Tortured Soul (9 page)

EMILY

My naked body was stretched out on a soft bed, and my hands and legs were tethered at four corners. Tears fell in a torrent of uncontrollable fear, and my heart was pounding so hard the grunts above me became muted. I hurt so bad I thought I might split in two. I had pleaded, I had begged, I had cried and still he stood unmoving, watching with a sick fascination as they fucked me. And it was they—as in more than one—three so far. I refused to watch them, their lustful faces were nauseating as they became more aroused with every struggle and plea. I couldn’t believe this was happening to me. I had been naive to trust him. He had told me I needed to entertain his guests, and I had assumed that meant I would serve them drinks and appetizers. Little did I know that following the drinks,
I
would become the appetizer. The more I fought them, the more they got off on it. And he just stood there and watched. Taking deep breaths through my nose and out through my mouth, the never ending cries that poured from my heart and soul finally stemmed. I hated him. I wanted to kill him. I would take a knife and slit his throat from ear to ear, and I would bathe in his blood. He smiled at me, not a happy smile, not a comforting smile, but a knowing smile. Like he could see right through me into my darkest thoughts and reveled in the idea that he had gotten to me.

The one who moved above me leaned forward and whispered in my ear, “He gets off on this. He likes to see you struggle. He likes to watch his pets being fucked.”

I didn’t respond to the ugly words, instead I kept my gaze on him.

Strangely enough, as my tears dried it seemed as though my soul was drowning in pain and regret. I had given myself to Jonas willingly, I had put my heart in his hands, and he had sliced it in two without mercy. I hated him; I was going to kill him.

I woke with a start, bile rising in my throat, breathing hard and fast.

“Em?”

The voice was like an immediate balm to my frayed senses. A tear fell from the corner of my eye, and I quickly wiped it away before anyone noticed.

“Are you okay, Malen’kaya?”

No, I was so far from okay; I had no comprehension of the meaning of the word anymore. My face felt frozen in a state of perpetual sorrow, my heart was dead, and my soul was smashed to smithereens. I pushed it all away and buried it deep like I always did. I felt a calm settle over me that I knew was a place of cold impassiveness. I sat up and looked around me. I was on a plane, my seat relaxed back into a rested position, a soft blanket surrounded me with warmth. Familiar dark eyes appeared before me. Braiden, Shakhta, my new master. He looked over my face, his calculating eyes saw every little nuance on my face no doubt.

“Do you have nightmares often?” he whispered.

I shook my head in the negative. It had been a long time since I had.

He nodded. “There is someone back in Claymont who can help you with things like this.”

My eyes widened, and my heart tripped over itself. I recalled Master Jonas’ cruel words:
“A doctor would lock you up and throw away the key, Pet. In the eyes of society, you are damaged beyond repair. Only I would care for an animal so damaged.”

Shakhta placed his finger under my chin to bring my gaze back to his. He seemed to have a fondness for my eyes on his own. “He is a friend of mine and Rebecca’s. He would never hurt you, you have my word. His name is Dave and he helps women who have been hurt, just like you.”

I nodded, still fearful but inclined to trust my new master—to an extent. He hadn’t let me down so far.

“Boss?” Larz stood beside Shakhta, a small plate of sandwiches in his hand. My Master took them and held them out before me.

“Do you want to try and do this yourself, or I shall I help you?”

I reached my hand out to take a sandwich, but stopped just before my fingers came in contact with the food. Angry words, pain and humiliation assaulted my senses and I squeezed my eyes shut, trying desperately to block them away.

“It’s okay, Malen’kaya. Baby steps, remember?”

I hadn’t even realized a tear has slipped free until Shakhta wiped it away and raised the sandwich to my lips. I ate obediently then I was handed a bottle of water which I was able to take and drink without assistance.

“Good girl,” Shakhta whispered.

