SPANIARD UNTAMED
Blood and Thunder 3
Spaniard Untamed
by
Susan Stephens
USA Today Bestselling Author
COPYRIGHT
Copyright 2017 Susan Stephens
Cover Design Copyright Glass Slipper WebDesign
Images Adobe Stock and Period Images
Editor: Linda Ingmanson
Formatter: Glass Slipper WebDesign
ISBN: 978-1-910604-30-4 ePub
ISBN: 978-1-910604-31-1 mobi
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents, are either the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental. All Rights Reserved.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Epilogue
More on Susan’s Books
About The Author
Other books by Susan Stephens
Dedication
To my wonderful readers whose enthusiasm never fails to inspire me.
Prologue
The school she loved was on fire. The village she called home was being ransacked. Celina and the girl she was lying across to protect as best she could jumped in terror each time the gunfire came closer. Smoke was creeping under the door of the schoolroom where they were hiding. Flames lapped at the windows. Celina didn’t see how they could escape. If they opened the door, the fire would consume them. If they climbed out the window, they’d either burn to death or the slavers would shoot them. No one wanted damaged goods, and they were sure to be burned if they tried to escape that way.
“Life isn’t fair, is it?” Marissa whispered.
“We’ll get out of here somehow,” Celina promised. Dead or alive crossed her mind. But Marissa was right. It was unfair. Her young friend was supposed to enjoy the same chances Celina had been given. They’d both grown up in the stark surroundings of an orphanage governed by cruelty and deprivation in a small village in the Tatra Mountains of Eastern Europe. Their childhood had been beyond the imagination of most people. She’d realized by the age of ten that when visitors came to visit the “poor” children, the food would suddenly improve, as would the manner of the matron-in-charge, whose spite was demonstrated regularly with physical violence, as well as the whip of her tongue. When the matron was unobserved, that was.
Cautiously, Marissa moved her head so she could look into Celina’s eyes. “Do you really think we’ll get out of here?”
The only answer Celina could give was a tight hug. Marissa was just eighteen, and Celina five years older. Thanks to the generosity of an American philanthropist who’d taken over the orphanage five years before to ensure the children had the best start in life, Marissa had been due to follow Celina to university. The slavers’ raid had put an end to that hope. Escaping with their lives was all that mattered now.
Both girls gasped as the door burst open.
Slavers!
“There’s valuable stock in here,” one of them snarled. “Let’s get them out.”
Marissa screamed piteously as the two girls were dragged to their feet and torn from each other.
“Let me go to her,” Celina yelled as her captor seized her hair. “I can calm her,” she pleaded.
Giving Celina’s hair a vicious twist, the thug forced her outside and bundled her into the back of a van.
“This one won’t stop screaming,” his fellow slaver complained as he shoved a petrified Marissa in front of him.
“Put a bullet in her mouth. She’ll soon shut up!”
“No!” Celina launched herself at the van doors as they were slammed shut, but the vehicle lurched off, and she was thrown to the floor.
Chapter One
It was hard to believe the underbelly of a glamorous city could be such a filthy, stinking contrast to the sheen of perfection only yards above her head. Desperate, hungry, and chained to a wall, Celina had been transported in the back of a van from Eastern Europe to the glittering principality of Monaco, tucked between the southern borders of France and Italy. She and the other women with her had been dumped in the basement of some unknown building before being informed with relish that they were to be sold off to perverts who took pleasure buying slaves on the dark web.
“Ready to beg for my forgiveness?” a sneering gang member asked as he passed by, kicking Celina’s foot with the toe of his boot.
Lifting her chin, she blazed a look of pure hatred into his eyes. This was the same man who had suggested silencing Marissa with a bullet in her mouth. Her reward for this small rebellion was a stinging slap that banged her head against the wall.
“Leave her!” the gang boss yelled as Celina yelped with pain. “And you can wipe that look off your face, bitch. You’ve got three things to look forward to, and that’s death, slavery, and pain.”
“Presumably, not in that order,” Celina muttered under her breath.
“You won’t be talking back soon,” the gang boss predicted. “Be thankful you’re worth more to me unblemished.”
Closing off her thoughts, Celina didn’t reply. The experience of growing up in a starkly regimented orphanage helped her do this. The matron at the home regularly accused Celina of mute insolence because she would never cry. The woman’s complete lack of sensitivity hadn’t allowed her to figure out that Celina was too frightened to cry.
She had to find a way out of this so she could one day return to discover if Marissa had survived the brutality of the slavers. If she showed how frightened she was, the gang members would only torment her more. They were armed to the teeth and wouldn’t hesitate to use their weapons. Men without conscience, whose only thought was profit, they had driven their human cargo across Europe for three days straight. Crushed in the back of a van, the women had been given one bottle of water to share between them in all that time, with the gang only stopping to allow them to use the facilities at various gas stations.
