27011 (Welcome to Whitlock, book 3)

by A. A. Dark

  “I can’t be Everleigh Harper if we’re a family, Bram. I refuse.”

  All I could hear was my pulse as it pounded in my ears. Swallowing was almost impossible. Surely, she couldn’t mean what I thought she did. But if she was…

  “Yes. Okay.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “You want me to marry you? I will. Right now.”

  Her mouth parted as she searched for what to say.

  “You’re having trouble believing me. Don’t. If that’s one of your terms for coming home, consider it done. I would have asked anyway. I think jumping right into is the best thing we could do.”

  “I…I.” She shifted. “You’re not a marrying man.”

  “I wasn’t, no, but I’m not the same person you left at Whitlock. I’ve had a lot of time to think. There’s only one thing I know for sure and that’s that we belong together. What better way to make you mine than marriage? It’s simple really. I do want you as my wife, slave.”

  “No…you’re lying. I don’t believe you. You—”

  “Believe it. You have always belonged to me. What’s happened…it’s my fault. Maybe if I would have given in all those years ago things would have been different. I can’t change the past. All we can do is change the future. Marry me. Come home.”

  “It’s not that easy.”

  “Sure it is. What else do you want? I’ll give it to you. Just tell me.”

  The strong woman was melting away as she continued to search the room as if in a daze. She barely looked at me. Heavy breaths left her, and the phone went back to lean against her legs as she rubbed her eyes.

  “I should go.”

  “Don’t fight this. Be open with me. Tell me what it is you want.”

  “I shouldn’t be talking while I’m on medication. I need to have a clear head. I can’t think.”

  “There’s nothing to think about. Nothing to be cautious of. We’re just talking. You’re telling me what you want so you can come home. Marriage. We both want it. But you have other things you need. I want to know what they are.”

  The rise and fall of her chest had my cock so hard, I could barely break my gaze away from the way her nipples pushed through the thin material. Wife. Wife. Yes, I wanted her as mine. Everleigh Whitlock, my slave, my other half…for better or worst. The worst had already been here. She deserved better now, and I wanted to give it to her.

  “You can’t afford what I want.”

  “Afford? You want money?”

  Blue eyes lowered back to me, and again, the phone rose. “No. My price is blood. Revenge.”

  “And you don’t think I can afford to give you that? I’ll paint these walls red with whoever it is you want to kill. Say the name. I’ll deliver them to you wrapped in the same red ribbon you placed around the boxes you sent me.”

  Again, she grew quiet.

  “It’s that easy, slave. Give me the name. I’ll have them brought in here right now so you can see I speak the truth. All you have to do is tell me you’re on your way and we’ll get this going. I’ll even have a minster waiting.”

  “It isn’t that simple, Bram. You make it sound like it is, but it’s not. Yes, I have names. More than one. Lots. But I’m not finished with what needs to be done. I can’t just grab my bags and fly to Whitlock.”

  “Okay,” I said, calmly. “You’re getting too upset. Just let me help.”

  “I can’t trust you.”

  “You can. Listen to your heart, Everleigh. I’m in yours, just as you’re in mine. Trust. Me. Tell me what you want me to do.”

  Chapter 7

  Aamir

  The days were long, and the nights were even longer. I couldn’t see the sun or moon, but I didn’t need to in order to determine a schedule. Meals came on queue: breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Aside from that, nothing. Nothing but the confines of this cell. The walls were closing around me, and the routine did nothing to curb the psychotic thoughts causing me to constantly pace.

  The guard who had talked to me before had been gone for days. The new ones wouldn’t talk. They held their batons out, making me stay on the bed as they placed my tray just inside the door. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing…but my thoughts. My worry over Layla was killing me. What was my sister doing on Red Island? Where had the Dragon taken her when we were separated? The thought made me sick. If what the Main Master said was true, he would have taken her through his room to get to hers. Was he hurting her? Raping her?

  Bile burned my throat, and I forced it down. A yell wanted to come at the flashes of her lying there unconscious and hurt. And me…over her. Fucking her—my own sister. I hadn’t wanted to, and I almost became just as sick as I felt now while I was being forced to do it. That hour, or hours—however many there were—ate at me. They melted through every sense of self I had left. I wasn’t good. Somehow, through the crazed thoughts of blood and violence that looped in my mind, I knew that.