I was immediately soothed by his praise. Out of the corner of my eye, I glanced at Larz. He didn’t seem to care about my humiliation at being fed like a child, or it was possible he was just trying to be respectful enough not to gawk. He reminded me a little of my father, just as tall though a little more solid. There wasn’t a lot about my father that I clearly remember; he had died when I was six. I had a vague recollection of him making paper airplanes with Rebecca and me. His tall, spindly frame seemed larger than life to a six year old. I thought my father was a superhero, completely invincible until something proved my notion wrong—death. My eyes settled back on the concerned gaze of my new master, who had seated himself directly across from me.

“We’ll be landing soon.” I gave a short nod. “I don’t expect any trouble on the ground, but I like to be prepared for anything. So stay close to me, and if for any reason we are separated, stick to Larz like glue, understand?”

The thought of being separated from my master was frightening, but Shakhta had delivered his request in a commanding way that demanded my compliance. In the back of my mind, the sliver of defiance that had always existed threatened to come forth. I wanted to say no, that I wouldn’t leave his side and I would go with no one else, but I also retained enough sense to know that this was for my own safety. So, I gave him my usual obedient nod like a good little slave. It was then that reality hit me—I would be home for the second time this year. Master Jonas had already found me here once; he could find me again. He would come for me. He would come for B. The cruel punishment I had been dealt in my life would be nothing compared to what he would do to me this time. He would use B against me. I clutched my stomach as the sandwich I had just finished threatened to come back up.

Shakhta suddenly lowered himself before me, sitting on his knees. No master had ever dropped to his knees before me. “You are safe now. Nothing is going to happen; you’ll be fine,” he said. His hands gently rested on either side of my legs, his determined gaze centering me, focusing me.

“The only person who is not safe is Jonas Levier. The term “dead man walking” has never been more fitting. I’m going to make him wish he was never born then I am going to remove him from this world once and for all.”

His powerful gaze was full of reckoning and fury. I should have been frightened to see someone who held as much hate for a single person as I did, but instead it made me feel connected to him. We both wanted Jonas’s death and Shakhta appeared to want it almost as much as I did. What he was offering gave me some peace, but one thing about it bothered me. I wanted to be the one to take Jonas’ evil soul from this world. The fear over doing such a thing was so thick it felt like sludge on my skin. Fear of taking a life, fear of taking his life. Although I hated him, I was also terrified of him. I wish I didn’t have that fear, I wish I was stronger than that. But if it came down to me or Shakhta taking my former master’s life, it would more than likely be the man on his knees before me. Although I knew Jonas was no longer my master, he still carried far too much control over me. If he issued a command, it was likely I would obey without thought. The dark warrior, who was full of confidence and power, kneeling before me would be the one to settle the score. It pissed me off and humbled me.

Shakhta pulled my seatbelt over my lap and clicked it into place. With a wink, he returned to his seat across from me. My eyes snuck a glance through the plane’s window, but all I saw was blackness. The airfield was on the outskirts of town, surrounded by thick firs and beautiful forest. The business district sat to the west, a fifteen minute drive, and to the east was a winding drive through the Black Ridge Mountain Range. Claymont’s airport was small, and at this time of the night, I imagine it would be deserted. The plane landed with a gentle thud, and my heart raced. I was home. I knew I should feel some jolt of sentimental fondness at the notion, but I didn’t. All I felt was a deep seated fear, the same fear that was always there created by years of abuse. I was afraid of being found by Jonas, afraid of his retaliation. There was also the fear of hope—because with hope came disappointment—it was just easier not to have expectations. But now I found myself caught with the desperate hope that I could start over, hope that I could finally be free. The only thing that seemed to bring me any resemblance to peace was my new master. I was holding his promises close to my heart, and his protectiveness of me, though unfamiliar, was welcomed. I didn’t want him to leave me; I wanted him to want me. If he were to throw me away as Master Jonas had done, the pain would be a thousand times worse.

Shakhta stood and cast a quick look my way. I rose gracefully, and the blanket on my lap fell to the ground. My feet throbbed with a dull ache reminding me of the cuts on my soles, and all I had been though over the last twenty-four hours. At least I was alive. I almost snorted at the thought. I had yearned for death, begged Jonas to deliver it to me, and when he refused, I begged Nate. I had tried pills, cutting my wrists, taunting the most volatile and unrestrained masochists all to no avail. Now, here I stood, grateful to still be alive.

