not possible for her to mistake the press of his hard flesh against her own.
Letting out a low keening wail, her whole body stiffened.
Shifting his hips, he pressed his cock against her cunt to emphasize his next words.
“I’m going to need you to behave, my little pet, or you will force me to discipline you right here, right now. Understood?”
Devon nodded her head yes.
Releasing her mouth, but keeping his hand on her wrists, he used his teeth to tear at the opaque plastic of the blood bag. A corner tore open. Palming the weight of the bag, he squeezed. Warm crimson liquid poured out. Holding the bag high, he poured the blood along her right side. The room filled with a sick, metallic scent.
Devon cried out, then promptly bit her lip in a futile attempt to prevent more hysterics, apparently already learning a lesson to not anger or disobey him. Good girl.
Tearing open the second bag of blood, he shifted his position and poured it along her left side, splattering some on the floor.
Careful to avoid the precious liquid as it began to pool and seep into her blankets, he lifted himself off her prone form as he released her wrists.
Devon’s hands slipped in the blood as she rushed to push herself upright, grabbing onto the iron railing of her headboard for purchase.
Kicking her feet, her legs smeared the blood over the bed.
All the while she stared at him with wild, unfocused eyes.
His phone began to vibrate.
Raising it to his ear, he said, “Yes?”
“All is ready, Father. The helicopter is in place.”
“Excellent. I will be out in two minutes.”
Ending the call, he once more turned to Devon. She was crouched on the other side of the bed against the wall with a lamp in her hands. As he approached, she raised the lamp high.
Easily snatching it from her weakened grasp, he gripped her wrist and dragged her back to the bed. Her knees slipped in the warm liquid as he stretched her arm over the ruined blankets and sheets. Flattening her palm in the blood, he then raised her arm and placed her hand against the wall. Releasing her wrist, he saw a perfect bloody handprint marring the pale yellow surface.
“There, that should take away all doubt.”
Devon began to cry as her body crumpled onto the floor.
“This is for the best, my pet. I cannot have the police holding out any hope you would be found alive.”
She tried to crawl away from him.
Placing his hands on either side of her hips, he lifted her up, then swung her over his shoulder.
Taking one final survey of the room, he grabbed a stuffed bunny by the ear. Over the last several weeks he had watched her snuggle with the stuffed animal in her sleep. Chiding himself for such a sentimental impulse toward a recruit, he walked out of the room. He could feel her weight slacken over his shoulder. She had fainted.
Using his free arm to toss the remaining equipment and the bunny into his backpack, Reid left the apartment.
Taking the stairs two at a time, he emerged onto the roof, with Devon’s body in his arms.
“Hello, Father. Did everything go as planned?” greeted a woman dressed all in black. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a severe bun.
“Yes, Eight. All according to plan. Get us out of here.”
Reid secured Devon into a harness before buckling his own.
“Eleven is monitoring the police scanner. There is no activity,” said Eight as the helicopter lifted off the roof.
Reid was only half listening as he observed Devon’s even breathing, searching for signs of distress.
“Take us to the compound. We need to begin her training as soon as possible.”
“Yes, Father.”
Chapter Three
There was a moment.
Just a single moment.
A moment when Devon lingered between sleep and wakefulness where everything was fine. Everything was as it should be. She was in her bed. In her small apartment. About to start the normal monotony of her day.
Just a moment.
Then her reality splintered like glass.
Crying out, she shot up in bed, running her hands down her sides, searching for the blood.
That was what she remembered first.
The blood.
Kicking the covers off, she searched the bed. Nothing but pristine white sheets. As if she couldn’t believe her own eyes, she ran her hands over her stomach and upper thighs.
Nothing.
No blood.
Her own clothes were gone, replaced by a pale blue hospital gown. Looking down, she saw a small Band-Aid on her arm. It was the only tangible proof she had that what occurred last night was not in her fevered imagination.
Searching her surroundings, it looked like she was in a hotel room. Basic furniture. Innocuous art on the walls. Everything in a neutral beige color. Climbing out of the bed, she threw open the curtains. A stunning view greeted her shocked gaze.
The building was on the very edge of a cliff. All she could see were dark jagged rocks and the cold gray of a churning sea. Even if she had wanted to risk the elements, the windows were sealed shut.
Turning back to the room, she ran across to the door.
Locked.
She hadn’t really expected anything else.
Breathing in short bursts, she could feel her heart race with panic. She needed to calm down… and think. A weapon. She needed a weapon. After a fruitless search of the drawers, she grabbed one of the bedside lamps. Wrapping the cord around her fist, she pressed the rubber against the sharp wooden edge of the desk till the cord snapped free from the base of the lamp. Wrapping the other end of the cord around her left fist, she pulled it taut.
Sitting on the only chair in the room, she waited, staring at the door.
