Savage Desires (Black Rose Doms Book 3)

Chapter 4

The hours slipby too quickly. Saturday comes too soon, and the reality of what”s to come weighs heavily on my spirit. I”m not sure if knowing what”s about to happen is better or worse. In some ways, it”s good. I can reassure Georgie and remind her to keep surviving no matter what. She feels guilty about not telling the other girls that are about to be sold, but I convinced her it”s better this way. Not everyone would be able to hold their tongue when they find out they”re about to be sold for slaughter like a farm animal. If she tells them, it will only take one word from one of them to end with Georgie being punished or worse.

I”m not sure what time the guards will come for us. It”s impossible to track time without windows or clocks. The only thing we can use to discern time is when they feed us, but we haven”t been fed since yesterday, and I”m not sure what meal that was. Time means nothing here. Hours bleed into days, days into weeks, weeks to months, and months into years. I can only guess the month because the last event I worked upstairs was Valentine”s Day. It could be March… maybe April?

”I hate this,” Georgie says sadly.

”I know. Don”t worry about us. You”re allowed to be selfish. I want you to be selfish.”

She sighs. ”I had a dream that the police raided the club and saved us all.”

Dreams are dangerous things for people like us. She still has faith in the judicial system. After seeing corrupt cops, lawyers, judges, congressmen, and more, I have zero faith in any of them coming to our rescue. Too many people who are supposed to help people are monsters in disguise.

”There are no knights in shining armor coming to save us.”

”I know… I wish there was someone, though.”

”It would take a monster worse than them to help us. Someone who has no fear and is willing to destroy all of them to save us. I don”t think anyone like that exists outside of movies and books,” I say wistfully.

It would be a lie if I didn”t think about some dark hero killing our captors and setting us free. It”s a fantasy I only indulge in when something happens that makes me wish I was strong enough to hurt them myself. I know I could never win against even the weakest of them. I”m only five foot two, and I”m too thin. As fierce as I feel inside sometimes, my outside is too weak to do anything to save myself. I hate it because I used to be so strong. A trained fighter who could take down grown men as a teenage girl. Now, the only thing I can do is obey. Surviving has always been contingent on obeying.

Unfortunately, even being a good little slave hasn”t been enough to save me from my fate. One misstep that wasn”t my fault, and that”s it. I should hate Kisten for being the catalyst of my demise, but I don”t. Those few moments with him are the best I”ve had since before I was taken. I have no idea who he is or why he was at a club like Mecca, but deep down, I know he”s a good man.

As my client was whipping me, more than a dozen people stood by and watched. They didn”t know I didn”t consent to the scene, so I shouldn”t blame them for not intervening. But I do. Even the most masochistic person wouldn”t enjoy being whipped like that. No human would. It”s not the first time I”ve had a public scene that went beyond what anyone could consider consensual, and never has anyone stepped in.

Until Kisten.

He didn”t care that I hadn”t used a safe word—not that I had the luxury of using one. I could have screamed red until one of the observers stopped things, but the punishment for that would”ve been ten times worse than what the client was dishing out. I”ve seen what happens when someone tries to escape a scene with the club safe word. I decided then and there to never, ever test it.

”Then I”ll start praying for a monster worse than the ones that own us,” Georgie murmurs.

”I can see the blood running down the walls when he ends them all. He wouldn”t go easy. He”d make them hurt as he kills them…” I close my eyes, visualizing the violent images, enjoying them way more than I should. I must fall asleep because the next thing I know, I”m startled awake when the door slams against the wall. Vlad stands in the doorway, taking up the whole space.

”Let”s go.”

Georgie and I both get up and stand in front of him, waiting. He turns without a word, and we dutifully follow. He leads us to the room where we”re made to get ready for clients. The other girls are already inside, standing in a line, awaiting instruction. We line up with them and wait.

It doesn”t take long before I hear the tell-tale sound of Madame”s heels coming from the hallway. She breezes into the room wearing skintight leather pants and a corset that leaves nothing to the imagination. She”s only missing the whip, and she”d look like a sluttier version of Catwoman. I”ve seen her wield a whip, so it”s not that far of a stretch. She walks in front of us with a look of disinterest.

”There”s an exclusive event tonight at the mansion. Lucy, Reghan, Willow, Tabitha, and Stacia will be going to the mansion. I want full body prep, makeup, and hair. You”ve got three hours. The rest of you will work in the VIP room. Georgie, make sure they”re ready on time. You”re serving, and you”ll clean up the VIP rooms between clients.”

