Mercy's Angels Box Set (52 page)

As I took a small tentative step through the doorway, I heard Shakhta talking to someone. Another small step forward revealed a man standing in the kitchen next to him. Their voices were lowered in deep conversation, but when the stranger noticed me he fell silent. Shakhta turned, and his eyes took a quick perusal of my body. The way he looked over me didn’t make my skin crawl with distaste though. Where Master Jonas and his men looked at me with assessing eyes—judging my figure, my breasts, my skin—Shakhta’s evaluation seemed to be one of genuine concern. I found myself comfortable with the weight of his gaze.

“Em, this is Larz, the Captain of ‘Utonut' Moi Grekhi.”

I had no idea what that meant. It was obviously a foreign language, but I wasn’t about to speak out of place and ask questions. I gave Larz a polite nod. He was a big man, not as big as Shakhta and quite obviously older than him. His skin was tanned from spending too much time in the sun, and his hair was filled with a healthy dose of gray. He had gentle eyes that didn’t linger on me for too long. The mention of ‘Captain’ reminded me that we were on the water, and I cast my eyes to the windows. On my right was sparkling blue water as far as the eye could see, and to my left was an island but not exactly what I would call close. And I couldn’t swim. My eyes widened slightly in panic, and my fists clenched.

“You don’t like yachts?” Shakhta asked, his voice holding a trace of humor as I turned back to face him. Larz had left the room so it was just the two of us now. I shook my head but didn’t elaborate. I hadn’t been granted permission to speak.

“May I ask what you don’t like about them?”

And there was the permission I was seeking. “I have nothing against boats, Shakhta, I just don’t like the water.” Shakhta laughed and the sound stopped me in my tracks. It was a loud, carefree sound and I got the impression that it wasn’t a sound he made often. Of the few times I had been with Shakhta, he had remained unerringly still and passive, his lips forming neither smiles nor frowns, his eyes always watching with a quiet intensity. He didn’t seem like a man who indulged in moments of lightheartedness. I could appreciate that though, since I could barely remember a time when I smiled, let alone laughed. So long ago in my foggy mind that I wondered if I had made it up. Back in the days when Claymont was my home and I was safe.

“The two kind of go hand in hand, Em.” Shakhta signaled me forward, and I moved without hesitation.

I didn’t trust him, but I could obey a command without fault. It was one of the many lessons I had learned with Master Jonas. I moved forward not sure what to do. Many masters required their slaves to get down on their knees, but Shakhta had made the comment that he didn’t like it.

Noticing my hesitation, he pulled back the chair beside him. “Please sit.”

I hesitated. I had never been allowed to sit at a table with my Master. My position was on the floor at his feet, always.

Shakhta sighed. “It would please me very much if you would sit beside me,” he murmured, his voice not unkind, but it still held an edge of command. I climbed onto the tall chair and glanced over the food laid out before us: toast, cereal, fresh fruit, and juice.

“Breakfast, even though it’s three in the afternoon. Dinner is a little ways off, so I thought we should just go ahead and start the day late.”

I nodded, still hesitant. In Master Jonas’ home I was fed. I sat on my knees to his side, and as long as I wasn’t disobedient, he would feed me. I never fed myself.

“Is there anything you don’t like?” Shakhta asked, nodding towards the food.

I shook my head; I didn’t really care. Food was sustenance; nothing more, nothing less. I had always dined on good food, fresh food. What I truly missed were sweets. Chocolate, oh God how I missed chocolate. Master Jonas would never compromise my health with sweets. Ridiculous since he had no problem compromising my health and wellbeing in other ways.

Shakhta buttered a slice of toast and placed it before me. Then he went about filling a bowl with cereal and placed it before me, too. Some sliced pineapple and kiwi fruit was nudged in my direction and finally a glass of juice.

“One of everything, at least that’s the way I like to eat. You don’t have to eat it all, whatever you can manage is fine.”

I stared at the food before me with confusion.

“Everything okay?” he asked after taking a small sip of his own juice.

I looked from my Master, to the food, and back at him again. Was he not going to feed me?

