Valley of Surrender Series - Vol.1

by Trent Evans

  * * *

  She couldn’t help but wonder what he had in mind. Where was he taking her? Would he hurt her? At this point, she wasn’t sure what he would do. The question now was: how the hell was she going to get out of this? She suspected the town might try something like this, but she hadn’t expected it would be someone like Ford doing it. She thought of him as, well, one of the good guys. She was usually pretty good at reading people — it was part of the job. This time though, she’d screwed up. Badly.

  The truck flew along the road, west of town, in a part of the country she had no familiarity with — she’d never gone this far in her travels around White Valley. There was one thing for sure though, he wasn’t taking her back to the police station.

  What does that mean?

  Each time she thought of it, the possibility of what might come next ran through her mind, and she tried to push away her fright, her fear of the unknown. And yet, a part of her was morbidly fascinated at what was happening. She really had no reference, no experience to draw upon for something like this. What she’d seen in the town through that telephoto lens was something she still didn’t know how to process.

  Everything her source had told her was true.

  So often sources flaked, or had a hidden agenda, an ax to grind.

  Not this time.

  She watched Ford as he drove, the man silent as ever, and wondered. Was he really one of the good guys? Or was he just one of the many people in White Valley her source had warned her could be dangerous?

  He pulled the truck off the road, gravel spraying against the undercarriage, Falon bouncing and groaning as the cuffs abraded her wrists once more. Then they came to a stop, a cloud of dust rising around them, her heart suddenly pounding like a jackhammer in her chest.

  Oh my god.

  She watched Ford as he got out of the truck, turning her head to follow him as he walked around the rear of the vehicle. She tried to prepare herself for what might come next. Would he pull out a gun? A knife? It could be anything. She didn’t know what he was capable of doing anymore. She had to assume he was capable of anything.

  Stop this, Falon. He would have killed you already if that’s what he wanted to do.

  Her door opened, and then Ford stood there, filling the exit. He peered inside, his gaze meeting hers.

  “I need you to cooperate with me. This will go easier. For both of us.”

  “You could start by taking these off, you know.” Falon leaned over on one side, wiggling fingers just beginning to grow numb in the stricture of the cuffs. “Then you could try telling me what this is.”

  “Proving you can be trusted is the only way those are coming off, Ms. Moore. Thus far, you haven’t even come close to earning that trust.” Ford tapped his fingers upon the roof at the top of the doorway. “I need you to sit tight for a minute.”

  “Why?”

  Instinctively, she knew she shouldn’t argue the point. She was in even more danger outside. It was the middle of nowhere, well outside of town, and though she still couldn’t believe he’d really hurt her, it felt a tiny bit safer in that backseat, cuffs or not.

  Falon wasn’t about to let Ford know that though. She glared at him, but didn’t move.

  “Now, you can choose to sit quietly for a minute, or you can choose to defy me. I promise you won’t like it if you choose the latter.”

  “Fuck this,” Falon said under her breath.

  Ford watched her, his eyes narrowing, and for one terrifying moment, she feared she’d pushed him a little too far. Then he sighed, slamming the door and walking several paces toward the road, his phone to his ear.

  Falon nearly screamed in startled fright as the radio in the truck crackled twice, the sound jarring in the hushed silence.

  She looked around at the expanse of tall conifers surrounding them, the shadowed undergrowth choked with brambles, the few bright yellow flowers in its midst belying the flesh-shredding danger of the mass of thorns within. The road seemed to be following the base of a ridge that stretched up to their left, what looked like might be a foot trail disappearing into the tangled vegetation. There wasn’t a single sign of civilization aside from the two-lane blacktop.

  “Where the hell are we?” she whispered.

  Then she saw a second vehicle, another truck, jacked up, with a well-worn steel rack in the bed, various ladders and lengths of lumber strapped to the top of it. A red circle with the words Ellison Companies emblazoned in bold, white letters across it decorated the driver’s side door.

  Shit.

