by Angel Payne
A few feet to her right, a choked gasp cut the air. Rayna was letting the fear get to her. Her outburst was followed by a sharp smack. Rayna cried out louder. “Knock it off, bitch!” her henchman commanded.
This exchange took place as the Europeans filed inside the building. King apparently traded places with them, because his was the next voice to slice the air. The bastard wasn’t happy.
“You twit! What did I say about hitting them?”
Rayna’s guard fumed aloud. If Sage was a mind reader, she’d likely find the guy debating about how to point out that King had personally violated that rule already, and the evidence was plastered across the left side of Josie’s face.
The henchman finally protested, “She was about to scream.”
“Then let’s handle the challenge, shall we?” King shifted as if taking something from each of the guards. No. Wrong perception. Sage found out just how wrong in the next second. The asshole had been giving them all something. “Fasten the bits well. If any of them slip, I’ll have your balls for it.”
Before Sage had a second to process what he’d said, her lips were being shoved apart by a long leather tube, fitted horizontally between her teeth like a horse’s bit. Though the contraption was much cleaner than a wad of dirty rags, the fuck-you on her fear threshold was the same. The black void of her vision rushed the nightmare along. In an instant, she was back in that sweltering jungle. Back in that Quonset hut. Back in that moment where accepting the defeat was easier than fighting it.
Senses keen? Why? There was no way out of this. Nowhere to run, nowhere to be, nobody to become except the pawn into which King had transformed her. Garrett was going to touch down soon in a land where he’d spend weeks searching for her, when she would actually be in some Bavarian dungeon, helpless to escape, concentrating on nothing but taking her next breath.
“Move.” Junior jabbed his gun into her back. The feel of the barrel was different. They’d likely let the henchmen play with bigger toys for this part of their little adventure. She guessed he now had a semiautomatic of some sort.
They were led inside, where it was blessedly warmer. That didn’t soften the cold impact of the wood floor when Sage was pushed down to her knees. She smelled savory hot food and rich red wine, making her empty stomach growl, until the other essences in the room snuck into her awareness. More leather. The tang of heavy chains. The musk of recent sex.
Oh, God.
She wasn’t hungry any more.
One breath after the other. One breath after the other.
Leather couches crunched as people sat. Glassware clinked on tables. King chatted with the men as if they were at a casual cocktail party. Comments were traded about the wine and the weather, all as if they didn’t stand there with three bound, bit-gagged, half-naked women kneeling on the floor nearby. Their insouciance started to piss her off. She tried to contain the feeling, logically tracing it back to her terror, which turned the confusion of her mind into sheer chaos.
By the time the men approached them again, she literally thought she’d burst from her skin.
King let out a long, anticipatory sigh. “So, my friends…you have had some time to look at our fresh flowers. As you know, the first two are young, healthy, and very strong. The third is older, but in magnificent condition…and might bring an experienced flair to certain services.”
One of the men reacted to that with a heavy cough, before he said on a chuckle, “Indeed.”
Another man echoed the mirth. “Gustav is a bit…errmm…anal about some things.”
King laughed heartily. “Well, then! Perhaps she is the perfect fit. Or can be stretched to be!” After the men rewarded him with jokes that sounded like verbal slabs of grease, he offered, “Would you like to have a try at her, my friend? We can fasten her down on any of the benches for you.”
A deep grunt came from Gustav’s direction. “Perhaps later. Klaus has bigger wood to saw than me tonight, and less time to get to it. There is that saying, yah? Age before beauty?”
King laughed again, punching the sound full of even more fake hilarity than before. “All right, then! Klaus leads the fun tonight!”
“As I do every night.”
The voice behind those words had been the quietest one of the trio—which made its owner the one Sage feared the most. The measured control of it was roughened in certain places by vocal gravel that tugged weirdly at her gut. She didn’t want him to touch her, yet every time he spoke, that was all she could think about.
“Well then, Klaus my friend, which one of our young flowers would you like to smell deeper?”
