Silence was my only company as I lay in the cramped space. I wondered how long I’d be caged this time. Sometimes it was just a few, scant hours, other times it could be days of lying in my own waste, my body numb, my eyes playing tricks on me, showing me shadows in the darkness, images that over time had helped push me further into madness. In those dark moments, I would see the girl who was destroyed down here, her face little more than a ghostly apparition. On occasions she would even talk to me, whispering words and telling me stories of her life before Viršininkas.
“She would sneak me cookies before bed. Do you remember her?” the girl would ask. But I had no memories of the woman. No memories at all, for Beauty was born in this frigid cell, and there were no recollections from before that moment. But I wanted stories like the ones the girl would tell me, so I allowed my mind to conjure images of an old woman, Spanish, with her dark hair split with greys coiled into a bun. Heavy lines aged her soft face. Laugh lines crowded her eyes, because she laughed a lot.
Blinding light washed away the image of that smiling Spanish woman, and with it the pitch-black I hated so much. I squinted against the brightness. I didn’t close my eyes, though, that light was something I hungered for. I wanted it even as it stabbed at my sensitive corneas. The heavy steel door behind me whispered open, and the air in the room felt like it chilled even further as Viršininkas entered. Even though I couldn’t see him, I knew he was there. His sick, silent presence was so thick in the air I could almost taste the evil that clung to him. The click of shoes struck the hard floor, getting closer and closer to my cage, and all too soon he stood before me. Dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit, his hands were shoved carelessly in his trouser pockets, a nasty smirk on his hawk-like face.
“Beauty, you’ve been a bad, bad girl.”
His accented voice whispered across my skin, sending goose-pimples over my flesh. For a moment, panic coiled tight around my neck, constricting my airway. Breathing deep, I forced my legs to remain steady and reminded myself that I had been at their mercy for years now, there was nothing they could do that I hadn’t already survived. A second set of pounding footsteps entered the room, and over Viršininkas shoulder, I found Matis strolling closer. One corner of his mouth was pulled into a smug grin, his chin lowered and eyes narrowed. When he lifted up a sharp blade to tap against a red scratch on his cheek, I knew exactly why he looked so self-righteous. I’d fought Matis, I’d hurt Matis, so he would be the one to dole out my punishment. Even though fear threatened to make my limbs tremble, I felt no remorse for my attempt to flee. When help had been so close, I couldn’t do anything but fight for my freedom. What I did regret was not putting more than a fine scratch across Matis’ cheek. In my mind, I imagined that scratch deeper, sliced into his face, splitting his flesh apart and draining the blood from his body.
Viršininkas used a key to open the padlock, and one large hand with long, bony fingers reached in and dragged my ankle toward the cage door. Sliding along the concrete floor, I wiggled out of the cage. Regardless of the horror that awaited me outside its steel bars, I would endure it over the confined space any day. My body spasmed as I stretched to my full height, and I swayed on my feet as I turned to face Viršininkas. I ignored the discomfort, Viršininkas disliked it immensely when I complained, and to be honest, I didn’t want him to see that his punishment affected me. Ice, that’s what I was. Frozen heart, frozen emotions, and any signs of pain were locked down deep inside my heart and soul.
Viršininkas glanced over my shoulder and gave Matis one short nod. My hair was abruptly pulled back, my neck pulled taut as my scalp burned with pain. While unconscious, I had been stripped bare, and Matis took advantage of that as he placed the blade of his knife against one nipple, digging it into my flesh, not deep enough to draw blood, but enough to tell me I was in for a world of agony. My heart beat frantically, and a part of me hoped this was it, the moment the beating organ gave out and released me from this life of torture.
“Time to bleed, bitch,” Matis purred as he withdrew the knife and used my hair to drag me across the room.
