Mercy's Angels Box Set (54 page)

“Shakhta, it was just a small cut,” I whispered fearfully.

“When you were in the hospital in Claymont, you refused pain medication.”

A thought suddenly occurred to me that Shakhta might think I got off on pain. There were men and women out there who enjoyed pain on a sexual level. Perhaps he thought I was one of those people, a masochist of sorts.

“I don’t like medication that makes me sleepy, Shakhta. I don’t like being helpless,” I quickly explained.

He raised his hand, and just when I thought he might place it on my knee, he hesitated. He had promised me he wouldn’t touch me without my permission, a promise which I found almost laughable, if I ever remembered how to laugh again. He was my Master; I was his slave, his property. He could do as he wished with me. Curiously, for the first time I could ever remember, I wanted this Master’s touch. I wanted to make him happy. I took his hand and placed it carefully on the exposed skin of my knee. The warmth under his large gentle hand felt soothing, and I could not hold back the soft sigh that tumbled from my lips in a whisper of air. His touch was protective and tender, so unfamiliar yet desirable. The pleasure of this touch was captured in Shakhta’s dark eyes. Any further words were caught in my throat. I was utterly speechless. This large, mysterious almost fearsome warrior was looking at me with such lust and yearning. I couldn’t breathe and didn’t move. While part of me hungered for his touch, I was afraid of it, too. Shakhta’s fingers moved ever so slightly on my skin, as if testing the feel under his hand. There were no scars on my knees; the skin was smooth and blemish free.

“I can understand that. I’m not fond of sedatives and pain medication for that same reason, but your response to the pain itself is…” He seemed to struggle to find the words.

“Detached?” I offered, because that was the simple truth. Shakhta nodded, the movement jerky and forced. “Shakhta, I don’t know any other way to be. You’ve seen my body, and if you have even the slightest idea of who Mast…I mean Jonas is, then you have a small understanding of what I have been through.”

Shakhta shook his head. “I know Jonas took you against your will, Em, I know you did things that you didn’t want to do, but I’m not entirely sure what brought you to this level of detachment to pain. To be honest, I’m not sure I could even handle hearing what you went through. I fear it will make me quite angry.” I sighed, and after a moment’s hesitation, I allowed my hand to settle over his. My hand was much smaller than his; my nails were perfectly trim and smooth whereas Shakhta’s were a little dirty and chipped. I marveled in the difference between my new Master’s and old Master’s touch. Jonas’ hands were perfectly smooth, but delivered such pain. Shakhta’s hands were slightly rough, but had not shown me any pain. Yet.

“Jonas was my Master, and for a price he shared me in his clubs. I don’t enjoy pain, in fact, I hate it. But I was shared with masochists who got off on delivering pain, even to a sub that didn’t get off on receiving it. Another of Jonas’ subs taught me some simple meditative techniques to help me withdraw from the pain and to cope with it. Removing my conscious thought from the actual physical aspect was something I learned over a long period of time, but it no doubt helped me cope with those occasions, and perhaps these occasions.” I lifted my bandaged finger and concentrated on the pain. It was there, but it was nothing but a dull ache that caused me little to no discomfort.

“I hate that you had to go through that, Malen’kaya,” Shakhta confessed. I lifted my solemn gaze to his. I wanted to ask him what that word meant. I hated the fear and hesitation in asking something so simple. In the end I didn’t need to ask him, he somehow knew. “Little One,” he whispered. “It means little one.” I liked his name for me; it was so simple, so innocuous. I wanted to gather the name to my heart and never let it go.

“That was the easiest part of what I when through, Shakhta. Being forced, being physically hurt can break a woman, but over time a broken woman can be rebuilt. Jonas shared me with one particular man, who wasn’t like the others—his hands were gentle—and I hated him because of it. He made sure I found pleasure every time he touched me, and it was always in front of a crowd. Jonas knew how much I hated my body’s response to him, so I was shared with him often and it was always on display. It was Jonas’ way of reminding me that I completely belonged to him, that even my pleasure was something he controlled. It was those moments—when my body craved something my mind and heart didn’t want—that destroyed me. Those are my sins.”

A low growl emitted from Shakhta’s throat which shocked me a little. Shaking his head in frustration, he turned his hand so it no longer rested on my knee but captured my own hand so our fingers tangled together as if we were no longer two, but one.