Sage didn’t want to hear the bastard’s answer. If he picked Rayna, she’d be in agony. If he picked her, she’d be in Purgatory.
A leg pressed against her back. Another slid in front of her, and pressed a hard boot to her kneecaps. A large hand, full of steel-fingered command, descended on her head.
“The blond has a certain sass about her, yes?”
Sage tried to swallow. Only trouble was, her mouth had gone bone dry.
“Ah!” King exclaimed. “Very good choice! Where would you like her to be placed? The stockade? The fucking swing? The whipping bench?”
“I place my own sluts.”
The man’s voice took on an edge of anger with the statement. Sage’s chest vibrated in reaction, struggling to get air into her freezing, shaking body. Klaus hoisted her up, but her legs weren’t into cooperating with his control or hers, dangling beneath her like numb rags. Klaus supported her with one hand twisted in her corset strings and the other now wound into her hair.
“Somebody take off those silly shoes,” the man barked. “And you, boy—hand me your knife.” Sage trembled harder at that, and whimpered against the gag. “Be still.” Klaus gave her the order on a growl. His hand left her hair, shifting to her bound wrists instead. With a single swipe, he cut loose the zip tie.
Adrenaline shot into Sage. She didn’t stop to ponder why he’d done something so stupid, choosing instead to just capitalize on it. Though her hands barely worked, she formed them into claws and aimed straight for his face. Just a moment of distraction was all she needed. Once she could see again, she could run. And once she could run—
Her wrists were instantly bound again. Klaus slammed one of his hands around both of them. He twisted his grip with the force of an iron winch, trapping her so tight, she yearned for the zip ties again. Before she could stop it, an enraged yowl tore past the gag. Gustav and King chuckled, but from Klaus, there was nothing but a deep and hard growl.
“Try that again and I’ll break them, little sassy.” He jerked her arms down, rearranging her hands behind her back. “And if I must buy broken merchandise, that makes me want to smash it up more.”
With her wrists throbbing and her spirit reeling, Sage gave the asshole a reluctant nod. She wouldn’t be any use to Rayna and Josie if this bastard decided to start breaking bones.
Without another word, Klaus hooked a finger into the front of her corset and hauled her across the room. She gulped, shoving aside a mental comparison to a state fair cow being led to the auction block.
He stopped and made her do the same. She felt the man shift to stand right in front of her. With two more fast thwicks, he cut away the tiny panties that matched her corset. Sage corkscrewed her hands together to keep from covering her sex, now exposed to the man’s long, silent gaze.
“Beautiful,” he murmured.
She kept reminding herself to breathe. From the blackness behind her mask and the void into which her voice had been banished, every passing minute felt more surreal, less like it was her body doing this. Her heart and soul? They were nowhere to be found any more. She moved like an automaton, taking orders like a robot no matter how her body reacted biologically to this hell.
Klaus turned her a little. He slid up behind her, his very large body pressed to her back. “Up onto the cross now, my sassy,” he commanded into her ear, just before pushing her a few steps forward.
Sage struggled to swallow again. To feel anything other than pure fear. To gain back even a shred of composure to the arms and legs that shivered as if Klaus helped her step onto a bondage cross made of ice instead of steel. Nothing worked. He was stripping her, pulling off the corset and tossing it aside. He was spreading her, closing leather bonds around her wrists and ankles so her body aligned with the big X now. He was turning her into a mass of dread, of grief…and most horridly, of shame.
Because her heart wasn’t the only thing weeping through this ordeal.
The tissues at her core betrayed that truth with pulsing, rushing clarity. Her pussy knew exactly what was about to happen, and readied itself with clenching, wet anticipation.
She dug her teeth into the gag, and sobbed in self-disgust.
The man behind her worsened the moment. Klause pressed himself against her, sliding one arm around her waist then wrapping the other up to caress one of her breasts. His mouth closed in against her ear, roughening her skin with his thick beard, and he spoke in a grate so low, only she could hear it.
Only…the European inflection was gone.