  The truck slid to a stop in the gravel behind Ford’s truck, and a tall man stepped out, walking slowly toward the Sheriff.

  Then she recognized him. The tall bastard on the street watching the… festivities.

  The newcomer talked with Ford for a minute, both men turning their backs to Falon, the tall man occasionally looking over his shoulder toward her, his eyes equal parts darkness and cold.

  Then they walked over to the truck, Ford opening her door again, the cool air whispering against the sweat gathering at the base of her throat. The stranger leaned a head in, his jaw as hard as granite, his eyes like twin points of obsidian.

  “You should’ve stayed in Portland, girl.” His voice matched his look, deep and gravelly.

  “Who the hell are you?” Falon swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry. The man may have been twice her size, but she knew it was unlikely he’d try anything with a cop around.

  They both needed to understand they were fucking with the wrong chick.

  “Doesn’t matter who I am. What matters is that you tell Ford here what he needs to know. Do that, and you might have a chance at getting that cute little ass of yours out of the trouble it’s in right now.”

  “I don’t know who you are, but unless you’re helping me out of these cuffs, you’re not really helping anything.”

  The man shook his head, then stepped back.

  “Shut up,” Ford said, leaning in and taking hold of her upper arm, laying a hand across the top of her head as he extricated her from the truck.

  The gravel shifted beneath the soles of her shoes as she peered up at the two hulking men.

  “At this point, running that mouth isn’t doing you any favors,” the tall stranger said, jabbing a finger at her. “I see Ford wasn’t lying about your attitude.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? Should I have thanked the good Sheriff for detaining me without charge?”

  Ford slammed the door behind her, then spun her around to face him.

  “I want a goddamned lawyer,” she spat. “I want to know what I’m being arrested for. This is America. You can’t fucking do this.”

  His strong fingers bit into her chin as he lifted it. For the first time since she’d met him, she saw real anger in his dark blue eyes, something she couldn’t say was entirely unappealing.

  Hardly the time to be drooling over the big, bad alpha male cop, you idiot.

  “The way I see it, Ms. Moore, you’re out to sea. And I’m the only hope you have of ever making it back home. Yes, we’re still in America, but after what you’ve pulled? You might as well be in a different galaxy for all the good that will do you. Now, shut that smart mouth, or I’ll gag you.” He jabbed a thumb back toward town. “What you did back there? You’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”

  “Ford, this is fu—”

  “I’m done arguing with you. Quiet, or else.” He tilted his head. “Are we clear?”

  The tall man looked her up and down, a new interest sparking in his dark gaze. A smile quirked at the corners of his mouth. “I’m starting to understand your interest in her, Ford.”

  What?

  “Don’t start, Von.” Ford let go of her chin, then ran his fingers through his hair, the hard bulge of his biceps straining the fabric of his tan uniform.

  Stop looking at his muscles and think about that name. Who the fuck is that?

  Von put his hands on his hips, emphasizing the breadth of the towering
man’s shoulders, his battered and well-worn black denim jacket sliding open. “Now, I didn’t say a thing, Sheriff.” He grinned, nodding toward Ford. “Need any help with her?”

  “I’ve got it.” Ford took hold of her upper arm again, his tight grip making her wince. “She stays with me for the time being.”

  “I’ll let them know then,” Von said, giving her one last look before heading back to his truck. “I’m guessing it will need to be right away, now that he’s back in town.”

  He?

  “I’ll use the station then until we decide what to do.” Ford tugged her back toward the Tahoe. “Come on.”

  As Von climbed in, closing the door behind him, he draped an elbow out his open window, his expression suddenly somber. “This… isn’t gonna be good. You know that, right?”

  “You don’t know the half of it.” Ford nudged Falon. “She’s so far into the deep end of the pool, she doesn’t even know which way is up anymore. Isn’t that right, Ms. Moore?”

  Still trying to process the threat of both his words and the naked possessiveness she saw in both mens’ gazes, she simply nodded, momentarily deprived of speech, if not her will to keep fighting.