Cuffs with cold, steel chains attached were quickly locked around my wrists and hooked into a pulley hanging from the ceiling. With the push of a button, Viršininkas grinned as my arms rose over my head, and I was lifted off the ground, only the tips of my toes brushing the floor. Matis stood before me, slowly stripping out of his suit, layer by layer, tossing the fabric aside without care and never once letting go of his favorite blade. He wasn’t as thin as my master, his body was coiled with muscle. His age was undistinguishable with his salt and pepper hair and strong physique. A dusting of hair covered his chest, thinning as it dipped lower to a thin trail leading to his heavy, erect cock.
Once naked, he stepped forward and ran the silver steel down my chest, between my breasts, over the flat contours of my stomach, before stilling at the juncture between my thighs. Fear stole my voice as my mouth parted, and tears threatened to spill over my lashes. He’d never cut me down there, but it had been a long time since I’d fought back against either of these men, they were beyond angry. As the knife began to rub between my lips, I realized the blade had been turned around and it was the handle that assaulted me. With more force, Matis began to rub faster and faster, and I couldn’t help the flinch as he laughed before plunging it inside me. Unable to hold it back, my voice was found again on a scream ripped from deep inside my chest as the large handle probed me relentlessly. Visions of the last three years flashed through my mind, and any link to the girl I’d once been were gone, leaving behind nothing but an empty shell that still felt too damn much, too much pain, too much anger. As quickly as the onslaught began, it ended, with Matis withdrawing the knife and pressing the blade against my cheek.
“Not her face,” Viršininkas ordered, his words spoken rapidly, the excitement as he watched clear in his tone.
The hate in Matis’ eyes was an emotion so thick it almost had its own stench. Or perhaps it was just the tangy iron scent of blood. Blood he had drawn from my body more times than I could count. The blade pressed harder against my skin, and just when I thought he’d disobey Viršininkas and cut my face, it disappeared. One of my legs was wrenched high, and Matis positioned his rigid erection at my core. Closing my eyes, I tried to disappear from this place, taking my mind far away where it could no longer be damaged.
“Tut, tut, Beauty, you know better than that,” Viršininkas’ voice hissed in my ear as he physically forced my eyelids open. “Watch Matis work. He is a genius when it comes to blood fucking.”
Then it began, the fucking, the bleeding, the animalistic, carnal hate that coated my body like sludge. Disgust had never burned so hot inside me, loathing as hot as lava. And for hours, as I hung like a slab of meat from the hook in that dungeon, my mind painfully present, I silently promised if I ever got free I’d rain down retribution on these men like nothing the universe had ever seen.
HART
The security surrounding Algis’ property was almost non-existent, his attempt to secure it was almost laughable. The two men patrolling the grounds were hired locals, one of whom had been taking a piss when I slit his throat, the other smoking a cigarette and playing on his cell phone. As expected, the manor was wired with security cameras, but nothing more than a few clipped cables inside the breaker box had disabled the entire system. Now surrounded by the luxurious furnishings, I couldn’t stop my lip from lifting in a sneer. It was too perfect, too orderly, too bland. The air reeked of clove cigarettes and air freshener that was probably meant to mask the underlying odor of acrid, burning tobacco. I much preferred my private beachfront villa on the east coast of Mexico, with warm tones, brick and clay finishes, and cluttered mess. Although London was my birthplace, Tulum was my home, and standing in the middle of Algis’ minimalistic living room, I missed home.
With quiet, purposeful steps, I navigated the lower floor, making my way to the wide staircase that led to the upper floor. I’d spent long hours scruti
nizing the layout of Algis’ property, both inside and out. I knew every wall, room, and doorway. At the top of the stairs, I turned right and followed the wide hallway until I reached the last door. It was closed, but I knew it wasn’t locked. Algis was too arrogant to think of doing such a thing, his head clouded with self-importance and entitlement. He thought himself untouchable. He was fucking wrong.