In its place was a perfect, dulcet lilt that zapped everything inside her back to life. It was an accent she dreamed about. Lived for. Even joked about. She liked to call it “Iowa farm stud.” And Garrett always glowered at her for it.
“I know we both dreamed of something like this happening differently, sugar…but if we can get through it, I’m gonna get you out of here. I absolutely promise it, my heart.”
Chapter Seventeen
Her long, sweet moan was one of the most beautiful things Garrett had ever heard. In it, he heard everything she couldn’t tell him in words. Her shock. Her joy. And her complete, open surrender. She was bypassing her fear, her independence and this outright shitty circumstance to give herself to him. To lay her body and her life completely in his hands.
She moved him. Amazed him. Made him love her more deeply than he ever had.
And made him yearn to reclaim her, even if he had to do it in front of an audience of animals.
He walked behind the St. Andrews Cross on the pretense of double-checking the cinches in the bonds, but instead used the moment to get his face in front of hers. “Sugar, we had to present ourselves to this ass munch as sadistic pricks with money. I can’t give your sweet ass much of a warm-up on this, and I’m sorry. If it’s unbearable, give me your Girl Scouts promise, okay? Right hand, three fingers up. Moan for me if you understand.”
Sage lifted her head and let out a long, convincing keen for him. Her motion threw her face into the beams of the dungeon lights, and he saw the sheen of tears on them. An inferno burned through his chest, and he had to envision steel ropes around his wrists to keep from reaching up to her shimmery cheeks. He took a deep breath and prayed at least a few of the drops were from happiness.
After he walked back in front of the cross, he turned to the well-stocked supplies area. King must have raided every BDSM stockpile within five miles. A wooden pole sprouted about twenty floggers. Next to that, a whip rack was stocked just as fully. There was also a large cabinet with lighted shelves that were organized by toy type: dildos, clamps, inserts, electrosex devices, canes, crops, paddles…
There were more, but Garrett stopped at the paddles. Knowing King watched his every move, he bypassed the leather and fur-covered beginner versions, going for stricter devices such as a Scottish tawse and a long suede dragon’s tail.
He tested each implement on his forearm, as Zeke had instructed him. The action made it possible for him to throw a fast glance over at his friend. Z was ready with a reassuring nod, though that did nothing to help the guy from looking like a Hell’s Angels reject in his fake beard and nose. Wyatt’s ensemble was no better, with dark glasses and a false paunch that put him far into Bad Santa territory. But the three of them had long since passed the minutes of ribbing each other about their disguises. They were deep in the lion’s den now, and though Garrett had prayed the events wouldn’t come to this, the only way out was distracting the beasts long enough so Z and Wyatt could quietly let Josie and Rayna in on their identities, along with the main goals here.
They’d conduct a clean deal to “purchase” the girls from King. All the evidence would be monitored live, captured from Z’s necktie cam. As soon as they left, the Feds would take over, arresting King again, hauling his ass back off to FDC Sea-Tac. There would a special treat waiting for him when he arrived: a cellmate. The goons with the tampon box van had easily spilled about King’s twin brother. The pair would be watched day and night until their arraignment, now being rushed to priority status thanks to the dozen or more charges this whole stunt added to their crimes.
“Ahhh, the dragon’s tail. Excellent choice.”
Speak of the fucking devil. King murmured the approving words with a matching smile, speaking like Garrett was simply checking out fishing rods. Garrett had to consciously tell his lips to give an answering smirk, instead of grabbing one of the whips and saving FDC a shitload of money, effort, and paperwork by just strangling the bastard right now.
“You think so?” He forced civility to the reply.
King nodded. “It gives better control than a whip, yet yields just as much…fun.”
“Hmm.” Garrett had to navigate his brain past not only his fur, but the need that stung every inch of his cock since the second he’d gotten Sage naked. Damn it, the cramped quarters inside this fancy suit weren’t helping matters one bit.