  They’d never extinguish that.

  Chapter 2

  Lacey never knew they’d take away even her sight.

  Her heart began to jackhammer in her chest as the blindfold descended, the morning breeze impossibly cold against her hardened nipples. She wished she could hear Troy. Even the sound of his voice would help her endure this.

  While the idea held a sort of twisted allure to her, the reality of The Walk was so intense, so overwhelming that she didn’t know how she’d ever complete it. That she longed for Troy’s touch, even in the midst of her public debasement, only made things more confusing.

  All around her was a cacophony of sound, voices, grunts, laughter, the moan of the wind in her ears. A lock of her hair had been caught in the blindfold, the roots protesting angrily. But with her arms securely trussed up, there wasn’t a thing she could do but ignore it.

  “Applicants, begin,” said the man who she’d come to think of as the master of ceremonies. In her mind’s eye he was equipped with the full regalia, the ill-fitting black suit, with faded white undershirt protruding under his chin, the battered top hat, and oh, the black cord of the deadly whip.

  Of course here, there was no whip — the women’s shame was far more effective than any instrument of corporal punishment.

  A hand patted her on the shoulder, another caressing one of her obscenely presented breasts, that Master of Ceremonies’ voice right at her ear.

  “You’ll walk as I lead you, girl. If someone stops you, you’ll stop. When you’re touched, you’re not to flinch, not to resist. Nod your head if you understand.”

  She frantically obeyed, as if a mere second’s delay might make her lot even worse. Still, in the back of her mind, insane thoughts swirled. She wondered exactly what they must look like, even envying the view Troy and the others must have had. Was she pleasing him? She debated whether or not to confess how aroused she was, even as the source of that arousal made her want to curl in upon herself. Why was being exposed before all such a dark, twisted thrill for her? She was no beauty, and she knew every flaw, every stretch mark, every imperfection would be illuminated by her ordeal for all to see. Still, she knew how much it turned on her husband. She’d seen the look in his eyes when she’d asked those first tentative questions about The Walk. That it aroused him, in turn increased her own illicit, shameful lust.

  What is wrong with you?

  How had she gone so astray that her exposure to all those strangers, evaluating, criticizing, enjoying was something she willfully cooperated with? Her debasement, her humiliation was real — in an almost physical sense — yet her nipples were hard enough to cut steel, her clit throbbing in a way it hadn’t in a very long time. Her mouth was dry, her breath coming faster and faster, the smell of the leather gag overlaying all of it.

  At that one moment, the blindfold was a blessing, for it allowed her to fall into it, to surrender to her helplessness, to let the humiliation, the buzz and murmur of the crowd wash over her and take her under. She was no longer a woman now, she was an exhibition, a thing, a tool for the crowd’s amusement and pleasure.

  Two men in particular were the focus of her attention. That she be arousing to them, that they’d be pleased by her obedience, that they see her strength and fortitude — even in her debasement — was what she hoped for above all else.

  Make them proud.

  The hand at her shoulder urged her forward, and she stumbled a moment, her breasts wobbling, the surrounding crowd murmuring their amusement.

  “Let’s see her do that again,” someone said, their tone one of good-natured mirth. Laughter and approving sounds followed, making her thankful once more that she could hide her shame behind the blackness of her blindfold.

  She’d studied the route that most Walks took. Though there was some variation the Directors enjoyed employing to keep both Applicants and spectators guessing, she thought they’d begun to head down the long, long stretch of Columbia. The smell of cedar could just be detected on the wind, which confirmed her guess, the general noise level of the crowd around her preventing her from picking up any auditory signals that might help her pinpoint her location. Once again, she longed to hear Troy — or Hunter. Even a word of encouragement, or a rumbled exhortation to be a good girl, would be worth so much. The feeling of being lost, disoriented, threatened her as she shambled down the sidewalk, her breasts and hips swinging, the movement of her buttocks something she wanted very much to cover with her strictly bound hands.

  “Well, what do we have here?”