“I can’t change your past, Em. What I can do is change your future though, and that’s what I intend to do. I’m going to prove to you that those so called sins are not yours to carry, and I’m going to give you back the freedom that was taken from you. I promise you.” His eyes almost sparkled with the depth of his sincerity. “And you will come to realize that I keep my promises.” With one last squeeze he let go of my hand and rose. “Why don’t you rest in here for a while, and I’ll call you when dinner is ready?”

I nodded, my hand feeling cold at the loss of his touch. I had never held hands with a boy or a man. It was such a simple gesture that broke my heart to be without. As I mourned the loss of Shakhta’s soothing hand and gentle promises, he left the room quietly.

Dinner was an awkward affair. My mood was dampened due to Emily’s earlier confession. I feared the depths of her anguish and the complexity of her pain would be too far for me to reach, for anyone to reach. It had never occurred to me that the emotional torment over the few moments of pleasure she did incur while in captivity would quite possibly outweigh her physical suffering. Emily was painfully shy around Bomber, and even Gabbie to an extent, not sure where the evening might lead. With Jonas, gatherings with men and women most likely led to something quite more than simple food and talk—something sinisterly erotic. Bomber was remarkably restrained with his flippant jokes and casual attitude. He tried to make Emily feel comfortable and was polite and calm in an almost soothing way, which was just plain weird for me and Gabbie to watch. And Gabbie. She had always been remarkably perceptive. She knew the delicate, blue eyed girl was more than a woman I merely wanted to save.  The way I responded to Emily, the force of the emotions and feelings she stirred in me were so immense and overwhelming I simply couldn’t hide them. I knew I needed to back off—Em didn’t need possessiveness—she needed freedom. I could see the censor in Gabbie’s knowing gaze. Em would have her freedom though, if it was the last thing I do. It wasn’t until Bomber relieved Larz from lookout duty on the top deck that things settled and became more comfortable. Larz broke out his familiar deck of cards for a couple of rounds of poker.

Rather than insist Emily join us, I gave her the option. “Would you like to play or watch?”

Her eyes watched the cards with keen interest and Larz began to deal her in before she had even replied. She shifted nervously beside me. “Shakhta?” Emily whispered.

“Hmmm?”

“I don’t know how to play,” she quietly confessed, unsure if her admittance would be followed with punishment.

Larz, having overheard her, leaned forward. “Well honey, move that chair ‘round this way a bit and let me help. Trust me, ya don’t want Braiden there helping, he can’t play for shit.”

I helped ease Emily’s nervous response with a gentle smile and a nod, permission granted to interact with Larz. She edged her chair over slightly and listened intently as Larz explained the basics of poker. She was careful to avoid contact with him, and her lips were cast in her ever present frown. She was a smart little thing. She picked the game up quickly and even won a round. Her gaze watched us all attentively. In her former life with Jonas, she had obviously learned to read people, notice things that normal people wouldn’t see. Body language could be a loud form of communication and an honest way to read situations. She almost immediately worked out that Gabbie chewed her bottom lip when she had a bad hand and tapped impatiently on the table when she had a good hand. Larz and I were harder to work out, but Larz kindly pointed out the slight tilt of my head when I was deep in thought or when I got aggravated. With that cat out of the bag, it was down to a two person game: Em versus Larz.

As the night progressed, there might have been one or two moments when Emily came close to smiling. Her eyes would soften, the corners of her mouth got dangerously close to twitching upwards, and even her stiff posture relaxed by the most subtle of degrees. As soon as I noticed the exhaustion in her eyes, I stole her away to the main bedroom. Now as she lay on her back, under the sheets, I sat on the settee watching her silently. If my presence bothered her, it didn’t show. A discreet murmur from her lips caught my attention. It was too low to grasp all the words she whispered, but “master” caught my attention on more than one occasion.

“Em?” I asked when she went silent. She sat up quickly, moving to climb from bed. “You don’t need to get up, Malen’kaya, I just wanted to know what you were saying.”

She hesitated between lying back down and standing. Finally my words asking her not to get up sank in, and she lay back down. It hadn’t been a command but I could have suggested she take a flying leap right now, and I’m certain she would. Her mind was conditioned to obey her master, and I was now her master. She would do anything I asked of her.

