Chapter 1

"Tulip."

At the sound of that hateful name being shouted, Tulip bolted awake and pushed herself upright. For a moment, she was confused and could do nothing but glance around, heart racing.

Every time she heard the name Tulip, she winced. It was the name Master J had assigned her when she'd woken up in hell eighteen months ago. It brought bile to her throat. No one had called her by her real name—Grace—in a year and a half.

"Stand up," the man shouted. She had no idea who he was. She hadn't even seen his face yet.

She scrambled to stand, but her legs were wobbly, and it was difficult to remember all her training. As it clicked back into place, she pulled her shoulders back, clasped her hands behind her back, and lowered her gaze.

Her long hair was wild, unkempt, and hung alongside her face like a curtain. She hadn't brushed it in a long time. How long had she been here? A day? Two days? Three? She wasn't sure. She'd been drugged when she'd arrived, and she had no idea how long ago that had been.

"That's better." His voice was gruff, but at least he wasn't shouting now. He stepped into the room, but she didn't dare lift her gaze to see more of him.

She held her breath while he paced closer.

"I paid a lot of money for you, slut, and I expect to get my money's worth. I'm going to give you thirty minutes to shower and clean yourself up. I want that hair of yours brushed to a shine. Dry it, and comb it. Leave it down. There's a toothbrush and toothpaste in the bathroom. Use them. Drink the protein shake I left on the counter. You'll need the energy for tonight. It's time to start earning your keep."

She was trembling as he turned, left the room, shut the door, and locked it. She finally blew out a breath and drew in another one. Nothing would stop the shaking. Even though she'd spent the last year and a half in training to service this man, she felt like she was going to vomit.

Grace stood rooted to her spot for several moments, trying to control her panic. She was naked, but she'd been naked from the moment she'd woken up in hell, so that wasn't new. Dozens of men had ogled her nude body over the months, more than she could count.

However, this man had bought her. This man had purchased her virginity. This man was going to rape her. He'd paid a million dollars for the opportunity.

Shivering, she headed for the attached bathroom. She assumed she was in a basement of some sort because there were no windows. No natural light of any kind entered the room, even when he unlocked the door and opened it.

The only thing her owner had done since she'd arrived was to open the door, set a protein drink inside, and lock her up once again. She'd tried to swallow as much of the nasty drinks as possible, but her stomach had been unsettled from the drugs he'd injected into her for the first several hours. After that, her nerves had made it difficult to swallow.

She turned on the water in the shower and stepped back, wondering if it would warm up. When steam started rising, she slowly closed her eyes and thanked the heavens for this one small miracle.

Grace hadn't taken a warm shower since her abduction. She hadn't even bathed herself a single time. She'd been washed by her disgusting handlers, who'd used a garden hose over a drain in the basement floor of Master J's house.

Grace moaned softly as she stepped under the spray. She found there was even floral shampoo, conditioner, and body wash lined up on the wall. She'd had no luxuries like that in years.

It felt good to wash herself, but it was impossible to avoid shaking the entire time. That vile monster is going to rape me after I get clean. He purchased my virginity, and he's going to take it.

Grace hadn't cried in a very long time. Master J and his trainers had forbidden any of the girls from crying. If they had, they'd been punished, and punishments under Master J's supervision had not been pleasant.

Reluctantly, Grace turned off the water, dried herself as best she could with one of the two hand towels he'd left for her, and then patted her hair dry with the other.

She knew why he hadn't given her full towels. He hadn't wanted her to be able to cover herself. Not even when she was alone. It was just another form of degradation, and it was effective.

It took her a while to work the tangles out of her hair, and when she was done, she picked up the hair dryer and turned it on. While she let the warmth seep into her pores, angling the hot air all over her body, she stared at the sink. Maybe she should fill it with water, dunk her head into the water, and drop the hair dryer in with it.

Was death better than a lifetime of rape? She'd wondered that many times in the last year and a half. Sometimes, she'd been certain the answer was yes. Other times, she'd given herself an internal pep talk. Survive. Live. Be strong.

As the months had gone by, she'd gradually lost hope. Today, she was running out of any sense of self. Helplessness was seeping in. She stared hard at the sink, seriously considering electrocuting herself.

"Tulip." The booming voice made her jump so fast that she nearly dropped the hair dryer.

She turned it off as she spun toward the door, eyes downcast, heart racing. "Sorry, Master. I didn't hear you."

