Savage Chains: Captured (#1) (2 page)

“Reyes,” she whispered softly. “You’re not indifferent. I can sense it. And I promise you, I’m not after anything, except this.” She leaned up and kissed him.

His lips were moist and sensual and for just a moment, he leaned into her and returned the kiss.

When she finally drew back, his eyes flared once more and the grip on her arm increased. “Who are you?” His voice was now hoarse and deep.

She wanted to ask him to take her somewhere, anywhere, but he released her arm and once more adopted a hard expression.

“You’re making a mistake, Angelica. And I’m begging you to leave this club and never come back. You belong tucked up in your safe, very normal life. This one, I promise you, this one will destroy you.”

Before she could ask what the hell he meant, he moved past her back in the direction of the bar.

Angelica didn’t know what to think. His words seemed to suggest she was in some kind of danger, or at least she would be if she stayed here.

For a long beat, she considered following after him, but the moment had passed. She’d given him plenty of opportunity to engage with her, but instead he wanted her to go away.

She moved forward toward the open front doors of the club. The cool ocean breeze cleared her senses as more customers flowed into the large foyer.

She couldn’t believe she’d kissed him. She’d wanted to shake him up, and she was sure she’d succeeded, at least a little. But apparently not enough for him to ask her to stay.

Walking toward her car, almost in a daze, his words kept playing over in her mind: that this club or maybe this part of society would destroy her. But what bothered her the most was his reference to her safe life.

As she reached her modest Camry, a very
safe
car, she drew her keys from her clutch but got no further. She didn’t want to go back to her usual routine, to her normal life. That’s what went through her head, and it made it impossible to put the key in the lock.

She knew the kiss had touched him, opened him a little. She couldn’t be wrong about that.

She also thought it possible that if she left now, she’d never see him again, and that was the last thing she wanted. She had to break through his icy barrier, get him to talk, and maybe at the very least to explain why he thought she was in danger.

She put her keys back in her purse and turned around. She had to make one last attempt to reach him.

The parking lot was well lit with lots of people coming and going. Though there were two rather large, imposing men at the end of her row of cars, she had no reason to feel at risk. There were just too many people around for anything to go wrong.

She moved quickly in the direction of the club, and at the same time the two men pivoted toward her. A jolt of fear went through her, an instinct that almost turned her feet around once more. But even if they meant her harm, what could they possibly do with so many witnesses nearby?

She therefore straightened her shoulders and kept on going. However, just as she drew near, she swore the air around them grew oddly distorted, the way heat would look on sun-blasted asphalt.

She blinked and the next moment one of the men grabbed her arm, hauled her against his chest, and held her tight. The other pressed a cloth over her nose and mouth. The smell nauseated her, and she struggled hard, kicking and screaming, certain that someone would come to help her or, if not, at least call the police.

But her mind started spinning, she couldn’t feel her feet, then she was falling.

#

Three days later Brogan Reyes sat in a very different kind of club deep in the Como cavern system, his nerves on edge. Sex slaves of every human ethnicity worked the club table-to-table, while a live stage performance kept the customers on the verge of release.

From the earliest time he could remember he’d survived by playing a role, and tonight was no different. But if all went well, he’d get the one thing he wanted above everything else: an invitation to become a member of the Starlin Group.

Just a few nights from now Starlin would host another gala event, and if he played his cards right, he was in. He’d purchase his first sex slave and become part of the inner circle of one of the most heinous slavery rings in his world.

Once inside the organization, he intended to bring the whole damn thing down.

So he played his role, watching the live stage show and behaving as though he liked that the woman screamed in pain. The dom, covered in leather, used a variety of implements to draw blood. He knew the progression of torture well; given her pallor, she’d drop into unconsciousness soon, then another slave would be brought out and the process would begin again.

Part of him wanted to rush the stage, grab the woman, and get her permanently out of this hellhole. If he did, however, he’d destroy decades spent building a reputation as a man fully into the lifestyle. He had to perpetually think beyond the present moment, to the thousands of women and men who lived caged in this part of the world, serving the sadistic needs of a hungry, perverse, but well-paying vampire clientele.

