Chapter 4

Two yearsago - Age 23

"Get dressed."

Clothes smack me in the back of the head, falling around me. I want to rage. Tears threaten, but I push them down. I won't give him the satisfaction. I haven't willingly let him see me cry since I realized he got off on my tears.

I look over my shoulder when I have my emotions reined in. Samuel stands in the doorway—his hands in the pockets of his suit pants. His jet-black hair, slicked back, highlights his prominent cheekbones and hawklike nose. His smarmy look disgusts me. I thought I would get used to the choice I made, but it's been…five years today, I realize, glancing at the clock.

How did I let the date slip up on me?

Seven years.

Eighty-four months.

Two thousand five hundred fifty-six days.

And more minutes and seconds that I've lost count.

Yet, every moment that's passed between then and now has only made the disgust grow. Every time he touched me, I fought puke and tears. Now, just being in the same room with him or even getting messages from him evokes that same feeling.

"Did you hear me, boy?"

I swallow. I know what getting dressed means. Samuel is taking me somewhere. I'm not allowed to leave the Order's premises unless Owen or Samuel are with me. The first few times one of them took me out, I got excited, but that ended a long time ago.

Samuel only takes me off-premises for one of two reasons. To have me fuck someone over or for someone to fuck me over. The first one I don't mind because my brand of fucking someone over doesn't involve actually fucking. Me getting fucked over always does.

Plus, Samuel always makes sure an anniversary date is never fun. As if any time I've spent in his company is fun. No, nothing about Samuel is fun. It's always nauseating, and anniversaries of the day I gave myself to him are usually painful and bloody.

My head flies backward, and I'm pulled to my feet by my hair. My naked back smacks into Samuel's chest. The silk of his suit and tie and even the hand in my hair would feel amazing if it was anyone but Samuel.

His teeth bite into my shoulder. The pressure continues to grow until the muted feeling turns sharp enough to bring tears to my eyes. Warmth flows from the spot, trickling down my chest and back.

He twists my head around toward him and growls in my face. "I told you to get dressed, you fucking useless piece of shit. I suggest you do as you're told, but please feel free to continue ignoring me. I so love seeing you bruised and bloody, as you well know."

His lips and teeth shine with my blood. He loves biting me, even if he doesn't always break the skin. The bruises are a source of pleasure for him. He likes pressing on them and trying to bite down on them when he's taking me.

"I didn't mean to disobey you, sir. I was in the middle of something for Owen and only wanted to finish," I lie.

I know he won't check, and even if he does, Owen will believe I was doing something for him. He likes it when I follow up on leads and give him information. For the most part.

There's been a few times he's had issues with me taking the initiative. Owen's form of punishment is more in line with a backhand for a smaller infraction or a beating for a larger one. Unlike Samuel, Owen's sexual proclivities don't include boys or men who look like boys, because I know I still look like a teenager.

"We'll see if Owen knows about the shit you're working on later. Now do what I fucking told you to do. We have a flight to catch," Samuel says, shoving me away from him.

A monitor wobbles and then crashes to the floor when the force pushes me into my computer desk. The edge of the desk bites into my hip painfully. Looking at the shattered screen, I knew Owen will exact punishment for that.

Hours later, I'm strung up in the bedroom on the private plane owned by the Order. I'm tired, thirsty, sore, bruised, battered, and bloody—brutally beaten and fucked mercilessly.

I'm also high as fuck.

I don't know what Samuel gave me, but whatever was in that syringe, I'm floaty and happy. My skin feels like it's crawling off my body. Energy rushes through my veins and has me rock hard, even though Samuel's forced me through multiple orgasms.

Samuel stands over me. He's stroking his cock. He's come twice already, and that's usually his limit for the night, but he's still hard, and the evil glint in his eyes scares me. I know he's not through with me.

I watch him smile as he circles me. The look is sinister and dark.

"You are so pretty when you're covered in blood and cum, boy. And as stupid and insolent as you are and as much as Owen forced me to pay to keep you, I crowed to all who could hear when I claimed you as mine."

I've heard it several times over the years. But when he continues, my blood runs cold.

"I've gotten an offer for you, though. One I don't believe I'm going to pass up."

My mind races.

Who would he sell me to?

Can I keep it from happening?

I'm zoned the fuck out trying to figure out what's happening when fire erupts on my back.