I pushed the door open and paused, watching for movement in the dimly lit room. Finding no shadows lurking, I decided it was safe to enter, stepping forward and making my way to the bed and the snoring lump of mass under the thick covers. Snapping open a pocket on my cargos, I pulled out the syringe I’d already prepared and carefully removed the cap over the needle. With quick and efficient movements, I stabbed the needle directly into Algis’ jugular. He squirmed, grunted, offered a feeble slap at my wrist, then settled back into the uninterrupted sleep I had sent him with the drug now pumping through his veins. It was so easy it was laughable. I’d gift wrap him in chains and present him to my boss, who would show Algis just how unimportant he was in the whole scheme of things.
A sniffle from the furthest side of the bed caught my attention, and I pocketed the syringe and drew my gun, making my way around the bed with quick strides. What greeted me from the floor beside the bed made my stomach curdle. She didn’t move, barely made a sound except for her quick, short breaths. Leaning forward, I caught a glimpse of gleaming metal and realized right away that she wasn’t a threat, nor was she going anywhere anytime soon. Carefully stepping over her prone form, I flicked on the bedside lamp. My shocked eyes met hers. While my research on Algis had uncovered her existence, it was still a surprise to see her in the flesh again. It had been not more than three days ago when Charlie Decena and I stormed a mansion at Kensington Palace Gardens where I first caught sight of this girl. Just a brief glimpse of big, blue eyes emphasized by smoky eyeshadow, perfect heart-shaped lips painted blood red, and long, blonde hair that fell to her waist. That room had been filled with many beautiful women, but the fleeting glance I’d had of this particular one stayed with me. Even as beaten and bloody as she was now, she was still exquisite. Her makeup was smeared like a sad clown, the dark mascara leaving tear tracks down her pale cheeks. So tragically beautiful.
As my eyes perused her body, I noted the chains around her wrists and ankles that kept her tethered to the floor. Around her neck was a thick, silver collar, and it too was attached to a short chain beneath her neck. Her movement restricted to a few scant inches here and there.
“Chain ’im up and get me the spreader bar. We don’t want ’im closin’ up on us.”
The memory pushed bile up my throat, and choking it back down was like swallowing concrete. With a shake of my head, I dislodged the images in my mind and forced my concentration back on the woman before me. While there was definitely fear in her trembling limbs and panicked breaths of air, it was almost smothered by something else, something so familiar it was like looking in a mirror. Rage. So much rage she was drowning in it.
“I find it difficult to believe a wisp of a girl like you would need to be chained and subdued,” I whispered, resting to my haunches at her side. “Let’s get your free, hmm? Do you know where the key is kept?”
Eyes, big and round, reminding me of a doll, watched me warily. Just when I thought she wouldn’t answer, her full, cracked lips parted.
“Viršininkas keeps them on a chain around his neck.”
Her voice was rough, perhaps not used in some time, or more likely, her throat raw from screaming. I rose and moved back to Algis who did, in fact, have a thin gold chain around his neck, three keys hanging from it. With a slight tug, the clasp easily broke. Once back beside the broken angel, I knelt and began the task of releasing the padlocks that tethered her. Ankles, both rubbed raw from their bindings, first. Next, her wrists, fine, like a bird’s delicate bones, and lastly, the choker around her neck that fell with a clunk to the floor once released. Even now, free, she didn’t move as she watched me, assessing, trying to figure out if I was friend or foe. My world was filled with death and blood, I’d seen and done things that would send me to the fiery gates of hell, and I didn’t hold a flicker of remorse. Was I a threat? Always. But I had morals, however fucked up they might be. Perverts and pedophiles were the first on my shit list, rapists and traffickers next. So, I guess you could say I was a friend. However, as I gazed upon her body, my cock thickened, and lust filled my veins. Perhaps friend was too empty a word for the way she made me feel. I didn’t do unwilling women, but this girl’s combination of broken beauty, vulnerability, and barely smothered anger intrigued me on a level no other woman had ever done.