“You were fed, weren’t you?” He sighed.

Of course I was, always. The last time I fed myself...

“YOU ARE MY SLAVE!” he roared. He towered over me as I cowered on the floor. I had just taken a small piece of potato from his plate. I had been starving, though and I hated being fed.  It was beyond degrading, it took humiliation to the next level. He struck me so hard, it had sent me sprawling across the tiles. Now he was looking down on me with fury radiating so thick I could almost see it wafting off his skin. I whimpered with fear and Master Jonas kicked me hard. “KEEP YOUR FUCKING MOUTH SHUT, YOU WHORE!” He kicked me again, and I clenched my teeth so hard they ached with the effort to keep quiet. Then he was gone. I barely had time to roll to my back before he was on me again, his hand full of food. “You want food?” His voice had lowered, which scared me even more. This voice meant I was in a whole new level of trouble. He knelt at my side and stuffed the handful of food into my gaping mouth. I began to choke and cough. “A slave’s place is at her master’s feet, and she does not eat from the table. If she is lucky, he will spare her some food and feed her accordingly. Do you understand?” I spluttered and choked on the food forced into my mouth. Tears streamed from the corners of my eyes and I nodded fiercely, my body racked with throbbing with pain, my throat was sore, and my heart was screaming with sorrow.

“Em?”

My shoulders were held in an unfamiliar grip, and the loud resounding voice of my new Master brought me back to the present.

“There you are, Malen’kaya. I lost you there for a moment.”

I pushed the lingering flashback away, far away where I couldn’t crumble under the weight of such a horrifying memory.

“I’m going to feed you, for now, okay.” Shakhta dipped his head a little to look me in the eye.

I nodded and forced myself to concentrate on my new Master. I was terrified of slipping back into another unwelcome memory. Shakhta slid around to face me and took a small piece of sliced toast, holding it to my lips. I took it graciously and lowered my gaze.

He was quick to place a finger under my chin and lifted my eyes to meet his. “Eyes up, Em. You have beautiful eyes. I would prefer to see them.”

The compliment slipped from his lips, floated through the air and melted into my heart. Compliments had evaded me for more years than I cared to remember—nice tits, perfect ass, tight pussy—those were the common observations I was accustomed to, but they weren’t compliments; they were made with no endearment or care behind them.

“Baby steps, Malen’kaya. We are going to do this in baby steps. I know you need certain things now. It’s a part of how you have been conditioned to live, but I swear that I am going to give you back what you’ve lost, alright?”

I briefly wondered what malen’kaya meant, but my thoughts were quickly replaced by thoughts of what exactly my new Master intended to give me back. I had lost so much, and a big part of me knew I could never get the moments that had been stolen from me back. I would never again have that innocence all young girls are born with. My hopes and dreams had been killed under the brutal hands of a monster. Shakhta continued to feed me, and I kept my eyes on his at all times. It almost felt intimate, too intimate.

“In the bedroom, when you flinched from my touch, can you explain why?”

Shakhta’s question made me nervous. I wasn’t sure how to answer. I didn’t want to displease him, but I didn’t want to lie either. Lying to your master was disrespectful and would only end in punishment. On the other hand, he might dislike my answer and punish me anyway.

“Truth preferably, Em. I don’t want any secrets between you and I, which is how we’ll build trust. Anything you ask me, I will answer honestly, and I hope you will do the same.”

I nodded, understanding his command. “I didn’t want to taint you, Shakhta. I’m...unclean.”

Shakhta’s head tilted to one side slightly in thought. “Explain,” he calmly ordered.

“I...I’m spoiled. I’ve been d...defiled. I have sinned and it’s not only on my skin but...under it.” My voice was so low I could barely hear it.

Shakhta’s eyes flared with fury, and I knew this was the moment where I would be punished. By the most subtle of degrees I tensed. Shakhta’s perception must have been outstanding because he quickly took a long deep breath and calmed himself.

When he spoke, his words were careful and low, “You are not tainted, Em. You were abused, forced. That. Is. Not. On. You. Those are not your sins, and your touch will not taint others, do you understand me?”

