27011 (Welcome to Whitlock, book 3)

by A. A. Dark

  “Wow,” Everleigh said, slurring and smiling brightly. “We like heroes, don’t we, Alvin?”

  “Yes!”

  “They’re brave and strong just like you.”

  A squeal followed clapping, and I couldn’t deny the anger over Luke’s presence was fading as I soaked in my time with her and Alvin. All of us, together. I read in a fog, taking her in. By the time the story came to an end, I was sad. She would never be that happy toward me. Not even pretending. And I could tell she wasn’t putting on a show for Alvin. She enjoyed their moment. So much so, I could see the longing. Her eyes were clouding with more tears, and I almost didn’t notice Alvin climbing off my lap. So much pain in my slave—mentally, physically. And it was all because of me.

  “Will you talk to me while Alvin eats his snack? Everleigh…I’m so sorry. I didn’t think Luke would—”

  “Just don’t.”

  “I’m going into my room so we can talk privately. Private,” I snapped. “I’d like that bastard who burned you to leave too.”

  “He’s not leaving, Bram. He can’t.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I shut myself in my bedroom, pacing as I soaked in the sudden anguish lacing her drawn in features.

  “He’s holding the phone. I should go,” she said, softly. “I can’t talk right now. I…”

  “Wait. Please, wait.”

  Her eyes fluttered back open, and the bright blue had me gripping the phone tighter. “I love you. I take responsibility for what’s happened, and I want to make it up to you. There are reasons you’re not coming home yet. I know you want to. God, slave, I feel it. You want me back. You love me too. If you return…” my brow creased through the rule I was about to break, “two vacations a year. You, me, and Alvin. We’ll go somewhere. We’ll…go to a secluded beach, or…swim with dolphins, or whatever it is people do these days to have fun. I haven’t thought it out,” I rushed, “but I’m willing to compromise. Come home.”

  Everleigh’s eyes barely reopened, but there was a soft grin on her face. “You and dolphins. I hope I remember that when I wake up. Bram Whitlock swimming with dolphins. That’s…” a yawn, “the funniest thing I think I’ve ever heard.”

  “Well, laugh about it over here. I can take care of you. I’ll have the best doctors brought in to make sure you’re okay.”

  “I’m not,” she mumbled. “I’m not…okay.”

  “What do you mean? Everleigh.”

  Her lids lowered, only to remain closed. The bed creaked, and I was suddenly being turned around to face the one man I’d threatened to destroy. I hated him for hurting my slave. I hated him with every ounce of evil inside me.

  “Be blunt. How bad did you fuck her up?”

  Hazel eyes flickered to the side and his voice was low as it came through. “Pretty bad.”

  “How bad? Has she been seen by a doctor? A surgeon? She could get an infection. She could die.”

  “Mistress Harper has excellent care. A team has been flown in. What you saw was her medication kicking in. They’re sterilizing a room now. I have it under control.”

  “Surgery then?”

  “Maybe. They won’t leave her side until she’s well.”

  My head shook, and I couldn’t stop from fisting my hair. “You’ll call the moment they’re finished. I want to know how it goes. I want to know she’s okay.”

  “I don’t work for you, Mr. Whitlock. If my Mistress wants you to know how she is, she can tell you herself.”

  The phone went dead, and it took everything I had not to throw it against the wall. Instinct couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something else—something neither of them were telling me.

  Chapter 4

  Aamir

  “Please. I want to go home! Aamir!”

  When I hadn’t thought my life could get any worse, it had. Whitlock. There were no words or clear thoughts I could grasp to explain the torment my life had become. Before Jessa and I arrived, we were hooded and blinded. The ride was quiet, minus Jessa’s sobs and pleas. When we finally stopped, we were pulled roughly and led in darkness down a maze that seemed to last forever. When our hoods were finally taken off, we stood among four guards in what looked like a hospital.