"GAHHHHH!" I scream.

Tears and sobs burst from within. Pain screams through my body and I feel ravaged until it lessens and my mind can process thought again.

"Jesus, that's a beautiful sight," Samuel says.

I suck in a breath, only for it to be swiped away again. His fingers trace over my back and the fire returns, licking at me and robbing me of breath and thought as I'm struck over and over.

Time ceases to mean anything. Everything falls away, leaving me with nothing to hold on to but the pain. Unconsciousness creeps in like a fog. It crawls through me, rolling over everything until darkness takes me.

Flickering light filters into my brain as everything comes back to me like a tsunami.

Sight.

Sound.

Pain.

There's so much fucking pain. A wave of it crashes over me until darkness threatens once again. As I succumb, Samuel's face appears before mine.

"You will pay for all the fun I missed out on because you took a nap," he growls, pinching my face.

His hand squeezes my cheeks until my teeth slices open the tender flesh of my cheeks. The blood that fills my mouth makes me sick. Bile churns in my gut. I know if I puke, he'll punish me further.

He pulls me up to a seated position. His face pushes into my space. Our noses brush one another, and he snarls, "Get on your feet and put on some fucking clothes. We're about to land. I have business to attend to."

He sweeps out of the room, and I break down as soon as the door slams behind him. I give myself over to all the shit that rages through me. I let myself feel it all.

The door rattles in its frame as a fist pounds against it.

"Get dressed!"

Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I scramble to my feet, and emotion hits me like a ton of bricks as realization sets in. He didn't miss out on any fun. I can feel his fun running out of my body and down my thighs.

My chin wobbles as much as my legs on the way to the bathroom. I sit down on the toilet, turn on the shower, and wait. I force my mind to remain blank. I can't let what's happened to me take up residence in my brain. I'll never make it out of this room if I do.

Steam billows and fills the room, making the air heavy and breathing difficult. I step under the spray and choke on a gasp. Hot water pours over the wounds that litter my body like molten hot lava.

I let my forehead fall forward to rest against the shower stall, and my eyes close.

"Deep breaths," I whisper, softly. I don't know if I heard it with my ears or if it's only in my head.

I steel myself, my chin wobbling again, and I shut off the water. Keeping my eyes averted from the mirror, unable to chance the image being burned into my psyche, I leave the bathroom, grabbing a towel on the way out.

When I'm dressed—multiple shirts, a sweater, and a blazer to pad and protect my body as much as possible—I walk out into the seating area of the plane.

"It's about fucking time," Samuel says.

"I'm sorry, sir," I whimper as my back presses into the seat.

Samuel smiles and chuckles.

Once on the ground, we walk off the plane. I glance around, noticing a car waiting on the tarmac in front of the iconic backdrop of the London skyline. It's the closest I've been to my homeland since being torn from it on the day my mother died. I long for the Highlands, for the heather. I yearn to walk the halls of the home I shared with her, to spend time in the last place I ever saw her.

I shut down those thoughts. They will do me no good. They'll not help me. All they'll do is cause me more pain, and God knows I don't need any more pain in my life.

Samuel hustles me into the backseat, shoving me into the car's doorframe. A yelp from me draws a chuckle from the sadistic bastard who owns me. Settling into the car, I dash tears from my face as I stare out the window at the passing scenery as we head into the city.

The car slows to a stop outside an abandoned factory. It looks ready to crumble. The spalling brick soft and dusty in spots and nearly missing in others. A truck at the loading dock we park near. Our driver gets out of the car, stopping to sweep the area while he buttons his suit jacket. He opens Samuel's door, but Samuel yanks it closed again.

Samuel grabs my arm. His fingers bite into my bicep as he growls in my ear. "You are to be seen and not fucking heard. Do you understand?"

I nod, and my Adam's apple slides up and down.

"I mean it. You open your fucking trap, you make even the smallest noise, and I'll put you on that goddamn truck with the rest of the merchandise," he says.

He drags me out of the car behind him. I follow silently and as meekly as possible. I haven't spent all these years enduring pain and humiliation and degradation to be sold off now.

We enter the building. Saws, drills, crying, and screams of protest welcome us. The smell of sawdust makes my nose twitch. I pinch it tightly between my fingers to ward off the possibility of a sneeze.

"Mr. Nicholson?" A man asks as he comes to stand in front of us. He appears very British, but his accent is more American than British.