”Yes, Madame,” Georgie says.

Madame strides out of the room, leaving Vlad and Martin guarding the door. As soon as she”s gone, we let out a collective breath. We move into the shower room to avoid the steely gaze of our guards.

”What happens at the mansion?” Lucy asks, her voice trembling.

She”s not been here very long and hasn”t handled it well. She”s older than me by a couple years and was taken while out partying. She cries a lot and hasn”t figured out how to shut down with clients. She fucked up the first time she was taken to the main floor of Mecca and begged a member to help her… it was bad. She spent several days in the cage after being caned by Madame. Ever since she”s only been brought to VIP rooms through the back entrance. She only sees those working at Mecca and the VIP clients. Honestly, I”m not surprised that she”s being auctioned.

She”s a liability.

They can”t have someone that will beg members for help. Not everyone who comes to Mecca knows about the seedy underbelly. Some of them are just idiots looking for a kinky release. After years of being a slave and forced to submit, I just don”t get the appeal. Maybe if my submission was earned or there were tender moments to break up the painful ones. I”ve seen how some Doms treat their subs after a scene.

I”ve never experienced aftercare. Slaves don”t get that luxury. The closest I”ve gotten was in Kisten”s arms. He cradled me gently and spoke calmly. His touch wasn”t harsh like I”m used to. I hardly know what to think of the whole interaction. Why would a complete stranger interfere on behalf of someone they don”t know? And why would he attempt to provide aftercare? It”s a pretty intimate thing. At least, the few times I”ve seen it occur.

I have many questions, but I know I”ll never get answers.

Hell, I likely won”t even be alive in twenty-four hours, so it”s not like it matters anyway.

My soul screams in outrage. I”ve done everything asked of me for years. I”ve survived more atrocities than I even want to think about. I survived multiple owners and what feels like a lifetime at Mecca. One interrupted scene and a generous stranger was my downfall. All that survival for nothing. Years of fighting the desire to give up snuffed out like a candle”s flame.

I”m outraged at the situation. Life isn”t fair, especially not this kind of life, but I”d rather live than die. At least if I”m alive, I can hope for better. I can pray that I”ll somehow escape and get to actually live my life instead of just surviving.

I”ve spent countless hours imagining how I would exact my revenge if I gained my freedom. I don”t know how, but I would burn down the entire organization. I”d find each of my past owners and destroy them. I imagine myself as the old me, a badass who fights back instead of the meek slave I”m forced to be.

I push all my thoughts aside, emptying my busy mind and focusing on the task at hand. In the shower, I wash and condition my hair using the good quality products they let us use to prep for big events. I shave everywhere until my skin is baby-smooth. The one thing I appreciate from my time with my second owner is that he paid for laser hair removal for my pubic area. I was pissed when he made me do it, but now I”m grateful because shaving that area is a pain in the ass. Now, I wish he would”ve just lasered off all my body hair. No more shaving would be great. However, that would mean my hot water time would be shorter, and I enjoy the hell out of my hot shower time since they are rare. I dry off, then lotion my whole body. When I”m done, my skin is soft and has a healthy glow despite my paleness.

I still haven”t fully recovered from my time in the cage, but they obviously don”t care that I”m skinnier than usual. My hip bones jut out, and my ribs are visible. Our limited caloric intake keeps us thinner than is healthy, so missing even one meal can do damage. Not eating for five days has made me look sickly.

Oh well. I hope they get less than I”m worth in the auction because no one wants me. It would be a final fuck you to them from me. If I can”t escape, then the most I can hope for is that they get screwed out of profit because of their mistreatment.

I move from the area we prep our bodies to the area set up for our hair and makeup. Georgie is doing Lucy”s hair. Lucy”s shoulders are slumped, and her eyes look dejected. Someone has told her what going to the mansion means. I doubt it was Georgie, though. She”s smarter than to tell Lucy anything. It would get her tossed into the cage or, worse, the auction in a heartbeat. One of the other girls likely told her that people sent to the mansion don”t come back.

I pick up a hairbrush and get to work on the tangles in my long blonde hair. Once the brush runs freely through my hair, I start blow-drying it. It takes forever because, despite the lack of proper nutrition and regular use of cheap shampoo, my hair is still thick and appears healthy. When it”s dry, it shines in the harsh lighting of the room. Before I was taken, I would”ve told you my eyes were my best feature. My once sparkly blue eyes are now dull and echo a lifetime of misery. Now, the only thing about me that I have a positive view of is my hair.