No, I didn’t.

“I understand sin, Em, I understand what it feels like to be beyond redemption.”

I didn’t need her words to know that she didn’t believe me. The look in her eyes showed her mistrust. And why should she trust me? She didn’t know me, didn’t know the things I have done, the souls I have destroyed. I needed to let her in, just a little. If I wanted to gain her trust, I needed to give her a piece of me that no one else had. I didn’t want to scare her away though, so I would share just a slither of myself, just one fine layer of the many dark layers that were wrapped around my own soul.

“I didn’t always do this, Em, help people. My childhood was unconventional to say the least. My biological father left when I was still a baby. My mother was fortunate enough to meet a man who treated her well, but outside of his family he was, and still is, a ruthless man. He was a good father in his own way; he taught me things I would never have learned otherwise. My stepfather’s business is somewhat...illicit,” my eyes were still riveted on hers, “and illegal. I worked for him, did things, bad things and I’ve reaped the benefits.” My arms opened wide to take in the lavish yacht surrounding us. “If anyone in this room is tainted by sin, it’s me. By definition, a sin is a willing or deliberate violation of moral principle, and I chose to do the things I did; therefore, I was willing. You had no choice in your life or the things you did; therefore, they don’t constitute a sin.”

Her pale blue eyes seemed to be searching mine, trying to see beyond the inky black depths. She went to speak but seemed to think better of it. It was just one of the many things we needed to work on. Emily needed to know she could speak freely again, and that there would be no retribution for her words regardless of what they were or how they were delivered.

“No secrets, Em. You will not be punished for speaking your mind with me. I would actually like it if you did.” I didn’t think she was going to say anything, but finally her shoulders moved back slightly and her chin rose. There was strength beneath the damage, and that was good. She would need strength to defeat the invisible constraints that Jonas’s abuse had left her with.

“Your collared women?”

My nod was hesitant. “Woman, only one. It was mutual, something she wanted and the collar was in the form of wrist cuffs, they were feminine and delicate, much like the woman who wore them.” Emily’s hand rose to her neck, her fingers tracing an invisible line in an automatic and detached manner. “Jonas made you wear a collar?” She nodded, her hand falling back into her lap.

“It was tight, I didn’t like it,” she confessed. Emily’s eyes rose cautiously back to mine and I saw a question in them. I tilted my head and waited patiently for her to speak.

“Did you keep slaves?”

I almost blanched at her question. I shook my head. “I never owned a slave, Em,” my voice was slightly rougher than I intended, “I dated women, who, like me, enjoyed this lifestyle. I never sought out to buy an unwilling woman. I find the entire idea of such a practice sickening.”

Regardless of the undisguised revulsion and venom in my tone, Em didn’t seem to withdraw with fear. I took a deep breath to control my anger. I wasn’t angry with Em, I was angry with the piece of shit that had delivered her into the world of slavery. Her ideas of dominant/submissive relationships had been skewered and impaired by her previous master.

“I admit I have interests in relationships with submissive women, but my relationships have always been consensual, and I never enjoyed the lifestyle to the extent Jonas Levier and his friends do. In the bedroom, yes, I enjoy being in charge, and I have interests that might be considered adventurous to some. Outside the bedroom, I prefer my women to be independent; I like them to be able to make their own decisions. I do not enjoy seeing a woman on her knees outside the bedroom; I find it a little degrading.” She glanced away, and her cheeks flushed. Was she embarrassed by the things she was forced to do? “You don’t need to be ashamed, Em, that life was forced on you,” I gently explained.

“What about the things that weren’t forced, Shakhta?” Her words were barely audible.

“All your choices were removed the moment Jonas took you from the streets and forced himself on you.”

Her solemn gaze looked so dejected and forlorn that in that moment I just wanted to bring her into my arms and hold her tight. But I wouldn’t. I made her a promise that I would not touch her without permission, and I would keep that promise. Her life had been dictated, her choices removed and as much as I wanted to give her back the tenderness she had been denied, I wouldn’t do so without her permission. She was a stunning woman, and I was asshole enough to admit I would enjoy sinking by cock into her beautiful willing body—willing being the operative word. Emily didn’t need a conceited shit like me screwing with her head any more than I needed a broken sub on my hands.