Samuel nods. A sneer appears on his face at the man. Samuel believes he's more important to the Order of Death than he is. Owen allows Samuel to keep me so that he can control Samuel and, in turn, so Samuel can control me.

The man waits. As does Samuel. They stare at one another. I know Samuel. He won't break under this man's gaze. I've only ever seen him back down to Owen.

The standoff lasts for several moments, and then the man clears his throat and says, "Mr. McGivern will be here momentarily."

Samuel huffs, his hands going to his pockets, and he says, "And how soon is momentarily?"

The man's eyes round, as does his mouth. "Umm…I'm not sure. I am not privy to any further information other than what I've already given you."

"Fine. We'll wait. Briefly. In the meantime, find me some coffee," Samuel demands.

The man scurries away. Hopefully to find Samuel coffee.

My gaze travels around the area surrounding the dock, and the truck backed up to the building. I can still hear screams and power tools. The truck and the screaming combine into a nightmare of dire possibilities.

Those possibilities come to a reality when Samuel walks toward the sounds, pulling me along. The sight before me, as we move into the storage area next to the dock, twists my gut, sickening me.

The Order's merchandise fills the room. Girls and boys, men and women, chained together next to the far wall. They're all naked as the day they were born.

Averting my eyes, they roam over the rest of the room. Crates of military-grade weapons fill the floor between the door and the hostages. The wood lids are being secured one by one.

Then there are the workers. They're building more crates. Big ass crates with holes cut into the sides, and mesh grids that are being added to the bottoms.

But for the grace of God…

Or the sacrifice of my ass and tech skills.

Either way, as awful as my life can be, they could have locked me up on the other side of the room with the others, awaiting an unimaginable fate.

That thought sets me off. Shaking takes over. My chin trembles, and my legs quake. I lock it all down and let everything fade away until there's nothing but a floaty feeling left.

Dissociation isn't new to me, but the level that latches onto me now is. The floaty feeling morphs into a full on out-of-body experience. My vision changes, as does my hearing.

Sounds in the room feel miles away, and I'm staring at myself like I'm looking in a mirror. My physical body is a shell. Nothing gets through.

My eyes stay focused on the other side of the room until the man from earlier returns with a cup of coffee for Samuel. He then moves to the people across from me. He pulls out a syringe, dosing each person as he moves down the line.

The lack of concern about bloodborne pathogens shocks me. It shouldn't. The Order cares nothing for the people they victimize. They probably don't care about the customers who buy them either.

The noise in the room lessens with each person he injects until all that's left is the whirr of the drills and saws. Then they go silent too, only to be replaced with the sounds of the workers filling the crates with people.

Samuel's face appears before mine, and he shoves me back into the other room. There's a man in there who hadn't been there before. I know him. Or rather, I know of him. He's an underboss for the Order. Owen Black is the be all end all, but this guy, Lionel McGivern, is the boss in the UK, and word has it, he's nearly as psychotic as Owen.

I stand next to Samuel while he and Lionel talk. I hear everything they're saying, but none of it penetrates. All my attention is on the back of the truck.

As I stand there, a forklift loads the truck with the crates from the other room. The ones with weapons and the big ones with…

Sweet Jesus.

I bite down on my tongue and look away. A flicker of movement catches the corner of my eye.

There's someone there.

That tiny flicker of recognition pulls me back to myself and I catalogue everything I can about the room, the people, the truck, and the ghost in the shadows. I continue scanning the room and notice a camera.

Jesus fucking Christ! Owen and his lackeys are idiots. Why the fuck do they have cameras in a place where they do business dealings?

I make a note to do a search when I'm back in front of my computer. It shouldn't be too hard to find. I just have to pinpoint the location of the building a bit better than I have already.

I flick my gaze back around the room so I can look at the person hiding in the shadows. I don't know why they're hiding. If they were with the authorities, they would've raided the place already.

Are they a member spying on Lionel and Samuel?

"Boy! Are you deaf?"

I jerk my head back toward Samuel and respond as I know I better, "No, sir."

His hand wraps around my upper arm. The blunt nails bite into my flesh through the fabric of my clothing, pinching me. Samuel squeezes my arm as he drags me out of the building. Just as we step through the exit, I glance back over my shoulder at the ghost lurking in the shadows.