When the Dark Wins Page 13

  Marcus was training girls to expect pleasure, and that would eventually be disastrous.

  Finishing his email, he assured another long-term customer that his feed would continue soon. Even tempted him with the promise of new recordings.

  Then another interruption, more buzzing. He was calling again. Tapping the answer button, Anthony held the phone to his ear. “Yes?”

  “How is she?” The abrupt question made him smile, leaning over to wake up the tablet so he could watch her on the internal camera feed.

  “Busy.”

  “What the fuck does that mean?” Marcus snapped.

  “She’s with a guest.”

  “You’re running a fucking whorehouse now? Is that the deal?” His brother growled on the other end of the line, and Anthony let him continue his rambling. “This is ridiculous. You said you could fix her.”

  “I am fixing her, Marcus. This is what will wake her up.” Or it wouldn’t. But that conversation would only make his brother more irritable, and therefore more irritating.

  “Who the fuck do you have over there? Sam?”

  “No, Sam is not here.” Today. “And I’m sure you understand that discretion is important to our customers. It is not necessary for you to know, so you don’t need to.”

  “That’s bullshit! We’re supposed to be partners, and you told me you’d fix Beth. Handing her over to your friends isn’t fucking fixing her!”

  “First, these are customers, not friends. Don’t be ridiculous.” Anthony reached for the glass of sherry and took a small sip, savoring it before he continued. “Second, we may be partners in this enterprise, but how I handle my slaves is my business. I haven’t called you to ask about the number of orgasms you’ve given that slut in your house, have I?”

  “At least my slave isn’t catatonic.”

  Shrugging, Anthony glanced at the tablet again. The customer had her on the bed, knees bent towards her shoulders as he fucked her hard. Of course, the girl was unresponsive, staring off toward one wall, but it didn’t seem to dissuade the man atop her at all — which was promising. Very promising. “My slave is doing just fine, and while I adjust her behavioral issues, I plan to take another one.”

  “What?” Marcus growled.

  “She takes almost no supervision, and while she is adjusting I may as well produce another more amicable slave.” Anthony lifted the tablet and switched camera angles so that he could see the girl’s empty eyes as she rocked against the bedding.

  Was she even aware of the man inside her? Had she felt the flogger? The cane?

  “You can’t be serious.” His brother laughed as he spoke, and Anthony dropped the tablet from his view. The girl had become boring as soon as she’d stopped responding, stopped fighting. There was no fun in fucking her when she didn’t scream, or cry. It was like masturbating with a warm doll — effective, but not satisfying.

  “Of course I’m serious. You have your business, and I have mine.”

  “Well, your business isn’t done. You haven’t sold Beth.”

  “I can sell her today, if you’d like?” Anthony offered, and reveled in the growl that came across the line.

  “Where? Your friends in South Asia?”

  “Again, they are business contacts, not friends, Marcus. And yes, I have contacts in Thailand who would love to add a pretty little blonde to their offerings.” The idea was tempting, it would take an email, then a phone call, and she’d be out of his house.

  He would just need to finish working through the list of customers who had wanted to try her first.

  “You can’t sell her like that, Anthony.” Marcus huffed. “She’s not even there. You didn’t break her, you shattered her. Fuck, you have to feed her! Those assholes in Thailand won’t do that, you might as well kill her.”

  “I don’t kill slaves.”

  “Right. You just ruin them.” Laughing, low and bitter, Marcus leaked pride into his voice. “At least I’ve got this one almost ready to go so our customers don’t leave and go to some other operation.”

  “Your first auction, already? It hasn’t even been three weeks. Are you sure you want to bet before you’ve even done the kitchen test?” Anthony lifted the tablet to switch to Marcus’ feed. The small, dark haired girl was in his punishment room, complete with his collection of BDSM-style furniture and tools.

  “She’ll pass.”

  “We’ll see,” Anthony answered, but Marcus laughed again.

  “Beth didn’t pass.”

  Anthony smiled slowly, tapping until her room showed on the feed again. His customer was finished, and she was lying flat on her bed, legs slightly parted. “I never claimed she was ready for the test, Marcus. That’s the difference here. I know what they are ready for, your pride blinds you.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “No, I’m not interested in incest, but I’m sure your whore could use another few orgasms to ready her for the kitchen test.” He smiled, tapping his fingers against the glass of sherry. “Maybe I’ll come and help with it.”

  “I don’t want you here,” Marcus hissed.

  “Oh, but that’s not really your choice, is it?” Waiting, Anthony turned back to the feed of the dark haired girl. Sated and asleep, she was responsive, even though she no longer fought Marcus.

  But she would probably fight him. Call out for his brother, call out Master hoping to be saved, but Marcus would never interrupt him. He’d let him take her, let him hurt her so that she learned what her future could be. So that she could accept it.

  “Erin isn’t ready, yet.”

  “Then she isn’t ready for the kitchen test either, is she, Marcus?” He traced the girl’s figure on the screen, waiting.