  Deeper, slave. Fuck her! Fuck her pussy hard, just like you know you’ve always wanted to.

  The giant’s taunts overwhelmed me, forcing a yell to explode from my mouth. I spun, heading to the opposite side of the room faster. Heavier.

  Oh, yeah. Just like that. You got it. Now, if you could only stop crying. Cry baby. I bet you’re still on your momma’s tit too. Mommy. I’d fuck your mother. Right in front of you. I bet you’d want to fuck her too!

  Laughter from all the sea slaves echoed around me. Heat blistered my skin and a gag mingled with my yell as it turned into a roar. Faster, I walked, eating up the floor with every swift step. My fists opened and jerked back in, squeezing tight.

  My heavy breaths became his as he came up from behind, wrapping his large hands around my hips and pushing them forward to make me go faster. You feel her gripping around your cock? Faster. Faster. Come in her. Fill her up good.

  Foreign chants. More laughter. I could barely stay hard, let alone reach an orgasm. Time dragged on. Repeatedly, I tried to fight him off so I could stop. It only had the giant pushing the blade of a knife against Layla’s throat. An eternity stretched out and my eyes tried to close. Anything to make reality disappear. He didn’t let me block it out. He made me finish. And finish, I had. Though, not inside her like he’d wanted. I couldn’t bear that. I couldn’t risk it. Layla may have been on birth control, but just the thought of an accident sickened me even more.

  “On the bed.”

  Memories vanished, and I blinked hard, turning to view the guard. Slowly, he placed the tray down.

  “I need to shower. I need to get out of here.”

  “Showers are on Tuesdays and Fridays.”

  “How far away is that?”

  Eyebrows drew in as the dark-skinned man stared at me. “Tomorrow.”

  “Is that Tuesday or Friday?”

  “It’s shower day. That’s all you need to know.”

  The door slammed shut, and my eyes closed. Screaming out in anger was almost impossible. Ignoring the food, I continued, back and forth. I couldn’t eat. Not with the images that wouldn’t stop.

  “Look at her arch. Can you feel how wet she is at you being inside her? I think even unconscious, she knows you’re fucking her. You like that, don’t you, slave? You like fucking your sister. I like it.”

  I was going to be sick. I was…

  My steps faltered, and I didn’t have to stick my finger down my throat to become ill. The disgusting pleasure rolled over me like a breaking dam and I heaved, once, twice. I let the vomit cover my chest as I cemented myself to the cold floor and collapsed to my knees. They hit with crushing impact, but I felt no pain. I felt nothing but the disgust over what I had done.

  “Ahhh! No! No!” Again, hot vile poured over me between my spouts of uncontrollable denial. To lean forward came naturally, but what I had done was anything but. I forced my head back, letting the liquid cover my skin. I was past the point of caring about keeping myself clean. I didn’t deserve to spare myself from my sins. I was filthy and sick in more ways than physical. To even asso
ciate pleasure was wrong…yet my mind, my body, made me remember. It made me experience it when the twisted sensations shouldn’t have been there.

  “Ahhhhh! Ah!”

  Layla’s full lips opened in a ragged breath, and I was fucking her again while staring down in what I knew was horror. But something else was there. Love? She was my twin. How could I not love her? But that shouldn’t have been there. There were so many emotions, and they were all morphing together and driving me crazy. They were burning and eating at every part of me.

  “You like it. You like. You like it.”

  “No! Stop. Stop it!”

  Knuckles crunched as my fist slammed into the cement. Once I started, I couldn’t stop. That deep cackling laughter vibrated in my ears, moving through my body like a tuning fork. The hum hit just as hard as I began to hit the Giant’s face. Warmth grew at the continual impact. Warmer. Hotter.

  “I’ll kill you! I’ll fucking…kill you. I’m going to. I will!”

  “Hey!”

  “I hate you! Hate! Kill! You!”

  “Get down! Get the fuck down!”