"Finish. Drink the protein drink. Brush your teeth, slut."

"Yes, Sir."

He left her alone again. Alone was a new concept to her, in and of itself. She hadn't been alone unsupervised until she'd been brought here and locked in this room.

She set the dryer aside, picked up the drink, and gripped the lid with one hand. It took several tries to loosen the top. She didn't have the energy, plus she was shaking violently.

She managed to drink about half the icky substance before pouring the rest down the drain and brushing her teeth. Hopefully, he wasn't watching. If he had cameras on her, so be it. She'd rather endure a punishment before he raped her if it bought her some more time.

"Let's go, slut." He was in the doorway again.

She clasped her hands behind her back and followed him.

"To the right and up the stairs, Tulip."

When he pointed, she obeyed, climbing the stairs before him.

She held her breath, unsure of what to expect, and then was surprised when she stepped into a normal kitchen. Well, normal if you were rich and could afford a million-dollar virgin.

There were no sounds, so she assumed they were alone. The kitchen was pristine, nothing out of place. Modern. Sleek. Stainless steel and white.

Her buyer gripped her neck hard and angled her through the kitchen and down a hallway until they entered a living room. "Kneel in the middle of the room as you've been taught. I left you a pillow for your knees."

"Thank you, Master," she murmured as she headed for the pillow. The room was warm. A fire was lit in the fireplace. The walls were all dark paneling, the floors hardwood, the furniture maroon leather. Masculine. Inviting. Unless you were a trained whore.

When she was situated, he circled her. "Stop squirming, slut. Stay still."

She knew she was trembling. Even after months of training on her knees, she still had never been able to control the shaking. Nerves weren't something she could prevent.

Her owner grabbed a fistful of her hair and angled her head closer to the floor. "Eyes down," he snarled.

She fought tears. Tears and trembling were the two most difficult parts of her life. Both were involuntary. But it was hard to ignore the fact that she was now bought and owned by this Master who was showing no signs of being kind.

Pursing her lips, she held her breath. Don't cry. Don't cry.

He finally released her and walked away.

She didn't dare lift her head, but she watched his feet in her peripheral vision. Based on the sound of ice, she assumed he was making himself a drink. When he returned, he sat in an armchair a few feet in front of her and took a sip of his drink.

"Fuck, but you are certainly nice to look at," he murmured. "That hair is divine. Your tits are perfection. Pull your shoulders back farther so I can see them better."

She obeyed.

"Knees wider. I can't wait to feel your cunt around my cock."

She inched her thighs farther apart.

"Have you been playing with that naked cunt, Tulip?" His voice grated on her. It was the voice of a madman.

"No, Sir," she said.

"No? Alone in that room downstairs, you didn't stroke that clit and fuck your cunt with your fingers?"

She was reminded there was another physical response she could not control—the way her trainers, Master J, and now, this owner could make her cheeks turn hot with their offensive language and suggestions. She couldn't hide the pink splotches on her pale skin. "No, Sir," she forced herself to respond with as little inflection as possible.

"Hmmm. If I find out your cunt isn't as tight as I was promised, you will pay."

She flinched. There was absolutely nothing she could do to ensure her vagina was anything but whatever it was. If it wasn't as tight as he expected, it certainly wouldn't be because anyone or anything had been inside her.

"So, you're saying after a year and a half of supervision to ensure you remained intact, you didn't diddle with that pussy the first chance you got?"

She gritted her teeth. Was he insane? Oh, right. Yes, he was. She'd spent all those months being trained as a sex slave. The only thing on her mind the moment she'd woken up with a post-drugged hangover in that room had been staying calm and staying alive.

"Answer me, cunt," he bellowed.

"No, Sir. I have not touched your pussy."

"Humph." He leaned back, continuing to drink whatever was in that glass.

She hoped it was laced with cyanide, but there was no way she could be that lucky.

"God, I love watching you squirm, fighting to remain still. As much as I'm looking forward to fucking your tight cunt, making you wait for my cock is precious."

When he rose, she flinched again, thinking he was coming for her. Instead, he headed for the bar again and made another drink. He dropped back into his chair a few minutes later. "My cock is harder than a rock, Tulip. I'm going to need a few drinks so that I can last longer than two seconds inside you." He chuckled.

Please, drink ten of them. She started surveying the room, wondering if there was an exit. Could she run for it? What would he do to her if she tried to run? And where would she go? Even if she managed to make it to the front door, she was naked.