  “Maybe next week. I’ll check on Beth later.” With that, Marcus ended the call, and Anthony set the phone down, allowing his brother a few more days with his first girl in the new house.

  It wasn’t like he had nothing to entertain him. Beth was still a set of holes, a broken doll that he could do what he wanted with, and as soon as his customer gave his feedback and left, Anthony could enjoy himself.

  A knock sounded at the door, and he stood to let the man inside.

  Once he was gone, he could stand Beth in the shower and wash her clean. It would be easy. She stood when directed, bent in the ways he made her. Just like a doll. And then he could take her to the living room and play with her as he relaxed — they had only made so much progress on her gag reflex, and it would be another marketable component if he could get her to the point where she took a cock down her throat without gagging quite so loudly.

  Anything to get more money out of his Thai contacts when he finally got rid of her.

  Then, Anthony would need to look at the list of potentials and choose who he’d entertain himself with next. Maybe this time he’d narrow the customer list, keep only the more hardcore customers… the ones who liked it when he hurt them. Made them suffer.

  Marcus could have the pleasure, the companionship, the gentility.

  Anthony would handle the destruction.

  It had always been a talent.

  The End

  About Jennifer Bene

  Jennifer Bene is a USA Today bestselling author of dark romance. She’s been in the Amazon Top 50, and had #1 top-selling books in BDSM, Suspense, Thrillers, Horror, and more. While she’s been writing for years, it’s always been the dark stuff that makes her tingly, so her books are full of aggressive alpha males, feisty women who may or may not have a submissive streak, and intense, psychological story lines. Don’t worry though, she always insists on having a nice little happily-ever-after, because without the dark we’d never appreciate the light.

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  Books by Jennifer Bene

  Dark / BDSM Romance:

  Security Binds Her (Thalia Book 1)

  Striking a Balance (Thalia Book 2)

  Salvaged by Love (Thalia Book 3)

  Of Fog and Fire (Parts I & II)

  Taken by the Enemy

  Lethal Sin (Dangerous Games Book 1)

  Early Sins (Dangerous Games Prequel)

  Black Light: Exposed (Black Light Series Book 2)

  Tying the Knot (Thalia Book 4)

  Destruction (Fragile Ties Book 1)

  Imperfect Monster

  The Thalia Series: The Complete Collection

  Inheritance (Fragile Ties Book 2)

  Damaged Goods (Dangerous Games Book 2)

  Dark / Paranormal Romance:

  Fae (Daughters of Eltera Book 1)

  Tara (Daughters of Eltera Book 2)

  BDSM Erotic Romance Novellas:

  The Invitation

  The Rite

  Reunited

  Anthology Appearances:

  Black Light: Valentine Roulette (Black Light Series Book 3)

  Black Light: Roulette Redux (Black Light Series Book 7)

  When the Dark Wins

  II

  My Name is Jane

  My Name is Jane

  Zoe Blake

  Copyright

  Text copyright © 2018 Zoe Blake

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Chapter 1

  Shards of glass clinging to blood-clotted hair. The rancid smell of gasoline as it drips down onto your clothes. A sickly metallic taste on your tongue. The intolerable itching of irritated flesh as the splinters embed themselves and the sticky ooze dries on your face. And the darkness… the deep, horrible, unrelenting darkness. Those are the things you remember right after an accident. The sights, the tastes, the smells. You also remember the silence. The desperate, soul-breaking silence. Your radio is uncharacteristically quiet. The white noise of other cars rushing past and the occasional horn is gone. At first, you think this is good. Better for you to hear the sirens. Let you know the moment help is near.

  That is until… you don’t hear the sirens… and you wait… and wait… and wait… in the dark silence as the stench of gasoline grows stronger.

  I won’t die here.

  I won’t die here.

  I won’t die.

  I refuse to die.

  Chapter 2

  I can’t tell if my eyes are open.

  That was my first lucid thought.

  I couldn’t tell if my eyes were open or closed. It wasn’t just the darkness. I couldn’t feel myself blink. I tried lifting my hands to feel my way around whatever room I was in, but my arms felt weighted down. As if they were trying to move but couldn’t. My heart beat faster. I could feel the panic rising. A fist in my chest painfully squeezed my heart. I needed to stay calm and focus. The last thing I remembered was the accident.

  Jesus fuck. The accident.

  All that crushed metal and the acrid smell of smoke. I remember the fire, then nothing.

  I must have blacked out before they pulled me free. I must be in a hospital.

  I must… I must… I must be….

  Jesus fuck. I must calm the fuck down and think.

  I couldn’t move my body. Nothing seemed to work. Did that mean I was paralyzed?

  No. No. I might not be able to move but I could still feel. I could feel the clothes against my skin. The press of fabric against my back. The hard floor beneath my feet.

  The hard floor?

  Was I standing?

  That didn’t make sense. I was probably lying down in a hospital bed.