The club appealed to high-end slavers, with black marble on the walls layered with swaths of emerald crystals. Soft lighting hung suspended over numerous linen-covered tables, creating an oddly intimate atmosphere for the horror taking place not just on stage but all around him.

Many of the clientele brought their own slaves with them to perform fellatio while they enjoyed the evening’s entertainment. Ecstatic moans occasionally rolled through the club as waitstaff kept the drinks coming.

This club was at the dark end of the lifestyle, where the slaves lived constantly with the threat of torture. But other clubs were worse, involving a snuff element. Those, he avoided. He’d sacrificed a lot to create his cover, but he drew the line at watching slaves murdered for the purpose of sexual gratification.

He lifted his now-empty glass to a passing female slave, toggling it slightly. She came toward him on a quick step, eyes flaring. With that one brief signal, he knew her type: She might have entered the world as a slave, but she’d fully embraced the lifestyle and learned the fine art of turning pain into pleasure.

On his periphery he saw that two Starlin men sat at a nearby table, no doubt assigned to observe him. He therefore had his own little performance to give, and this slave would be perfect for what he needed to do.

She was Asian, with straight black hair to her shoulders, and wore a costume made up entirely of chains crisscrossed over most of her body. The chains left nothing to the imagination, revealing bare breasts, buttocks, and a narrow black landing strip.

“What’s your pleasure, Master Reyes?” She held her small round service tray toward him.

With one hand he placed the tumbler in the center, but with the other he grabbed the chain that ran from the middle of her chest, downward between her legs, then rose to connect high on her back. He pulled, one hard tug.

She gasped, her chin quivering.

He watched her face as the pain transformed into something sweeter, and in a slow rhythm he worked the chain up and down. “What I want right now is your mouth on my dick.”

With her dark eyes glittering, she set her tray on his table, then dropped to her knees.

She did all the work, unbuckling his pants, licking him, teasing his balls. With his eyes on the stage, she took him deep, her head doing a slow bob as he leaned back in his chair.

He wasn’t happy about the situation, which meant he struggled to physically enjoy the process, but he kept his eye on the prize: proving to the Starlin spies that he’d adopted the slaver way of life.

She paused for a moment, looking up at him, and whispered. “You’re legendary, master.” She rubbed her thumb slowly over his crown. “Take me home, later? My owner won’t even charge, not if he knows it’s you.”

Her words pleased the hell out of him, not because she applauded his sexual prowess, but because she’d inadvertently told him that her owner would treat him just like he did all the big boys at Starlin. He’d worked a helluva long time to achieve this position, spending a large portion of his fortune securing the goodwill of the various club owners.

He smiled and leaned close to bite her ear, sinking his teeth hard until he tasted blood on his tongue. He repressed the part of him that wanted more of the sweet-tasting elixir, that wanted a deep draw at her throat, then sat back once more.

She looked up at him again, her lips swollen as she breathed hard, clearly enjoying his attentions. “Please, master.”

“We’ll see. Take care of me now and we’ll discuss terms.”

She smiled and went back to work, head bobbing once more.

His hatred of the sex-slave world went deep, so to sustain his arousal, he let his mind drift into dangerous waters: into the recent past when he’d seen Angelica at the Ocean Club.

The mere thought of her brought pleasure flowing and his hips flexing slightly.

Angelica.

She’d be his salvation in this heinous situation; images of her would see him through.

He recalled her red dress and the most beautiful display of cleavage he’d seen in a long time. She had looked so damn sexy, so beautiful when he’d first seen her sitting at the bar, her long legs crossed at the knee, her gaze fixed on him. He’d recognized the invitation and wished like hell he could have taken her up on it, taken her home, made love to her. God knew, he’d wanted to.

