Before Sage had a second to process what he’d said, her lips were being shoved apart by a long leather tube fitted horizontally between her teeth like a horse’s bit. Though the contraption was much cleaner than a wad of dirty rags, the fuck you on her fear threshold was the same. The black void of her vision rushed the nightmare along. In an instant, she was back in that sweltering jungle. Back in that Quonset hut. Back in that moment where accepting the defeat was easier than fighting it.
Senses keen? Why? There was no way out of this. Nowhere to run, nowhere to be, nobody to become except the pawn into which King had transformed her. Garrett was going to touch down soon in a land where he’d spend weeks searching for her, when she would actually be in some Bavarian dungeon, helpless to escape, concentrating on nothing but taking her next breath.
“Move.” Junior jabbed his gun into her back. The feel of the barrel was different. They’d likely let the henchmen play with bigger toys for this part of their little adventure. She guessed he now had a semiautomatic of some sort.
They were led inside, where it was blessedly warmer. That didn’t soften the cold impact of the wood floor when Sage was pushed down to her knees. She smelled savory hot food and rich red wine, making her empty stomach growl, until the other essences in the room snuck into her awareness. More leather. The tang of heavy chains. The musk of recent sex.
Oh God.
She wasn’t hungry anymore.
One breath after the other. One breath after the other.
Leather couches crunched as people sat. Glassware clinked on tables. King chatted with the men as if they were at a casual cocktail party. Comments were traded about the wine and the weather, all as if they didn’t stand there with three bound, bit-gagged, half-naked women kneeling on the floor nearby. Their insouciance started to piss her off. She tried to contain the feeling, logically tracing it back to her terror, which turned the confusion of her mind into sheer chaos.
By the time the men approached them again, she literally thought she’d burst from her skin.
King let out an anticipatory sigh. “So, my friends…you have had some time to look at our fresh flowers. As you know, the first two are young, healthy, and very strong. The third is older but in magnificent condition…and might bring an experienced flair to certain services.”
One of the men reacted to that with a heavy cough, before he said on a chuckle, “Indeed.”
Another man echoed the mirth. “Gustav is a bit…errmm…anal about some things.”
King laughed heartily. “Well, then! Perhaps she is the perfect fit. Or can be stretched to be!” After the men rewarded him with jokes that sounded like verbal slabs of grease, he offered, “Would you like to have a try at her, my friend? We can fasten her down on any of the benches for you.”
A deep grunt came from Gustav’s direction. “Perhaps later. Klaus has bigger wood to saw than me tonight and less time to get to it. There is that saying, yah? Age before beauty?”
King laughed again, punching the sound full of even more fake hilarity than before. “All right, then! Klaus leads the fun tonight!”
“As I do every night.”
The voice behind those words had been the quietest one of the trio—which made its owner the one Sage feared the most. The measured control of it was roughened in certain places by vocal gravel that tugged weirdly at her gut. She didn’t want him to touch her, yet every time he spoke, that was all she could think about.
“Well then, Klaus my friend, which one of our young flowers would you like to smell deeper?”
Sage didn’t want to hear the bastard’s answer. If he picked Rayna, she’d be in agony. If he picked her, she’d be in Purgatory.
A leg pressed against her back. Another slid in front of her and pressed a hard boot to her kneecaps. A large hand, full of steel-fingered command, descended on her head.
“The blond has a certain sass about her, yes?”
Sage tried to swallow. Only trouble was, her mouth had gone bone dry.
“Ah!” King exclaimed. “Very good choice! Where would you like her to be placed? The stockade? The fucking swing? The whipping bench?”
“I place my own sluts.”
The man’s voice took on an edge of anger with the statement. Sage’s chest vibrated in reaction, struggling to get air into her freezing, shaking body. Klaus hoisted her up, but her legs weren’t into cooperating with his control or hers, dangling beneath her like numb rags. Klaus supported her with one hand twisted in her corset strings, and the other now wound into her hair.
“Somebody take off those silly shoes,” the man barked. “And you, boy—hand me your knife.” Sage trembled harder at that and whimpered against the gag. “Be still.” Klaus gave her the order on a growl. His hand left her hair, shifting to her bound wrists instead. With a single swipe, he cut loose the zip tie.
Adrenaline shot in. Sage didn’t stop to ponder why he’d done something so stupid, choosing to just capitalize on it. Though her hands barely worked, she formed them into claws and aimed straight for his face. A moment of distraction was all she needed. Once she could see again, she could run. And once she could run—
Her wrists were instantly bound again. Klaus slammed one of his hands around both of them. His grip was like an iron winch, trapping her so tight, she instantly yearned for the zip ties again. Before she could stop it, an enraged yowl tore past the gag. Gustav and King chuckled, but from Klaus, there was nothing but a deep, hard growl.
“Try that again, and I’ll break them, little sassy.” He jerked her arms down, rearranging her hands behind her back. “And if I must buy broken merchandise, that makes me want to smash it up more.”
With her wrists throbbing and her spirit reeling, Sage gave him a reluctant nod. She wouldn’t be any use to Rayna and Josie if this bastard decided to start breaking bones.
Without another word, Klaus hooked a finger into the front of her corset and hauled her across the room. She gulped, shoving aside a mental comparison to a state fair cow being led to the auction block.
He stopped and made her do the same. The man shifted, moving to stand right in front of her. With two more fast thwicks, he cut away the tiny panties that matched her corset. Sage corkscrewed her hands together, trying to cover the sex now exposed to the man’s long, silent gaze.
“Beautiful,” he murmured.
She reminded herself to breathe. From the blackness behind her mask and the void into which her voice had been banished, every passing minute felt more surreal. Was this her body doing this? Her heart and soul? They were nowhere to be found anymore. She moved like an automaton, taking orders like a robot no matter how her body reacted biologically to this hell.
Klaus turned her a little. He slid up behind her, his large body pressed to her back. “Up onto the cross now, sassy,” he commanded into her ear before pushing her a few steps forward.
She struggled to swallow again. To feel anything other than pure fear. To gain back even a shred of composure to the arms and legs that shivered as if Klaus had helped her step onto a bondage cross made of ice instead of steel. Nothing worked. He was stripping her, pulling off the corset and tossing it aside. He was spreading her, closing leather bonds around her wrists and ankles so her body aligned with the big X now. He was turning her into a mass of dread, of grief…and most horridly, of shame.
Because her heart wasn’t the only thing weeping through this ordeal.
The tissues at her core betrayed that truth with pulsing, rushing clarity. Her pussy knew exactly what was about to happen and readied itself with clenching, wet anticipation.
She dug her teeth into the gag and sobbed in self-disgust.
The man behind her worsened the moment. Klaus pressed against her, sliding one arm around her waist and then wrapping the other up to caress one of her breasts. His mouth closed in against her ear, roughening her skin with his thick beard, and he spoke in a grate so low, only she could hear it.
Only…the European inflection was gone.
In its place was a perfect dulcet lilt that zapped everything inside her back to life. It was an accent she dreamed about. Lived for. Even joked about. She liked to call it “Iowa farm stud.” And Garrett always glowered at her for it.
“I know we both dreamed of something like this happening differently, sugar…but if we can get through it, I’m gonna get you out of here. I absolutely promise it, my heart.”