  Jesus fuck. Why couldn’t I see anything?

  I tried to speak, to call out for help, but was met with only silence.

  Silence and darkness. Darkness and silence.

  Just like the accident.

  Was I still trapped in the car? Was my mind playing tricks on me? I have heard of people in extreme situations hallucinating. Was that what this was? Would I know it if I were?

  Jesus fuck!

  Wait. I can hear movement. The shuffling of feet. A nurse? Doctor?

  A thin beam of light in the shape of a rectangle appears before me. The outline of a door. But if I’m facing it, then does that mean I’m standing?

  I try to close my eyes to the bright flash of light as the door is opened but nothing happens. The light hurts.

  “There you are!”

  Framed by the white light, the person in front of me is in shadow. I don’t recognize his voice.

  I try to speak but nothing happens.

  The man grabs me by the waist and spins me around. I see clothes dangling from hangers. Shelves with shoe boxes and a clear container filled with ribbons and hair brushes.

  It’s a closet.

  Was I in a closet? No, I must be confused.

  Jesus fuck, what the fuck is going on?

  The man lifts me off my feet and carries me.

  I can’t move.

  Can’t cry out.

  I’m trapped inside my own body.

  I should be dead weight, but he lifts me as if I weigh nothing. The room is a spinning flash of color and distorted shapes before I am set down. I cannot move my head, but I see he’s placed me on a sofa. He moves away to walk behind me. I take the moment to observe my surroundings. Expecting to see the usual white linoleum floors and bad pastel artwork of a hospital room, my stomach clenches with fear as I observe the dark, wood paneled room. There is a massive flat screen TV with two leather recliners in front. A small bar with several glowing neon signs, one of which says Steve’s Man Cave. A pinball machine and several black book shelves filled with what looks like movies and video games. The walls are covered in those cheap beer mirrors you see in dive bars.

  I can hear what sounds like the opening of a refrigerator. Then the pop and hiss of a beer bottle being opened. The man steps back into my line of vision.

  Is this Steve?

  He’s older than me. Much older. And tall. He has the sort of build you see in older men who used to be jocks in high school. Broad shoulders and strong arms but with a bit of a soft belly. His hair is dark, but I can’t make out his eyes.

  Who the fuck are you? Where the fuck am I? I scream but I hear no sound. His face shows no reaction as he just takes a sip of his beer and stares down at me.

  “It’s just you and me. The wife is out getting drunk with her girlfriends, so I got all night. What game should we play?”

  I start to scream and thrash about… but it’s only in my head.

  “That outfit is all wrong. I think tonight I want you to be a Catholic school girl. Yeah, I’m in the mood for some barely legal.” He chuckles as he moves back to the closet, emerging with a school uniform on a hanger. I try to move away as he approaches, but my body won’t obey.

  His large hands flip me over. My face is pushed into the black leather of the sofa. I can feel him pulling down a zipper. His knuckles skim along my back and ass. I must be in a dress. My body feels stiff yet malleable as he roughly pulls the fabric down over my arms and off my hips. I want to cry but the tears won’t come. I can feel his hands on me again. Rough wool scratches my skin. He fumbles at my lower back. The fabric tightens around my waist. He must have put the school uniform skirt on me.

  I’m flipped back over.

  “Look at those tits. Seems a shame to cover them up. How about we leave the sh
irt open and tie it under your breasts. Just like the slut you are,” he sneers.

  Grabbing me by the back of my head, he pushes me forward till I’m bent in half. I can feel him lifting my arms one at a time as he pulls the shirt up my arms and onto my shoulders. He pushes me back. I’m forced to lie prone as his hands cup my breasts.

  I can feel everything.

  The scrape from the calluses on his palms.

  The press of his fingertips into my flesh.

  The damp feel of his skin.

  I can feel everything, yet I cannot move. Cannot defend myself. Cannot even cry out.

  His hands fumble beneath my breasts. The fabric tightens around my ribcage.

  “So, what should I call my slutty school girl tonight?” he asks, tilting his head to one side. “How about Catherine? That’s a good Catholic name.”

  ‘My name isn’t Catherine,’ I want to yell. It’s Jane. Jane Robinson. I live at 52 Merryweather Lane in Boston. I just graduated from high school and I was on my way to a party. I got into an accident. I’m supposed to be in a hospital. I want my parents. I want my mom.

  Nothing. No reaction.

  He doesn’t hear me.

  He takes another swig from his beer before setting it aside. I watch helplessly as he unbuttons the fly of his jeans. His thick cock springs forward. The skin is a mottled red and purple as it becomes engorged with blood.

  This can’t be happening. I don’t understand. I don’t understand any of this. All I know is I’m about to be raped by this stranger. The furthest I’d ever gone with my ex-boyfriend was second base and now I’m about to lose my virginity, and I can’t even beg him to stop.

  “How about you get on your knees and suck my cock like a good girl?”