  Hands were suddenly pushing at my shoulders from behind to flatten me. My elbow locked, but blood and bile had me sliding forward. Before I could process what was going on, instinct kicked in. Digging my fingers into the bicep behind me, I rolled, taking the guard down beneath me. I knew it wasn’t the Giant, but his face kept coming. Her face…his face.

  I was hitting again. Punching the guard so fucking hard, his face was caving under the blows. Years of training fueled me until the meaning of life no longer existed. He was my enemy, just like everyone at this place. The guards, the Main Master, the Dragon, the Giant. They were all the same. Evil. Sick. Evil.

  Gurgling sounded, muffling under the choking. Fingers loosened on my white robe, and I couldn’t stop myself from knocking the weak grip free before I drove my fist even harder into the mush at the center of his face. His leg kept twitching while his body jerked and swayed.

  “Beson, report.”

  I slowed, somehow stopping, mid-swing. Repeatedly, I blinked through all the blood covering my hands.

  “Beson, stop fucking with the blues. Report.”

  Scrambling back, I couldn’t stop my heavy breaths. Dark red pooled underneath his head and his legs spasmed. He didn’t look like he was breathing, but I couldn’t be certain.

  “Beson.”

  Annoyance was turning into concern from the voice over the guard’s radio. My eyes scanned the room, stopping on the door. It was closed, but if he was in here, it wasn’t locked.

  Clawing the cement, I raced for the door, jerking the heavy metal open. What faced me had my already racing heart exploding. Fear hadn’t been there before, only anger. The devoid emotion was all I felt as I let go of the door and began walking back into the room. The barrel of the gun stayed level with my face, and three men in dark uniforms glared, glancing toward the guard on my floor as they entered my cell.

  “Damn shame,” one mumbled. “Damn, damn shame.”

  “I…” Swallowing hard, I circled around as the men came even closer.

  “I say we put a bullet between his eyes and be done with it.”

  “And let him off so easily?” The one with the gun shook his head. “No fucking way.”

  “He’ll pay. Injuring or killing a guard is a White Room offense.”

  “White Room, yes.” The gun was thrust at the smallest guard. “But not before this motherfucker pays for what he did to Beson. Mike, go check on him. I’ll take care of this slave.”

  Chapter 8

  Scout 19

  “He’s where?”

  I grunted the question, my teeth clenching through the painful buzz of the tattoo gun vibrating my sternum. Each number was swift—a false identification for the slave I represented. A necessity for my mission.

  “He killed a guard. The slave is pretty beat up because of it, but alive. He’s in the White Room. That’s where you’re going.”

  “Great. How’d he manage that? The guard should have known better than to get too close without backup.”

  “There was vomit on the floor. I assume he went to check on Eleven, then the slave attacked.”

  “Is the slave sick?”

  Mateo’s head shook, even though he shrugged. “Hasn’t been since he was put in a few hours ago. A ploy, nerves, we’ll never know. The guards will be gunning for him though, you can bet your ass on that. Your job is to keep him alive without revealing who you are. Why the Main Master wants him spared is beyond me, but he does.”

  I winced through the nine as the needles rounded along the upper curve. “I’ll do my best. What if I’m recognized? I know a decent amount of guards.”

  “Use your imagination. This isn’t my mission, it’s yours.” Mateo checked his watch before stepping toward the door. “You’ll be in the room next to his. If I get any news, I’ll let you know. Don’t die during one of those red lights.” He grasped the door knob, then paused. “Which reminds me. A tip. Try to bunker the two of you down in a room when the blood-spill begins. There’s a slave in one of those cells who’s making quite a name for herself. She’s got a taste for killing, and she’s good at it.”

  “She? A woman?”

  A smile appeared, lasting a few seconds before he shifted on his feet. “It’s debatable, I guess. Woman…girl. She’s on the younger side.”

  “Younger side? You want me to be cautious of a child? A girl child at that?”

  “Are we not cautious of Everleigh Harper? You should know by now sex means nothing if it’s paired with brains. You’d be smart not to underestimate this one. The guards don’t. They’ve been betting on the body count. Just steer clear. I don’t want to have to explain to the Main Master why you or the damned slave are dead because of a ‘girl child’.”