Willing it to open.
Dreading it opening.
She waited.
* * *
Muffled voices could be heard on the other side of the door.
The knob slowly turned.
Devon stood. She had been holding the cord wrapped around her fists for so long, deep red grooves were cut into her skin.
A woman entered first, followed by two men. She was tall and slim. With her hair pulled back into a neat bun and a pair of sleek designer glasses perched on her nose, she gave the impression of meticulous authority.
“Oh, good. You have already risen. This will keep us on schedule,” said the blonde woman.
“Who the fuck are you? Where am I? What the hell is going on?” fired back Devon. She stood behind her chair with the cord stretched between her raised fists.
“You may call me Eight. The rest I am afraid I am not at liberty to answer.” Eight’s response was clipped and controlled in the face of Devon’s rising hysteria.
“This is kidnapping! It’s against the law! You can’t keep me here against my will.”
“You will soon learn there is a great deal we can—and will—do. The law is of little concern here at the compound. Now, enough of this nonsense. It is putting us off our schedule. You have a decision to make. You may follow me willingly or these gentlemen will assist you.”
“Fuck you!” spat Devon, placing her back against the wall and raising her fists higher.
Adjusting her glasses, Eight made a note on her clipboard b
efore turning to the two men dressed all in white. “Gentlemen, I believe we have our answer. Use all necessary force to get our recruit to Room 301 in the C-Wing.”
With that, Eight turned on her heel and left.
Devon felt lightheaded as her heart began to race with fear. In desperation, she kicked the chair. It slid a few feet across the low carpet before toppling uselessly to its side.
“Listen. We don’t want to hurt you. Why don’t you just do as the boss lady says and come along willingly,” said one of the men, his hands raised in a placating gesture.
His eyes seemed kind, matching his soft tone. It only served to frighten and confuse Devon more.
Shaking her head, she slid along the wall till she was as far away from their approaching forms as possible.
“Please! I just want to go home.”
“This is your home now,” said the other man right before he dove for her.
Devon could only get out a short scream before the sting of a needle pierced her neck.
“No…” she whimpered weakly as their faces became hazy and distorted.
* * *
As she slowly awoke from a drugged haze, her first thought was she couldn’t move her arms. Blinking her eyes several times to clear her blurry vision, Devon could see she was in something close to an operating room. Thick leather straps with large buckles secured her arms and chest to the bed.
She tried to open her mouth to scream and cry for help but something was forcing her jaw closed.
“Don’t try to talk. There is a leather strap keeping your mouth closed. Sorry about that. New recruits usually make the most awful racket during the initial examination that it is really for the best.”
Unable to move her head, Devon shifted her eyes to and fro till she located the person talking. It was another female. Dressed identically to Eight, although her hair was a starkly bright red, cut short.
“My name is Four. Welcome to the compound,” she said cheerily.
Devon once again tried to scream as she fought her binds.
Four just shook her head knowingly before turning to greet someone who had just entered the room.
“Good morning, Four.”
“Morning, Brad.”
The man approached the bed but continued to speak to Four as if Devon didn’t exist.
“So this is the new recruit.”
Devon watched as he opened his bag and began to take out several pairs of scissors. The pressure in her chest increased. This was a nightmare. They were going to torture and kill her. Oh, god. Desperately sucking in air through her nose, she could feel her limbs grow numb and cold.
Brad approached Devon and tugged on a lock of her hair. “It does seem a shame.”
Four shrugged. “Father’s orders.”
Brad picked up a pair of scissors. She squeezed her eyes shut in a vain attempt to block out the horror of whatever he was about to do. She could feel another tug on her hair. Then heard a snip.
Opening her eyes, she saw a large chunk of her hair float to the floor below. Snip. Snip. Snip.
One clump after another in a macabre display, her beautiful long hair began to litter the space beneath her bed. Devon began to cry. He wasn’t torturing her or causing her pain, but it felt like a violation none the same. She was just so confused and afraid. Why was this happening?
It did not take him long to completely destroy her hair. Devon could no longer feel the weight of it on her shoulders. By the cold feel of the metal against her neck, she judged that he had cut it off just below her ears.
Four stood at the end of her bed. “It doesn’t look half bad.”
“It was a crime,” blurted out Brad.
Four shot him a mischievous smile. “Should I tell Father of your displeasure?”
Brad stuck his tongue out at Four in response and left the room.
“Time to get you ready for the doctor,” said Four cheerfully.
Reaching under the bed, she pulled out two silver stirrups.
Devon tried pleading with her eyes as ineffective mumbles and groans escaped her lips past the leather gag.
Heedless of her distress, Four placed each of Devon’s feet in the stirrups and strapped them down before pushing the meager hospital gown up past her hips.
The stirrups were placed much higher and further apart than they would be in a typical gyno exam. She was on humiliating display.