  Just like the sea slaves on our passage to Red Island, the guards acted as if we were mute. As if they couldn’t hear Jessa screaming out to me with everything she had. While she was taken in one direction in the medical department, I was practically dragged to the opposite side. Poked, prodded, tattooed…a vasectomy—that was what filled my first hours within the white walls of hell. I fought against the restraints. I yelled. Nothing mattered. By the time I was let go, I was so drugged up, I could barely wrestle the arms that dragged me to my new cell. My new cage. But this one was a room, with a door. A door with a window so small, all I could see were eyes peeking in on me every so often.

  More time passed. A day. Two? I didn’t know. If I were to go off the food they provided, it would only be two meals’ worth. A stretch of hours. Dinner, and then breakfast? Was it close to lunch? My stomach growled, but I refused to think about how I’d been too out of it to eat. Dreams of escape consumed me. Even subconsciously, I knew I had to get out of here. But how?

  I could jump the guard. I could…Mistress Harper’s words came flooding back, overpowering my thoughts. If you attempt to escape, they will kill you on the spot. Trust me when I say it is impossible, and not to even try. You will die.

  As much as I hated it, I knew she was right. I had seen the guards at almost every turn when they led me to my cell. This place was a massive maze. How would I get by them? I could kill them too, but then what? I didn’t know my way out. The chances of me finding it before they found me were just as Mistress Harper had said: impossible.

  “Jessa!”

  Groaning, I eased from the creaky bed. I didn’t make it a step before I stiffened through the massive ache in my balls. Sweat collected on my brow, and the pain had me trembling through the adrenaline brought on by the truth. I’d never have kids. I’d never see my child born, or hear them laugh, or get to experience the love knowing someone was completely mine—made from me. Even if I did escape, what if this was irreversible?

  For minutes, I couldn’t move as it all filtered through—our abduction, the ship, Red Island, being separated from my twin, arriving at Whitlock…the procedures, shots, tattoo. This wasn’t a bad dream I’d wake up from. I was a sex slave. A male sex slave.

  My brain couldn’t fathom it. Sure, I had heard of human trafficking, but I had always assumed it was women and children. I was neither. I wasn’t even a virgin. How big of a fool had I been? Had I been living under a rock my entire life? Sea slaves, sex slaves, an island housing imprisoned human beings, fortresses, twisted men who paid to end us all…why was there not more news or information about this in the real world? Why was this not projecting through every television in every single home? This wasn’t a one-country problem. This was a world epidemic. A tragedy. People’s children were being taken and used for the sick needs of evil men. And then they were being killed. I didn’t understand how any of it was possible. Didn’t our government know how bad this had truly become? Didn’t other countries’ governments know? They had to. The men who ran these places, they weren’t slippery, disgusting creatures. Not on the outside. From what I could tell, they were rich and sophisticated—educated with their proper grammar and multiple languages. They had planes, guards, and servants. They had taxes for fuck’s sakes. They had to have been monitored. Weren’t they? Or was I wrong? Were they above the system? Were they the system?

  My mind raced through every torturous step I took. This wasn’t over. This wasn’t the end of me. I was a fighter. I had always been a fighter. I had to do something. Somehow, someway, I’d get out of here and find Layla, and then I’d bring this place and Red Island down. It was the only way I could prevent this from happening to others.

  A loud pop sounded, and I jolted to a stop next to an empty bed as the
bolt slid back and my door opened. Pounding erupted in my chest and I tensed, preparing myself as a guard took a step inside.

  “Got your dinner.” He paused, easing the tray a few inches toward me. “You want to come get it, or do you want me to put it down?”

  “Is it poisoned?”

  Thick brown eyebrows drew in to highlight darker eyes. The man looked to be in his early forties. His hair was thin, but he didn’t appear old by any means. He was built, and of average size.

  “I think we both know it isn’t poisoned. Why would you have gone through all of this only to be killed so soon? You haven’t even made it to the auction. If anything, you’re eating better than the guards. Organic, and all that shit. We have the same foods, but we tend to stick to pizza and burritos at the cafeteria.” He paused. “Are you going to take this?”