My fingers itched to touch her and see if her skin, so pale it was almost translucent, was as soft as it appeared. Crystal blue eyes with a sharp, angry glower watched me from a face so lovely it could possibly be described as angelic, even with the yellowing bruise on her cheek. Her hair was long and a blonde so fair it was almost white. Her features were reminiscent of Scandinavia or Denmark. She was from neither, though, the unmistakable inflection in the few words she’d spoken were clearly American. Obviously, she’d been abducted, and she was young, maybe still a teenager, though late teens. How long had she been in Algis’ possession? She didn’t even attempt to hide her nakedness as my gaze followed her collarbone, dropping to small breasts with pale pink tipped nipples. Ignoring the angry bruises and deep gashes, I shifted my inspection to her concave stomach. She needed food, she was too thin. Her hip bones jutted out, presenting me with a line straight to her perfect bare pussy. Her inner thighs were marred with bruises in varying shades of purples, blues, and yellows. Recollections of a time I’d long since buried threatened to unearth themselves again. The phantom feeling of hands raking over my body and fingers digging into my flesh sparked a light to the simmering temper I’d spent many years learning to control. With my jaw clenched tight, I concentrated on keeping myself in check and the monster leashed. That feeling of being weak, vulnerable, and abused could only been dulled with blood and death. Glancing down at the woman, I remembered how it felt to be so helpless, and I recalled the bloodshed I had needed to settle my own tormented mind.
“Don’t pity me.”
Her voice was low, barely a whisper, but the tone was held together with steel and barbs. She’d surprised me and there were few who could do that. Rather than ask who I was or what was happening or if I was going to hurt her, she slapped away any empathy I might share with her. Looking harder upon her delicate features, I saw the twisted darkness. It was there, deep in her tortured gaze. I saw it because I knew it well. This girl wasn’t broken, but she’d been torn down and was ready to be built anew.
“I wouldn’t dare,” I murmured, trying to hide my smile.
That wild madness was suddenly focused elsewhere, her doe-like eyes tearing away from mine. She was now staring at the bed where Algis continued to sleep, deep, heavy snorting noises escaping his lips. The girl’s fists clenched as she lifted to a sitting position. It must have hurt, but she hid the pain well as she continued to glare at the man sleeping peacefully.
“Who are you?” she eventually asked.
Who I was didn’t matter. To some I was a ghost, a man only seen if he wanted to be seen, a name only given if I wanted to give it. I didn’t really know who this girl was, or how much of myself I wanted to give her, so I figured it best to give her nothing.
“He won’t wake any time soon.” Reaching into my pocket with slow movements, I produced the used syringe. The girl’s gaze finally left Algis and returned to me. The crazed torture in her eyes disappeared, a blank canvas of nonchalance replacing it. “I drugged him. You see, Algis pissed off the wrong person. I’m here to bring him in.”
“Who’s Algis?”
This time I didn’t try to hide my smile, nodding toward the bed.
“Meet Algimas Bakaitis, also known as Algis. He is a member of Lithuania’s millionaire’s club. He owns one of the world’s largest transport
companies.” She looked to the bed, then to me, then back to the bed again, her long, dark lashes blinking slowly as she allowed my words to sink in.
“Did you know that by knowing a demon’s name, you have power over it?” The curious question caught me off guard, and by the confused frown on her face, I assumed it did her, too.
“I don’t know how I know that, I just do.”
“Interesting,” I confessed. “So, you now have power over Algis, hmmm?”
The corner of her mouth twitched, almost as if she was going to smile.
“He’s not a demon,” she murmured. “He’s just a rapist piece of shit and I never much cared to know his name.”
A bark of laughter left my lips, and the girl’s gaze dropped to my mouth before she was back to staring at the skinny bastard in the king-size bed. Pulling my cell phone from my pocket, I checked the time. However fascinating I found the girl, I only had fifty-four hours to get Algis back to my boss, Charlie Decena. Time was of the essence. Charlie was a man who didn’t like to be kept waiting.
“Do you have a knife?” The girl’s voice abruptly brought an ending to all thoughts of Charlie and Algis.
“What would a little thing like you do with a knife, hmm?” I wondered out loud, watching and waiting for her response.
Beauty: Part 1: Blaire's World (Beauty's Duet #1) Page 2