The door opened and another man entered. It wasn’t the man who kidnapped her. She had yet to see him.
“Is the new recruit all ready?”
“Yes, Doctor.”
“Let’s hurry this along. Nine is on the way back from a mission with a terrible leg laceration that may require surgery to close.”
Devon knew she should be assimilating all this information.
Mission. Injuries. Father. Code names. Recruits.
All of it may lead her to some answers, but at this very moment, all she could feel was wave after wave of fearful embarrassment at being strapped down and placed on display.
She could hear the snap of a latex glove before cold fingers began to probe her pussy.
“Hand me the speculum.”
Cold metal was pushed deep inside her warm body. There was the awful click… click… click as the speculum was opened wider and wider. Devon tried to squirm, to move away, but it was of no avail. She was strapped and secured on the bed.
“Hand me the scanner.”
There was a long pause. Only her wrenching, labored breathing through her nose could be heard in the room.
“Nothing of note. I don’t see any evidence of any transmitters but we’ll check the anal cavity to be certain,” observed the doctor.
The speculum was removed from her pussy. Then Devon felt an awful pressure at her ass. She squeezed the tiny ring tightly closed.
The pressure increased. There was a sharp pain before the now warm metal slid inside her back passage.
The humiliating pressure and pain had Devon clawing at the sheets.
Click… click… click.
Devon screamed against the gag. The speculum was forcing her ass open achingly wide. Please stop, she wanted to beg and scream. The awful pressure just increased. Sharp stabs of pain radiated up her spine.
“Nothing here either. She’s clean.”
With a clatter, the metal speculum was removed from her body. She could feel the breath of cool air against her now gaping asshole. The pressure was no longer there but the throbbing pain persisted. Devon was lost in a world of that pain as the doctor continued to examine each of her arms and legs, her breasts, eyes and ears.
“All looks good and in healthy order. You may proceed with the identity mark.”
“Thank you, Doctor.”
The man left but still she was not released from the degrading position. Devon looked down her body to see Four place a small stool between her open and outstretched legs.
As she sat, she warned Devon, “This is going to hurt like the devil but if you don’t squirm too much it should be over quickly.”
A sound like a dentist’s drill reverberated around the room, then scalding fire touched her inner thigh. It felt like a thousand heated needles were piercing her skin all at once. She could feel Four’s hands on her thigh as the instrument moved over her skin, leaving a trail of pain. The horrible buzzing noise assaulted her senses as the stings and stabs continued for an eternity.
“There, all done!”
Four rose and pushed a tray filled with metal tools away before finally lowering the stirrups. Next she unbuckled the leather straps restraining Devon. Now was her chance to fight back. Unfortunately, she was so weak from fear and pain that her knees buckled the moment she tried to climb off the bed.
“Not so fast! Let me help you.”
She hated how sweet and innocent the woman’s voice sounded. As if they were friends. As if she hadn’t just orchestrated Devon’s pain and humiliation.
Devon was led into a tiny tiled room just off to the side.
Four propped her up against the wall and left. Moments later, sprays of hot water shot out from the ceiling, walls, and floor. There was no escaping it. She gasped from the impact. The hot water felt heavenly and punishing all at the same time. Streams of bright blue liquid shot out from the center of showerheads. Coating her in foam. The chamber filled with steam and the astringent scent of soap.
Devon leaned down and opened her legs.
There. In black bold numbers. Stark against her pale skin. Was the tattooed number thirteen.
She had been tattooed but for what purpose?
It was all too much. Falling to her knees, she curled into a fetal position on the floor.
Closing her eyes, she let the water flow over her skin and prayed for rescue.
* * *
A cool hand cupped her neck while the thumb stroked her cheek.
Without thought, Devon snuggled against the hand, seeking its comfort.
Her eyes opened.
There, standing by her bed, was the man who had kidnapped her.
She would never forget his face. Evil should look evil. By all rights he should look deformed and almost inhuman… but he didn’t.
He was tall, especially by her five-foot-five inch standards. Despite having silver hair, he seemed to be still quite young, perhaps no more than forty. Although that was still fifteen years older than her. His eyes were a dark brown, almost black. His features had a rugged chiseled look to them, like he rarely smiled. He was dressed much the same as he had been the night he broke into her apartment in a pair of black cargo pants and a black form-fitting t-shirt. His arms were impossibly toned, not with thick bulging muscles but lean with strength and sinew. If the circumstances had been different, she would have been attracted to him. She had always liked older, take-charge kind of men.
“Hello, my pet.”
“You! You bastard!” she raged as she leapt from the bed. Pacing to the far side of the room, she turned on him.
“While Bastard has a certain truth to it. I would prefer if you called me Father.” His face remained still and implacable, but his eyes shone with a spark of humor that seemed to belie his demeanor.