“It wouldn’t hurt her to give me a blow job,” Celina overheard the first tormentor comment to his boss.
“Suck your filthy cock?” The gang boss barked a laugh. “That won’t encourage the bitch to behave well at auction. Don’t worry,” he added with chilling certainty as he turned back to Celina. “You’ll get your chance to suck dick. As soon as you’re sold, you can suck mine.”
Determined not to be provoked, Celina lowered her eyes. She’d tried to escape to find food but had been recaptured along with another girl called Amber. She had no intention of putting her fellow captives in more danger by losing her cool.
“Get over here!” the gang boss instructed his goons. “We’ll take inventory, then we’ll move this stock.”
“Those vigilantes still on our tail?”
The man who had tormented Celina asked the question, and it provoked a furious look from his boss. He’d said too much, Celina guessed. Her heart soared at the thought of rescue. She would survive this. Closing her eyes, she rested back to conserve her strength for whatever came next. She should have expected that to be the slaver who had taunted her, returning for a second shot.
“You’ll be perfect for one of our regulars,” he said, bringing his face so close, his stinking breath
made her want to gag. “He loves young girls like you. He’s as rich as Croesus and as fat as a pig. He buys all our best young girls to rape before he beats them to death.”
It was harder to force her expression to remain neutral when she was shaking with terror inside, but she had no intention of giving this scum the satisfaction of seeing how frightened she was. She’d face the fat-man hurdle if and when she had to. For now, it was enough to be alive.
Hours passed and nothing changed. As time dragged on and hope of a rescue faded, she remembered getting through bad times at the orphanage by thinking herself somewhere else. She always retreated to the same place, a lush green forest where birdsong soothed her and she felt safe and warm. A clear stream ran through the forest. Gurgling over the rocks, it fed a pond where she could clean herself and swim. She was deep in this dreamscape when the door suddenly crashed open. Shrinking back against the wall, she was deafened by screams from the women imprisoned with her as a team of men in black combat gear hurtled down the steps. The slavers scattered. Using the women as shields, one of them pointed a gun at Celina’s head. “Let us walk out of here, or she dies,” he threatened calmly.
Helpless to do anything, she could only freeze and wait.
Everything happened so fast after that; she had no idea how the balance of power could change so quickly. A member of the team took out the gang boss while a giant of a man came to kneel at her side. She cowered away from him, having no idea if he was any better than the rest. For all she knew, this was a rival gang of slavers come to steal valuable stock. A balaclava covered much of his face, but now she took a closer look at him, something about his manner reassured her. Unlike the slavers, he smelled clean and looked professional, but it was his eyes that held her interest. Clear, bright, and almost black, they were backlit by keen intelligence. She would judge him on his actions, she decided, awarding him his first brownie point when he produced bolt cutters and set to work on her chains. His physical presence was brutally masculine, and she tingled with awareness as the chains fell away. Instead of fear when he helped her to her feet, she felt shockingly attracted.
He stared at her intently. “Are you okay?”
His smooth baritone intrigued her even more. His voice was lightly accented. He was Spanish, she guessed, though English was their common language. “A bit stiff,” she admitted tensely. When he released her to go and help the other women, she rested her hand on her arm where he’d held her. She could still feel his touch like a brand.
“Join the other women,” he urged, swinging around to face her.
She tore her gaze away from him to see those of her companions who were able to walk filing up the steps, hopefully to safety.
He confirmed this, assuring her with a nod of encouragement. “You’ll be safe.”
She resisted the temptation to run out of that terrible cellar. Filled with the stink of death and cruelty, it was truly an outpost of hell. But she had work to do. “I’ll stay and help those who’ve been injured,” she insisted. “I can translate for the women. I can calm them. I won’t leave until they’re all safely out of here.”
“That would help us,” the man agreed curtly. “Thank you.”
Her interested gaze followed him as he went to help with the evacuation, and her heart thundered like crazy when he turned around to give her one last assessing stare.
~~o0o~~
Strong. Angry. Passionate. With eyes that tore at his soul, reminding him why he did this work. The girl he’d just tended to was in need of more care and attention, but she had decided to stay and help. That impressed him. She impressed him. Small and filthy, but still defiant, and clever enough to be wary, even with him, there had been an immediate connection between them, a connection of body and mind. Maybe because she was tiny and he was anything but, the urge to carry her out of here, whatever she said, and take her somewhere quiet, wash her, talk to her, find out more about her, was nagging at him. And at his body, he conceded. That connection between them was crackling like electricity. They only needed to be close to each other for it to fire up. Her voice strummed through his senses, reminding him of all the softer things in life he’d had to put on hold for this.