  The door slammed behind Mateo, and I rested my head back as something was slid over my chest and bandaged.

  “He’s right, you know. Forty-two may be young, but she’s not someone I’d want to cross.”

  I glanced up at the bald tattoo artist, my lips pursed. He was on the smaller side and maybe a hundred and forty pounds soaking wet, but he was a man. To hear him say that about a child had my curiosity piqued.

  “What do you know about this girl?”

  Nervous eyes wouldn’t look at me as he cleaned up. I put on the white hospital gown, standard for the White Room, as I waited for him to talk. He wanted to. It was in the way he kept looking over at me.

  “I tattooed her long ago. I wouldn’t normally remember a number or face, but I remember her. She was only eight months old. She was the first baby I ever tattooed.”

  “Eight months? She’s an old slave then, back when Ol’ Master Whitlock reigned?”

  “That’s right. She’s probably around fourteen now. A child in most eyes—a veteran by Whitlock standards.” A snort sounded as he turned toward me. “No clue what the hell she went through growing up here, but whatever it was, it was bad enough for her to kill her daddy.”

  “Daddy?”

  “Well, stepdad, technically, but her father nonetheless. He was nearing hysteria the night he came in with the little girl. Blood covered his clothes. It was smeared on the side of his face and drenched on one side of his head. I remember it was thick in his hair. Maybe he was injured. I don’t know. He was crying while begging the old Main Master. Said he had nowhere to keep the girl. He wanted the world to think her dead like the mother. Something about his career. The man threw out numbers like he had all the money in the world. Suppose he did because Whitlock agreed. I never saw them after that. Didn’t even really remember the girl until I heard the story of a powerful Master being killed by his slave. The number. I’ll never forget it. Everything came back to me then, and it wasn’t long before more murders circulated the cafeteria about her White Room massacres.”

  The door opened, and I glanced back at two guards. I didn’t recognize them, but I could sense their anger as a pale, younger guy clamped
onto my arm.

  “That’s what I fucking said. Bullshit if you ask me.”

  “Did they tell you why?”

  “Of course not, but I’m not stupid. They need guards after that bitch’s break-in. It’s her fault they rejected my application.”

  “Who?”

  An older guard in what looked to be his late thirties paused in almost disbelief at my question. Before I could internally smile, the back of his hand connected against my cheek with a force that snapped my head to the side. Red flashed in my vision while rage rolled inside. I kept it at bay, knowing I couldn’t walk into the White Room without some form of abuse. Especially, if my story was going to be believable.

  “Did I fucking hear you right? Did you just speak to us, slave? Keep your mouth shut and your ears closed, or I’ll cut them off. You hear nothing. You see or say nothing.”

  Grabbing my other arm, he jerked, dragging me to the door. The younger guard’s grip tightened on my bicep as they pulled me out and down the hall at a fast pace. Blood tickled from my nose, over my lip, feeding the buried anger.

  “That bitch isn’t willingly coming back. She can’t. Weren’t you listening to the high leader at the meeting?”

  “Sure, but what’s he going to do? The Main Master will find her. She can’t hide forever. One of these days someone is going to capture her, and when they do, she’ll go right back to being a slave.”

  “Newbie,” the older guard grumbled. “You don’t know shit. You weren’t even here when she was.”

  “That doesn’t matter. It’s obvious the Main Master is searching for her because he loves her. The high leader can say whatever he wants. When it comes down to it, the Main Master will get his girl and keep her under lock and key. Then, we can finally move on. I’m sick of all this. She’s all anyone talks about. Everleigh this, twenty-four-six-ninety that. I hear that fucking number in my dreams. I can’t stand it anymore.”

  “Well, you don’t have a choice.”

  The hall turned, and I kept my head down as we passed a pair of guards. Minutes dragged on while we lifted in elevation through the Whitlock maze. The guards continued to bicker, but I stayed in my head. Despite the training I’d received over the years, the White Room was no joke. No one was going to have my back. If someone came after me, it was kill or be killed. I had never been in the red lights, but I had pulled enough guard there I hadn’t missed the free-for-alls on the monitors.