  Just breathing in the aroma of grilled meat, my hunger won. Loud growling sounded between us, and he looked toward the white gown covering my stomach. Heat burned my cheeks, and he edged the tray closer.

  “Go ahead. Take it.”

  I was starving. Bread. It was all I had eaten for weeks. This was meat, I could smell it, and my body new what it needed.

  I took a step, wincing as I uneasily looked the man up and down. He wasn’t being a dick, or silent, like the others had been. He was talking. Almost nice. If I could continue to get him to talk, or think of me as something more than a slave, maybe…

  “Thank you.” I took the tray, hesitating in putting distance between us. “You mentioned the auction. Is that what’s next? I mean, will I have to go back to the hospital for anything else? A foot removal or something?”

  He laughed. “No. Just the tour and auction.”

  “Tour?”

  “That’s right. Our Main Master will lead you around the grounds. He’ll show you where you can go, and where you can’t.”

  Hope flourished. “How soon is that?”

  “The tour? A day before the auction. You still have a few weeks.”

  “Weeks?” My voice cracked as I glanced around the small white room.

  “This isn’t so bad. Soak in the time, slave. Being bought might not work out so well for you. It usually doesn’t for most men.”

  My mouth opened, only to shut. I didn’t want to know what he meant. I couldn’t if I was going to focus on getting out of here. And I needed to focus.

  “Just knock on the door when you’re finished. I’ll pick up your tray.”

  “Will you be outside for a while?”

  The guard’s lips tightened. “Until the end of my shift. Got about five hours left, give or take.”

  “Will you be back tomorrow? Or the next day?”

  There was hesitancy as he gave a swift nod and pulled the door shut behind him. Silence once again closed in around me and I groaned as I headed to sit on the bed. My hands were shaking as I hovered above the thick lid covering the plate. A package of plastic utensils rested next to a small cup. I couldn’t get over how it looked like a hospital tray. He’d mentioned cafeteria. This place was too well equipped. It added to the unease of how smoothly this operation ran, not to mention just how big this place really was.

  Two small chicken breasts sat on one edge of the plate, along with rice and a mix of broccoli and cauliflower. It didn’t matter that I rarely ate vegetables. My fingers were already tearing into the package and I began to pop them in my mouth as fast as I could. Flavors burst over my tongue anew, awakening my senses to a state I could barely believe. Weeks of flavorless food left me hyper-sensitive as I swallowed and tore into the chicken. I was ravenous, and suddenly…guilt-ridden. Was Layla eating this well? Was the Dragon feeding her more than bread? That’s all we’d gotten while I was trapped in his dungeon with her.

  My chewing slowed as I stared at the door. Swallowing was almost impossible, but I forced the rest of my meal down. Guilt wouldn’t prevent me from being as strong as I needed to be. I had to escape. I had to rescue my twin.

  Chapter 5

  Scout 19

  I had gone through a lot in my years at Whitlock. I’d been an early recruit thanks to my grandfather. Our legacy was in the foundation of the fortress, going back many generations from when Whitlock first opened. But the money wasn’t in our family anymore. If I wanted to be honest in terms of Whitlock status, my grandfather shouldn’t have even been allowed access. He had one slave throughout his time here—one he beat and carved into like a Thanksgiving turkey. But he didn’t kill her. He kept her alive to carry on our name, and to allow me a place in a world I would never truly belong. Ol’ man Whitlock knew it too, and still granted me access regardless that the slave had died from sepsis only weeks before my admittance. It didn’t matter to him. I was offered an ultimatum. The cost to be here was simple compared to what I faced in the real world with my pill-popping, abusive mother and dead father—my life.

  Whitlock was mine on one condition: I gave myself over to it. I could live here. I could work here. I could even buy a slave if I ever acquired the money. It was an offer too good to pass up. So, I left everything behind and trained, where I eventually became a guard amongst the white. White walls. White floors. The wrong color for the evil deeds I had been introduced to. Fighting came naturally, and my upbringing made the violence feel like home.