“So, you don’t like the water? How far does this distaste towards the wet stuff go?” I deftly changed the subject.

“I can’t swim, Shakhta,” she said, glancing out the big wide windows that overlooked the tropical crystal water beyond.

“Hmmm,” I wondered, thinking we needed to fix that. Not now though, but tomorrow perhaps. It would help build her trust in me, and I wanted to give her back all the things that had been taken from her over the years. This was just one of those things. “We are going to be on the water for a few days, I hope that won’t be too much of a problem for you.” She shook her head but I could see the disappointment in her eyes. “Jonas is going to assume we put you on the first plane out of here, so we thought we might mix things up a little and spend a few days here. Then I will take you home.” Her shoulders tensed. “To Claymont,” I added.

Emily’s shiver of apprehension was nothing more than a muted emotion, barely recognizable, unless you spent your life watching people, watching for the smallest signs: dilated pupils, goose bumps on the skin, the slight quiver in the shoulders. The smallest nuance in body language could speak a thousand words, and it was easy to read for someone like myself who spent their life observing others.

“What about that bothers you?” Emily’s head dipped low, her eyes avoiding mine. I clutched her chin in my fingertips hard enough to let her know I meant business, but gentle enough that it wouldn’t mark her delicate skin. “Lies can be told with words and silence, Malen’kaya. I forbid both: truths only between us.” Her eyes were full of fear, but just like before, she pressed her shoulders back and raised her chin. Defiance lived in that heart somewhere, and I’ll be damned if it didn’t turn me on.

“It may not be safe for B to have me so close, Shakhta, Master Jonas wouldn’t hesitate to hurt her as a way to hurt me.”

It didn’t surprise me that her own safety took a back seat to her sister’s. “Rebecca is safe, as you will be. I have people in Claymont who can keep you both safe.” She was watching me like a wary rabbit might a fox. “And, Em? Jonas is no longer your master. I would prefer it if you didn’t acknowledge him as one. I know after such a long time it will be difficult to think of him as anything else, but I want you to try. Can you do that for me?” Her nod was uncertain. “You won’t be punished for slipping, but I would appreciate it very much if you would try.”

She nodded again, and this time it was filled with a little more determination. I knew she wanted to try and do this for me, to make me happy. The feelings coiling through my body were confusing. I didn’t want to be her master; I wanted Emily to be her own person and make her own decisions, yet I was silently thrilled that she wanted to please me, obey me.

Again I noticed the look in her eye; she wanted to speak but was anxious about being punished. “What’s on your mind?” I encouraged her.

“She’s really safe, Shakhta?”

“She is. My men won’t take their eyes off her. And she has Charlie. I’m pretty sure that man would turn green and demolish everything in sight if someone threatened his woman again.”

“He’s good to her?” she asked after a small silence.

“Charlie loves Rebecca, as she does him. He’s very protective of her.” She nodded and I didn’t miss the look of longing behind those eyes that she tried to keep casual and impassive. “I need to speak to Larz. We’ll have to move soon. I don’t want to stay in one place too long. We aren’t exactly behaving like regular wealthy tourists should. We haven’t been swimming or sunbathing. We’ve only made one quick trip to shore. I don’t want to attract attention, so it’s best if we keep moving as if we are simply cruising the islands looking for somewhere comfortable to anchor.”

Emily nodded, her eyes glancing nervously out the windows to the ocean beyond. “Shakhta?”

“Yes, Em.”

“Where are we?”

My heart ached over her uncertainty. “We are in the Bahamas.”

Her eyebrows rose a little. “I’ve never seen the Bahamas,” she whispered.

“This bay is relatively secluded if you wanted to go out on deck and have a look around.” The fear in her eyes as she glanced at the window was palpable. “How about you start cleaning this up while I go speak to the others? When I get back, I’ll take you out to have a look if you wish.”

“Others?” Again, the apprehension in her voice was thick.