In an impatient heat, he shucked the jacket. After folding it into a lump, he stuffed it against King’s chest. “Well then, my friend, why don’t you take care of this for me, have yourself a seat, and let me proceed to the ‘fun.’” He jabbed his head at a plush chair in a corner to the right. The selection wasn’t by accident. King would be across the room from all the guards, who were rapidly dropping into the zero effectiveness zone anyhow, thanks to their fixation on his nude fiancé.
It would be a miracle if he got out of here tonight without killing someone.
He needed to focus on Sage. On getting her out of here, away from this cocksucker’s clutches, forever.
King complied with his directive like an unthinking puppy. Thank fuck that even the thought of a few Benjamins turned the asshole’s mind to applesauce. The relief allowed Garrett to take a measured breath, knowing it would be the last of its kind for a while. Once he turned back to Sage, all bets would be off on his lungs cooperating with his brain. He had a feeling the command center between his ears was going to be busy controlling other things. Well, trying to.
Hell.
The speculation was more accurate than he estimated.
Though he was the one who’d locked her to the cross that way, beholding her anew was a jolt that stopped his feet, burned his veins, and swelled his cock with aching heat. No wonder all the guards were standing there like lusting gorillas. With her body opened in this position, one could admire every nuance of her figure. She’d always been glorious, but with the muted lighting of the room playing across her stretched naked limbs, she became a siren of sensuality, a vessel of surrender, waiting for a commander to harness her, tame her, possess her.
Eat shit, you motherfuckers. I’m that commander.
He made sure every step he took communicated that message, making the little crowd of perverts back up as he paced out a semi-circle in front of the cross. As he moved closer to Sage, her shoulders went taut and her ass cheeks clenched. That sight alone made his erection surge against his pants. Christ, she was magnificent, all naked sinew, dewy skin, and writhing anticipation. Tiny tremors raced along her body, confirming a fact that hit him like a lightning bolt: every sensation she was going to feel, every bite of pain and drop of arousal, was now under his control. The power was so intoxicating, he was damn glad he’d only sipped at the wine King had offered earlier. He was well on his way to the best high of his life, pumped on this heady exhilaration, this rush of power, this gift of complete trust.
<
br /> Holy hell, why had he denied this for so long?
And why the fuck did he pick the shittiest times to arrive at major life epiphanies?
He dropped his head, the only reasonable method he could manage to clear it. Continuing to fill his stare with Sage was not the key there. He’d damn-near blown his cover a minute ago just by gazing too long, which had almost turned into the catastrophe of going over to her again, of touching her. He would’ve run his hands everywhere too…anywhere. Up her beautiful arms. Down her tapered legs. Across her belly…then lower. He would’ve dipped into the crevice of her moist, pouting sex, and lingered there for a long while. He would’ve awakened her skin and stirred her senses, coaxing her body to prepare itself for the impacts to come…
But he’d gotten an invite to this soiree by pretending to be a hardcore sadist. The kind of guy who didn’t get off on fun warm-ups or gentle lead-ins. The kind of guy who took a quality dragon’s tail and made sure his submissive knew how he’d be using it.
His fingers tightened around the wrapped leather handle. Every second he hesitated meant a tiny slip of credibility. He’d briefed Sage on what was to come. She was expecting this. And maybe, judging by the peeks he got at the shiny, wet layers between her thighs, she was even looking forward to it. And damn, damn, how he’d love to see her perfect, round buttocks marked by a stroke he’d given her…a brand he alone had burned into her…
Thwack.
He let out a heavy breath, hardly believing he’d done it.
Hardly believing it had felt so incredible.
Hardly believing that Sage’s long moan would double the pressure in his balls—and the lust that claimed everything south of his beltline.
Thwack.
He curled the tapered suede around again, marking her a little lower and a little harder. This time, a brilliant red streak rose along her skin. The next instant, he gave the welt an identical twin, aiming for the spot where her darling heart of an ass started tapering into her waist. With every measured lash, he made sure to watch for the safety sign from her right hand, but the fingers there were nowhere near a scout’s oath. Sage had the digits folded around the edge of her wrist cuff, kneading the leather in time to the breaths that came in giant swooshes through her nose. Her left hand did the same to its own bond.