  The voice was deep, male, a hint of roughness to the tone suggesting that of a more mature man. The voice was unfamiliar, but she had no doubt it was referring to either her or Celina, stumbling along behind her in bondage even more heartless than her own.

  The hand at her shoulder squeezed, drawing her to a stop, the Master of Ceremonies whispering once more at her ear. “Stay where you are.”

  “Look at the nipples on this one. My God,” the older man said. “Almost like cows udders.”

  A female gasp sounded at her right.

  Celina!

  “There you go, girl,” the older man said, pleasure obvious in his tone. “You know, I have a friend who owns a dairy farm outside Olympia. He keeps more than cows there though, I assure you. He has one or two lovelies like you, though I must admit, even after their twice a day turn at the cups, they still don’t have nipples as long as yours.”

  Celina groaned again.

  The older man chuckled as Celina’s breath came faster. “There, that’s better — nice and hard and throbbing for the crowd. Walk proudly, girl. You’re making Von a happy man today.”

  Thinking he had finished with them, Lacey moved forward, only to have the hand at her shoulder clamp down brutally tight.

  “Oh, where are you going, beautiful?” The older man drew close to her then, his cologne a strong, but clean, scent. “My my, we’ve got some big girls on today’s walk, don’t we?”

  Laughter rippled through the crowd off to her left, and she cringed, suddenly reminded of their presence once more.

  Hands closed upon her breasts, but not cruelly so, fingers instead stroking across the upper slopes of her bosom, leaving gooseflesh in their wake, chills cascading down her spine.

  “You’re a new one, aren’t you? Hmm?”

  “This is this applicant’s first Walk,” the master of ceremonies said, a hint of a sneer in his voice. “You’ll have to excuse her skittishness.”

  “Oh she’s a good girl, I can tell,” the older man said. He leaned in, his grip upon her breasts tightening. “I never did much approve of putting you girls through this ordeal, but with such the display of tits you and your partner are putting on, I couldn’t resist. Know this, anonymous girl. You’re gorgeous. Every man in that crowd wants you — and I�
�d venture to guess a few of the women do too. Remember this, when you’re snuggling in your husband’s arms tonight.”

  Then he planted a gentle kiss on each of Lacey’s upturned nipples, her breath catching in her throat at both his brazen touch and his unexpectedly kind words.

  A big hand patted her bottom. “Best run along, girl,” the older man said. “You’ve got a fair bit still to go.”

  Then she was walking once more, her nipples already strangely missing such a gentle touch. She wished it were Troy or Hunter, even as she burned with shame that she’d take the smallest of comforts from any stranger kind enough to offer it. The abandon that welled within her at the thought surprised her, as exhilarating as it was frightening. Somehow, her helplessness and her anonymity allowed her the freedom, the leave, to accept and embrace whatever was given, whether kindness or cruelty, the sum of both heightening her senses, increasing the depth of her arousal, the heat of her shame, and the strength of her lust.

  The noise around her grew louder, a jarring sea of voices, laughter, the sounds of plates being stacked. The mouthwatering scent of garlic wafted by, her stomach growling as if on cue.

  “Ah now, this is what I’m after,” another voice said. He was male, with a faint accent of indeterminate origin. Maybe Spanish or Italian? She decided Italian.

  The hand at her shoulder turned her and guided her inside a structure, the air suddenly warmer, the noise of the crowd outside receding, replaced by the bustle and buzz of what sounded like many people inside.

  A restaurant. Paglianos?

  Then she smelled pasta, and mozzarella, and that cinched it. Definitely Paglianos. At once relieved to have somewhat regained her bearings, she was also more mortified than she’d been yet, remembering the close confines of the interior of the place, tables crowded down a large L-shaped dining area, while raised booths lined the length of the wall. She could almost see the bright red of the vinyl that covered the seats, the smells of garlic and onion and savory meats making her fear she might actually drool around her gag. She wondered why the place was open quite so early, but suspected she knew the answer was the woman being driven into its doors. Her.