Which was exactly what he didn’t need. Not now. Not when there were still slavers on the loose.
Their stares met briefly as he crossed the room to help another woman. The girl was busily employed, but her glance kept flicking back to him. He felt her interest. More than interest. But there was no time for that now. Not yet.
~~o0o~~
With one last intense stare that sent hot blood racing through Celina’s veins, the man turned his back on her to help an older, badly shaken woman up the steps. Would a callous slaver be so gentle and so courteous? She had to hope not.
Wherever they were being taken, she explained to the women who were reluctant to leave even the hellhole of a cellar for the unknown, it must be better than where they’d been. She thanked the man on their behalf. “Thank you for freeing us.”
He’d hunkered down to look after one of the women who had fallen and cut her leg in the panic. He looked up. “You’re welcome,” he said again with sincerity.
His kindness touched her. She felt wistful, longing for something she couldn’t put a name to.
She hardly knew what normal was anymore, Celina accepted as she glanced around the scene of carnage in the cellar. Some of the criminals had escaped during the brief but violent raid. The man who had taunted her was one of them. She shivered involuntarily, hoping their paths would never cross again. She seemed fated to encounter cruelty, as well as uncertainty, but she remained determined not only to keep her own head above water, but to help those who couldn’t help themselves. She’d witnessed violence in the school where she worked when the slavers arrived, and now this, but she wouldn’t allow it to make her cold and unfeeling toward other people. Even if she wouldn’t allow herself the indulgence of feeling, she would never shut herself off from others. And, on a positive note, her past had given her useful skills. She knew basic first aid, and being multilingual, thanks to the mix of children in the orphanage, she could communicate with traumatized women who were rigid with fright in their own language. Making a quick assessment of the situation, she hurried to help.
“That’s it. We’re done here,” the giant who had rescued her announced as Celina guided the last of the women up the stairs. “Thank you again,” he added. “You’ve made things easier for them.”
She found his long stare disquieting. “It’s the least they deserve.” She followed him up the steps as quickly as her cramped limbs would allow. Being this close to him made her spine tingle. Did he have a wife or a girlfriend back home? And why was she thinking like that here, in this most inappropriate of situations? But he must have someone, surely?
“Hurry,” he commanded. He was waiting for her at the top of the steps. “You’ll be taken on to safety from here.”
Could anywhere be safe with him flashed through her mind, and when he put his arm around her shoulders, though it was the briefest of touches, she felt the effect shimmer through her entire body. When she stared up, he was staring back. Now this was one man she would like to meet again.
“Thank God you’re safe!”
Celina whirled around as the girl who’d tried to help her when she’d escaped rushed up to her to give her a hug. “Amber!” she exclaimed. “And you,” she said with feeling. “I’m so relieved to see you.”
“We’re safe now,” Amber promised. “Blood and Thunder are behind this raid.”
“Blood and Thunder?” Celina frowned. She had no idea what Amber was talking about.
“A team of vigilantes who works with the angels.”
“Amber. Come,” a harsh male voice with a Russian accent interrupted. “We need to get you all out of here fast.”
Celina was still no clearer as to the identity of their rescuers, and this second giant was in no mood to wait. She looked between him and her friend Amber with interest.
Amber shrugged an apology as the man ushered her away. “You’ll find out about Blood and Thunder once we’re away from here,” she called back. “All that matters is that you’re safe. Don’t worry. I’ll see you again soon.”
“I hope so,” Celina murmured.
“Everyone else is out of the house except you.”
She turned at the sound of a scolding to find it was directed at her. The first giant was back.
“Your work is done here,” he rapped without any of his former caring. “You’ve been helpful, but now you’re putting everyone in danger by remaining behind. Come with me.”
She blinked at his harsh instruction and had to remind herself that he’d saved her life. Staring past him into the inky night, she remembered what she’d told the other women. Whatever came next couldn’t possibly be worse than where she’d been.
Chapter Two
A few months later
Celina still found it hard to believe that Diego Vidal, the Grand Duke of Monte Caliente, as she now knew her rescuer to be called, wasn’t simply a vigilante, or even a billionaire polo player with homes across the world, including this magnificent residence in Spain. He was one of the four leaders of a global network of a force for good, fronted by the Blood and Thunder polo team. But he was a lot more than that, Celina thought as she stared down from the balcony that stretched the full length of her employer’s remarkable mountaintop eyrie. Diego was a hero. He was her hero. Diego Vidal had saved her life.
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