When I reached the open hatch of the plane, Bomber, Gabbie and Larz had already disembarked and spread out, their eyes observing the quiet airfield with an intense and alert watchfulness. An SUV, much like the one we had driven through Nassau, sat close by. A tall and athletically built man stood by the front door. He was dressed completely in black, and his hair was trimmed military short. The way he stood—alert and ready—screamed soldier, much like the ones who had taken on the duty of protecting me. Before I could take a step out of the plane, I was scooped into Shakhta’s strong arms.

“I want you off those feet,” he murmured.

I was carried down the stairs and towards the SUV. The man, who stood stoically waiting, grinned widely. It played more easily across his handsome face than Shakhta’s smile, telling me he used it more frequently.

“Bout time,” he said as we grew closer.

Shakhta simply grunted. “Dillon, this is Emily. Em, this is my cousin Dillon Montgomery.”

I nodded, remembering the man who had killed my abusive husband. I took note of Dillon’s kind eyes, tanned skin, and perfect white teeth. If I weren’t so afraid of human contact, I would’ve hugged him for his part in freeing me from one of the Levier men. Apart from the fact both he and my new master were undoubtedly handsome, they had little to no family resemblance. Where Dillon’s close cropped hair was a light brown, Shakhta’s was as dark as midnight. Where Dillon’s eyes were a carefree greenish grey, Shakhta’s were an intense dark brown. Dillon was slightly taller and leaner with more of a swimmer’s physique, Shakhta’s shoulders were wide, leading to a narrow waist, but his legs and arms were solid muscle. Shakhta’s face had masculine lines full of profound concentration and thoughtfulness, ever the vigil silent type. Dillon had a softer appearance; he looked more approachable and expressive. It was Shakhta’s dark aura, however, that made my heart race.

“Nice to finally meet you, Emily,” Dillon said with a smile.

I wanted to smile in reply, but I just couldn’t. Not a single part of me felt like smiling, and I don’t know if I ever would again. Dillon opened the back door and I was placed carefully on the seat. I moved into the middle as Shakhta slid in beside me and to my other side, sat Gabbie. Larz sat in the front and Bomber sat by himself behind us.

“Nice to finally meet the team.” Dillon started the engine.

“Good to meet boss number two,” Larz replied, holding out his hand to shake Dillon’s. Gabbie and Bomber gave an affable hello as the car moved away from the airfield.

“We need to make a hospital stop?” Dillon asked, his eyes moving to Bomber.

“It’s just a scratch. Gabbie patched it up.”

“I’ve got field medic training. I’ll take a look at it when we get to the house,” replied Dillon.

“Any news on the ground here?” Shakhta asked.

“Nada, quiet as a mouse.”

I tuned out the idle chitchat and watched the passing scenery in the window across from Shakhta’s strong figure. As we got closer to town, the scenery became familiar, yet different. Old businesses were gone, and new ones took their place. Some houses I recognized from my childhood, however, others were completely foreign to me. The town really was pretty, and I wondered why I had been so desperate to flee Claymont in the first place. I had wanted nothing more than to escape the quiet and mundane, and when I found a city full of lights and excitement, it ultimately ruined me. It was in the city where evil found me. If I had never left Claymont, my life would have turned out completely different. Maybe I would be married now, possibly even have a family. But because of my own selfish wants, I had all of my hopes and dreams taken from me. My fault, it was all my own damn fault. My fists clenched in my lap. A warm weight settled on them, and I glanced down. Shakhta’s hand rested over mine. I looked up and his eyes were questioning. He was asking me if holding my hand was acceptable. I unclenched my hand and turned it over so our fingers entwined. Gabbie, on my other side, noticed and quickly looked away.
Was she jealous?
I wasn’t sure I could reliably recognize such emotion. I had never had a reason to be jealous of other women sharing Jonas, William, or any of the men who fucked me. Sympathy for those women, most definitely.