The more he focused on those memories, the more his body responded, so he stayed with them. She’d looked even prettier up close, with large brown eyes, made up just right, her lips shiny with gloss. Then she’d kissed him, one of the biggest surprises of his life. He’d wanted to keep on kissing her, to lay a line of kisses across the mounds of her breasts, to run his hands up her dress, to sink his fingers deep inside her wetness.

He moaned and the mouth that worked him sucked just a little harder, a little faster, a perfect response.

He saw Angelica naked, her layered hair shoved behind her creamy shoulders, her throat exposed, pulse beating in her neck.

Desire flowed as he saw nothing but her, imagining the feel of her breasts beneath his fingers and his mouth sucking each nipple repeatedly until her body responded with heavy undulations.

With these thoughts, pleasure soared. He cupped the back of the slave’s head. She knew the signal and sucked faster. But his mind was full of Angelica now, her long legs, his knees spreading them wide. He was over her now, pushing his cock inside, pumping into her, faster and faster.

His lower back tightened and the release came, streaking like lightning through his cock.

Angelica.

She was the one. The one he’d wanted, desired, needed.

As his pleasure peaked he groaned, not caring if he was heard above all the other sounds in the club.

Angelica.

His breathing slowed and he leaned back in the chair, his mind still spinning with the images he’d created.

He frowned as he thought of Angelica, of how much he wanted her, how much he wished she were here right now, with him. That would never happen, of course, not in a million years.

After a moment the slave leaned back on her heels. She gently tucked him inside his briefs, zipped him up, fumbled with the button, then buckled his belt. All neat and tidy.

Though she smiled, he saw her drawn cheeks, the pinch at the corner of each eye as she worked to hold back her emotions. He knew what it was to be in her position, to have to engage sexually on demand, often several times a night.

Fuck this horrible situation and the way this slave had been brutalized. He took her chin in hand and, leaning down, he whispered in her ear, “You brought me beautifully. Thank you.”

When he leaned back again in his seat, her dark eyes grew haunted and she spoke quickly. “Master, please buy me. I would give anything to serve in your house. I know my owner would allow it. Like I said, he’d do anything for you. He says you’re to be the next Starlin member. Please. I need to get out of here.”

He felt her desperation, but with the Starlin boys watching him, he still had his role to play.

He steeled himself and took on a bored expression. “All I want from you right now is another Maker’s Mark, neat.”

The light of hope died swiftly in the woman’s eyes. She nodded, rising to her feet and moving away as fast as her shackled ankles would allow.

He made himself a promise that as soon as he brought Starlin down, he’d start destroying clubs like this one until they were all gone and slavery was a thing of the past in his world.

Thank God he’d been able to warn Angelica away from the Ocean Club. What she didn’t know, what he hadn’t been able to tell her, was that she perfectly fit the bill for Starlin acquisition. Not just because of her beauty, but more important because she had no money to speak of and her closest relative was infirm.

Earlier in the year he’d seen the Starlin team scoping her, so he’d done his own surface investigation and learned the basic details of her life. He understood her vulnerability. Fortunately, at least until a few days ago, she’d stopped coming to the club and he’d been relieved.

But the moment he’d seen her, he knew she was in danger. She’d never looked more beautiful or sexier and the Starlin team had already arrived, hunting for the right women to snatch.

He’d watched her leave the club, then he’d taken off in the opposite direction, heading back to his home in Italy. He just hoped to hell that in the future she’d stay away. The one thing he’d learned was that the acquisition teams worked clubs almost exclusively, all over the world, grabbing women and sometimes men to sell at auction. Witnesses at clubs were notoriously unreliable—another perfect aspect of the whole setup.

His server returned with his drink, but her eyes were now passive, no longer pleading. She moved away slower this time. He felt her despair like a palpable weight in the air, but he kept his gaze fixed on the stage.

He drank his whiskey in slow sips and after a few more minutes, from his peripheral vision, he watched the Starlin spies leave their table. They would make a full report. If the gods smiled, he’d get that fucking invitation.