He rambled on about how sexy she was before rising again. "I think we need another log in the fire, don't you, cunt?"

She didn't respond. She hadn't responded to any of his latest rhetorical questions. But she did risk turning her head after he passed her to watch him as he strutted toward the fire. He picked up a log, tossed it in, and grabbed the poker to adjust everything.

Her attention was on the poker. Could she manage to get her hands on it? And then what? She was less than half his size. She had no strength. There was no way she could defend herself. He could easily take it from her and punish her severely.

What did it matter, though? She was dead tonight either way. She'd been a walking zombie for months. Tonight, Grace was either going to die physically or emotionally. The risk to her body seemed like nothing compared to the risk to her mind.

When he was satisfied with the fire, he staggered toward the bar again. His gait was off. He was drunk.

Now, Grace. Now's your only chance. Go.

Rising silently to her feet, she hurried as quietly as possible toward the fireplace. She grabbed the poker and rushed toward her owner before he made it to the bar.

He must have finally heard her, though, because he suddenly spun around and faced her. She was a yard away.

He looked stunned for a moment and then had the audacity to chuckle. "Fucking cunt." He didn't think she would do it.

Grace lifted the poker and swung it through the air as hard as she could. She hadn't believed she could do it either, but a second later, the end of the iron poker slammed into her owner's temple.

His eyes were wide for a moment, his mouth opening, and then he slumped to the floor. Out cold. Dead?

She heaved in several breaths as she stared at him in shock. She didn't have time to find out if he was dead. She needed to get out of there.

Spinning, she looked around the room. There wasn't even a throw blanket. Nothing to cover herself with. She ran out of the living room with no idea where to go. She had no idea where the front door was or how cold it might be outside.

She did know it was night. It was dark. She raced back to the kitchen and spotted her owner's suit coat draped over the back of a chair. Snagging it, she stuffed her arms into it and wrapped it around her. It was way too big for her, which was good. It would keep her warm.

When she inhaled, she nearly gagged. His aftershave was gross. Every time she'd been near him, she'd smelled it. If she managed to escape this living hell, she would never forget that scent until she died.

Rushing out of the kitchen, she aimed for what she hoped was the front of the house, beyond relieved when she spotted the front door. There were stairs to her right. She paused. Should she go up and find more clothes?

No. She'd lose precious time. He might wake up. And besides, it wasn't as though he'd have anything that would fit her anyway. She was better off barefoot than trying to walk in shoes several sizes too large for her.

After yanking open the front door, she stepped out into the night and quietly shut the door behind her.

Now what?

Thank God it wasn't too cold out. The last thing she needed was frostbite on her feet. She ran as fast as she could down the long driveway and out to the main road.

A noise caught her attention and scared her nearly out of her mind. When she jerked her attention toward the sound, she found a woman standing on the other side of the street. She was wearing a robe and was angling a trash can toward the edge of her driveway.

The woman gasped when she saw Grace. "Oh, my. You scared me."

Grace stared at her for a moment. Should she run toward the woman and ask for help?

The woman wrapped her robe tighter around her and nodded toward the house behind Grace. "Are you a friend of Mr. Chekov?"

Mr. Chekov… That must have been her Master's name. She hadn't known. Grace licked her lips, deciding not to ask this woman for help. What if the woman marched her right back into the house instead? "Uh, no. I'm a friend of his nephew." She had to pray the woman didn't know Mr. Chekov well enough to know if he had a nephew or not. Grace certainly had no idea.

"Oh. I didn't realize he had a nephew." She pointed at Grace's feet. "You're going to catch a cold without shoes. What are you doing out here this late?"

"I just needed some air."

"Okay, well, have a nice night." The woman hesitated but then turned and wandered back up toward her house.

Grace's heart was going to beat out of her chest. She considered once again going to the front door and asking for help, but it seemed too risky. She was all kinds of fucked up.

She needed to get away from here. That was all she could imagine. Even if the woman did agree to help her, what would she do? Call the police?

The thought made Grace shudder more violently than anything else. Ha. The police. Some good they were. The police had gotten her into this mess in the first place. She didn't want the police involved.

Grace had no idea how far she was from where she'd been abducted eighteen months ago, but if there was any chance she was still in the Denver area, she certainly didn't want to call the police.

So, she turned to the right and took off running.