“It was my night time mantra, Jo…” She stumbled slightly over his name, no doubt sounding unusual off her lips without the ‘master’ preceding it. I didn’t berate her, didn’t push her, instead I sat back and allowed her to continue in her own time. “Jonas had me memorize it.”

“Would you mind repeating it a little louder so that I can hear?” My curiosity was piqued, though if she didn’t want to say it out loud, I wouldn’t push her. Emily didn’t hesitate though; the chance to do something that would please me was an overwhelming force.

“I will always listen to my Master, my focus is important to my growth. I will always respect my Master’s choices for me as they are made with his pleasure in mind. Obedience is not asked for but expected. I will not only learn my expected posture and stances, but adhere to them without fault. I will never show disrespect to my Master or those whose company he is in. The needs of my Master come first. The needs of those my Master chooses to share me with come before my own. I will not speak unless spoken to. I will not eat unless commanded to. I will remain naked unless commanded otherwise. Punishment is a necessity to my growth, and I will take it without question or protest. I will always be graceful in everything I do as it is pleasing for my Master to see me as such. I will always be grateful for my Master as it is his care that has shaped me, clothed me, housed me, and fed me.”

Silence fell over the room. My fists were clenched so tightly that my hands began to cramp. Emily’s uneasy gaze settled on me in the dim light, fear evident in the pale blue depths of her eyes. I slowly opened my hands and flexed my fingers free, rolled my shoulders and tilted my head, the unconscious habit that seemed to accompany me outside of poker games as well.

“Em, do you think we could make you a new mantra? I’m not fond of that one.”

Her nod was slight; the anxiety that hummed through her body obvious. I stood and retrieved a note pad and pen from the bedside table, then sat beside her. She didn’t attempt to move away, instead she kept her wide eyes on me while I tapped the pen against my chin in thought. The words came easily as I began to write. After a few minutes, I put the pen down and tore the paper free, handing it to Em. “Would you like to read it out loud? You don’t have to if you don’t feel comfortable.”

She dragged her eyes away from me and quickly scanned the words before her. After a nervous glance back in my direction, she began to read, “My name is Emily Maree Donovan, and I am not a possession, I am a person.” Her words were not spoken with the same conviction as when she spoke Jonas’ mantra. “I am not a toy to be played with, I am a living soul. I do not need a master because I have the strength to be my own master. I should only be treasured, loved and protected and I will accept no less. I survived my captivity, and I will continue to survive and fight until my life is my own once more.”

The silence that once again fell was full of something akin to hope. Emily’s eyes misted and just when I thought a tear might escape, she blinked it away. She carefully folded the piece of paper and held it to her chest. She seemed reluctant to move or speak so I gently pushed her shoulder so that she would lie down once more.

“Get some sleep now, Malen’kaya.” Her eyes closed on a flutter. “U menya yest' ty seychas.” I’ve got you now. I moved back to the settee where I continued to watch her until her breathing became slow and deep. I kept watching her until my own eyelids sagged shut and sleep stole me away from the broken beautiful girl.

***

Three nights later I sat on the top deck of my yacht; the air was cool yet comfortable. Larz and Gabbie had retreated to their bunks to get some sleep, leaving Bomber and I to keep watch on the quiet water around us. The moon was hidden behind a blanket of clouds, making the ocean that lapped at the sides of the yacht so black it looked fathomless. Over the last few days, Emily hadn’t really made any progress. She slipped back into submission every moment: falling to her knees repeatedly, refusing to feed herself, not emerging from her room unless asked. She was quiet for the most part, only speaking when asked a question. The defeat I saw in her eyes pissed me off. On one hand, I wanted to hold her and protect her, but the asshole in me wanted to fuck her until she screamed with pleasure, showing her the life she could have, that she should have. I wanted to bring her back to life, reignite the fire in her blood that I had briefly witnessed when she fought William Levier back in Claymont. I rubbed the back of my aching neck and realized I was in over my head. I didn’t know how to go about bringing her back from the world of captivity; all I could offer her was more dominance. Fuck knows she doesn’t need that.

“Did you know Larz has two daughters?” Bomber asked, dragging me from my thoughts.