“You’ve already met Larz. Daniel and Gabriella are on the top deck with him keeping watch. They didn’t want to overwhelm you, so they are giving us some space.” As I stood Emily slid easily from the chair, her moves always smooth and graceful. “I’ll be right back, okay.”

“Yes, Shakhta.”

With great reluctance, I left her and headed for the upper deck where my team had a perfect view around the entire yacht. I didn’t want to leave her alone for a moment, worried that if I let her out of my sight she would disappear. Although I didn’t like the idea of her being frightened of the water, it was somewhat comforting to know she couldn’t exactly escape me and make her way back to Jonas. I recalled my earlier conversation with Mercy’s partner, Dave. I had checked in with Dillon via satellite phone and thankfully Mercy and Dave were visiting with Annie and Eli. It hadn’t occurred to me to speak to Dave. I knew Emily would need a psychiatrist at some point in time, and it had slipped my mind that Dave was the resident psychiatrist for Mercy’s Shelter for Abused Women. He operated in stealth mode at the shelter. None of the women who stayed there realized he had a doctorate in psychology. He just came across as a really good listener. Dave had suggested it was possible Emily might harbor some form of Stockholm syndrome. To become attached to a man who had dominated her life so completely for so long would be normal. Emily hadn’t really shown that attachment yet, but she was likely still in shock at having been pulled abruptly out of the strict life she had been trapped within. Dave also mentioned she would more than likely suffer from PTSD and possibly a borderline personality disorder, her emotions might fluctuate drastically from one moment to the next. Anger and confusion would likely sit at the forefront of those shifting emotions. Trauma focused cognitive therapy would be the best course of action in addressing Emily’s emotional trauma. I had no idea what that involved, just that Dave would be able to recommend a suitable psychiatrist to help. Dave also suggested Emily might continue to need a dominant hand in her life while she came to terms with her freedom. Someone who could be trusted not to take advantage of such dominance, someone who would carefully present options to Emily in a way that would allow her to begin making her own choices. Even though I had only been in one full time Dom/sub relationship in my lifetime, it was enough to have the necessary skills to take care of Em, for now.  I didn’t enjoy a heavily dominant relationship, which is why the one I had been in didn’t work. Louisa had wanted a collar, which I had to admit excited the fuck out of me. I had purchased delicate cuffs which she wore around her small wrists and seeing her in them had always made me instantly hard. But that hadn’t been enough for Louisa. She wanted a man to make all her decisions, to plan her day to day routines and be almost completely dependent on. That didn’t work for me. I loved nothing more than a strong willed woman who could let me know when I was being an arrogant prick, who would challenge me, stand tall and proud beside me. The thrill of seeing a strong woman relinquish such power in the bedroom was heaven. Being a full time master outside of the bedroom was just too much work. I was plenty prepared to carefully dominate Emily though and gently nudge her toward the independent life she had lost, where she could make her own choices once more. Imagining her cuffed to my bed, her slim legs opened and bound while I pounded into her wet pussy gave me an instant erection. I wanted to beat the shit out of myself for thinking of her that way. What could I say? I was a damaged, sick fuck.

“How’s she doin’?” came Larz’s rough voice from a chair by the helm of the yacht. Bomber sat lazily to his side, his feet propped up in an open window. A quick glance towards the helm had me locate Gabbie who sat stoically on the bow keeping watch.

“You’re doing the whole Fifty Shades deal aren’t you?” asked Bomber with far too much enthusiasm. All three team members knew in varying degrees about my lifestyle choices. Larz and Gabbie had heard the rumor and never questioned it, and Bomber only knew because he was a close friend of Louisa’s.

I raised a brow at Bomber’s smart ass remark. “First Cole, now you. What is it with you men reading women’s erotic fiction?” I grumbled.

Bomber smirked. “If I want to keep all the ladies impressed in the bedroom then I need to keep abreast of all the latest kinks. You know how I aim to please.”

I collapsed into a chair opposite Bomber and Larz. “Yeah, she lost it when I told her she didn’t have a master anymore, so I told her I would temporarily fill the gap.”