  Two years as a guard, and I put in my request for scout. I didn’t expect it to be accepted the first time. It was rare one so young was thrown on the streets for such a risky operation, but I didn’t give up. Six months later, when the solicitation came out again, I reapplied, and amazingly, I’d made it. At twenty, on the streets, I caught onto the game quickly. My age, coupled with my decent looks, helped me traffic just the right number of girls to keep me in good standing. At twenty-three, I was getting damn good. I was also in the one place I didn’t think I’d return to until after my new mission: the scout safehouse, half an hour outside Chicago.

  The gate squeaked, and I rolled the window down, nodding to the guard who controlled the underground entrance. For such a dirty operation, the house was impeccable. Sitting at the end of a secluded street, the two-story white colonial appeared picturesque with its grand columns and finely trimmed hedges. To anyone who watched, upper-class normalcy thrived. Little did they know, the retired Marine First Sergeant who occupied the place was anything but.

  Three, as we referred to him, was as perverse as they came. White-gloved, clean interior marked every inch of the mansion, but our leader was messy in his actual work downstairs. There were many times we had to double up on girls because the first wouldn’t make it to Whitlock. It was also why we didn’t report our chosen until we were sure she’d arrive at her intended destination. Three could be a loose cannon. There were times he went weeks without obliterating our list. Then, times like this…no slave was safe.

  I put the car in park, taking in two scouts smoking by the large metal door. Given their scowls and posture, I knew what was going on inside. It left me throwing the door open as I climbed out.

  “Where the fuck have you been? I’ve been calling for hours.”

  Pulling my phone free from the pocket of my leather jacket, I flashed it toward Six. “Business. I’ve only come to get my stuff.”

  “You’re leaving?”

  Both scouts looked at each other before Eight dropped the butt of his cigarette and ground it under the heel of his steel toe.

  “That’s right. I’m on the elaborate hunt. I fly out in a few hours.”

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “I don’t kid. You know that.”

  Six and Eight moved out of my way as I continued toward the door, their feet heavy as they followed. The moment I opened the barrier, the echoing screams were automatic. My lips tightened, and I went down a few cells before I slowed. They quickly moved in close.

  “How the fuck did you get in? I didn’t think the Main Master was accepting anymore scouts?”

  “He’s not.”

  “Then why you? You’re the youngest here. No offe
nse, but—”

  “How many?”

  I stepped to the door, glancing through the small window toward the top. A slave stood in the center of the room, restrained by hanging cuffs. Crimson covered the lower half of her face, and her nose looked to be crushed. A wild excitement lit Three’s eyes as he circled around the young girl. Ringlets were wild around her, down past her nude, olive shoulders, and the closest strands were matted with blood.

  “How many?” I repeated, glancing back to Six and Eight.

  Six shook his head, his dark hair swaying around his shoulders. When he pursed his thin lips, I knew it wasn’t good.

  “He’s on his fourth since you left. We’ll be lucky to salvage the other two. My guess is they’ll be dead before dawn.”

  “Son of bitch. I don’t have for this shit.” My curse was drowned out by a shriek. It ended with a solid pop. But it wasn’t from a hit. I knew all too well where Three was in his torturing process.

  Elbow?”

  Nodding at Eight, I glanced through the glass. Screams were deafening as our leader reached up and snapped her pinky finger. It stuck out to the side in an odd angle. The horrified, pain-filled expression as she sucked in a breath had his free hand diving to the dark curls between her legs. His shoulder surged forward, and her legs thrashed to find footing. She was short, making the effort useless. With his other hand, he reached for her ring finger. Snap.

  I didn’t wait. My fist banged against the door angrily. Stepping back, Six threw me a glare. I knew I was going to piss Three off by cutting his playdate short, but I didn’t give a shit. The rest of the scouts were going to have to deal with it. The Main Master might need me before my allotted time, and I was going to be there if that were the case.