I was more than aware of Larz’s family situation; however, I was surprised Bomber knew something of it. Larz was incredibly tightlipped about his personal life. He had only known Bomber a few weeks, and he’d already disclosed something about himself. I was grateful that such trust had been established so early on, especially if they were to continue to work together in the future.

“The eldest one is nineteen. She’s cute.”

I couldn’t see Bomber’s face in the darkness, but I knew his eyebrows would have wiggled with deviant boldness.

“You tell Larz that?” I asked.

Bomber snorted. “Fuck no, I don’t have a death wish.” I rolled my shoulders and shifted my position, stiffness setting in from sitting still for so long. “He doesn’t see them much,” Bomber continued on.

I knew Larz never saw his girls. His wife had forced Larz to choose between the Navy and his family. He chose the Navy and had regretted it every day since. His wife moved away with Larz’s girls, and he hadn’t seen them since. I had been the one to help him track them down. Larz never pressed for his rights as a father, instead he asked his now ex-wife  if he could send birthday and Christmas gifts, and in return, she mail him a photo each year so he could see them grow up. Sounded like a form of slow and painful torture to me—and maybe for Larz it was—punishment for not doing right by his family. Larz adored his girls and would do anything for them.

“It’s why he feels protective of Emily,” Bomber continued, a toothpick rolling from one side of his mouth to the other.

I was more than aware of that, but I wasn’t sure why Bomber was telling me.

“Just didn’t want you freaking out over the way he was looking at her or anything. I see how damn protective you are of her. She’s yours, we get it. I’m just sayin’.”

Bomber was rambling, and it almost made me smile. Bomber never rambled nervously. Before I had a chance to respond, the distant low rumble of a boat approaching caught my attention. Bomber had also noticed and was scrambling to the helm of the boat, ready to bring the anchor up and make a quick getaway if need be. I watched the dark ocean, and saw the approaching vessel hidden behind a rocky bluff. It was coming in fast and the engine sounded powerful, a speed boat no doubt.

“Anchor,” I murmured.

My gut was screaming at me, but it didn’t need to. Common sense told me that under our current circumstances, a rapidly approaching speed boat in the middle of the night was not a good thing. Bomber brought the anchor up and started the engine just as a sleek and very fast speed boat crested the bluff, cutting through the water directly towards us. Larz and Gabbie were already coming up the steps, weapons in hand. A second speed boat that I hadn’t noticed came in from the opposite direction.

“Get us out of here, Larz,” I growled, moving to the bow. “Gabbie, go down and stay with Em,” I shouted over my shoulder.

Larz took over the helm from Bomber, throttling hard and moving the yacht quickly through the water, right between the two speed boats. A rapid fire weapon shattered the peace of the night, but I didn’t bother returning fire. It was too dark, and my weapon wouldn’t reach that far anyway. I trusted Larz to put distance between us and the enemy. My yacht was in perfect condition, and it was fast. Larz maneuvered along the coastline, heading for Nassau, which was our final destination. A private jet would be ready and waiting at eight p.m., two nights from now. I trusted Larz was already on the phone making arrangements for the pilot to have the plane ready in just a few short hours. If it couldn’t be done, we had a fall back plan: a hotel room booked in Nassau where we could hideout until the jet was ready. From the stern, I heard Bomber fire his weapon, cussing like a sailor. I made my way back to him, noticing the boat I’d been trying to keep in sight had slipped back behind us. Both boats were coming in hard and fast, and while Bomber fired at one, I fired at the other, knowing very well that with the speed we were going I probably wouldn’t hit anything important.

“How the fuck did they find us?” growled Bomber, loading another clip in his semi-automatic pistol.

“It’s not like we were hiding or anything,” I said, my voice calm and steady.

“We’re not gonna be able to lose ‘em, Boss. Way I see it, I come in as close as possible to the beach and ya’ll can take a quick dip and swim to shore. I’ll try and lead ‘em away,” called Larz from the helm as he expertly navigated the water.

The plan didn’t sit well with me. For one, Em couldn’t swim, and two, I didn’t like the thought of Larz playing bait, but we didn’t really have a choice. It’s not like I could ask Jonas’ men to kindly stop shooting while we peacefully disembarked. Calling local law enforcement meant trusting people who would more than likely be on Jonas Levier’s payroll.