Georgie finishes with Lucy and comes over to help me.

”You okay?” she asks quietly.

I smile sadly. ”No, not at all.”

Her eyes glisten with unshed tears. I can tell it”s taking every ounce of willpower she has to keep the tears at bay. She picks up the curling iron and starts curling my hair. She”s done my hair dozens of times because no matter how hard I try, I can”t accomplish the loose curls that give off an effortless vibe. When she”s done, my hair looks beautiful.

I wish I could cut it all off. I”d shear it down to the scalp in places and leave it longer elsewhere. I would look like Angelica”s Cynthia doll in that cartoon I watched reruns of as a kid. That would ensure my value tanked. However, it would probably get me punished severely, and they would likely put another girl in the auction in my place. Even though it would be awesome to screw them over, I wouldn”t put another girl up on the chopping block.

I hold onto the thought of that small act of defiance because it”s distracting me from thinking about what”s to come, especially since I know this auction is even more despicable than the other ones I”ve been put in since I was taken.

Georgie wraps her fingers around mine, giving them a tight squeeze. She studies my face for a long moment as if trying to etch me into her memory. I do the same because even though we will only be apart for a short time for me, I”ll miss her. She”s the only person I”ve allowed myself to care about since I was taken.

I give her a sad smile. ”It”ll be okay,” I murmur. ”Don”t forget what I told you. You promised.”

She nods. ”I won”t forget.”

”Go help the others. We”re running out of time.”

After one more gentle squeeze of my fingers, she lets go and moves on to Reghan.

I take my time putting on my makeup. The foundation matches my complexation perfectly, and so does the concealer. Another luxury they spare no expense on. It wouldn”t do for one of their girls to look like a cheap whore. We are required to appear high-class in every way. Once I”ve contoured my face to make my cheeks appear fuller and give my skin a fake healthy glow, I work on my eyes. It took forever to perfect the application of eyeliner. Now, it”s second nature. I do a smoky eye with a touch of purple that brings out the blue in my eyes. With thick black fake lashes, my look is complete. I look just like the high-class woman they demand. When they dress me up, I”ll transform into the whore. For now, I look like a beautiful doll waiting to be manipulated into whatever game my owner wants to play.

I start helping the other girls with their makeup because the clock is running out. I don”t want to go into tonight after suffering a harsh punishment. A small voice in the back of my head is quietly encouraging me not to go down without a fight. It might be an auction that promises that the buyer gets to participate in a real-life snuff film, but that doesn”t mean I have to be complacent in my murder.

I”ll bide my time for now. I decide that when the time comes, I”m going to fight. It doesn”t matter what they do to me because they”ve already decided I”m worth more dead than alive. If I can hurt someone as I go out, then I”ll die with a small amount of satisfaction. It”ll be worth it, even if it makes my death more drawn out and painful.

Once everyone has their hair and makeup done to perfection, we move as a group to the dressing room. There are two racks of clothes. It”s clear from just a glance which one is meant for those of us in the auction. The dresses are the same floor-length design—all pure white. On closer inspection, I realize the material is completely sheer. It might completely cover our bodies, but everything will be on display.

I would rather wear any of the clothes on the second rack. Corsets, nighties, bras, and tiny panties all cover more than what these dresses will. I watch as everyone starts dressing, but I can”t seem to make myself move. The sound of Madame”s heels heading this way snaps me out of my daze. I dress quickly and make sure my hair is still perfect in the mirror.

I don”t know how it”s possible, but I feel even more naked with this sheer dress on than I have ever felt when I”ve been entirely nude. I hate knowing that I”m about to be marched out to be sold like they do livestock. I suppose we could be considered livestock… we”re treated worse than animals, though.

Madame strides into the room and claps her hands. Everyone scrambles to form a line for her to inspect us. The five of us going to the mansion are at the end of the line. She walks down the line, making each girl step forward and spin around so they can be inspected. The same dark thought flits through my mind as always: all she needs is a little sticker with her inspector number to stick on our asses so everyone knows we passed inspection and are ready to be sold.

She finishes with the girls going to the VIP rooms and dismisses them to get started. Her cold eyes land on me, and I quickly look down at the toes of her boots. Now is not the time to fight. Later, when my new owner takes me, I”m going to give him hell, but for now, I”m going to be a perfect little slave girl.

Madame snaps her fingers, and I instantly step forward and await her instructions. After what feels like hours, she indicates she wants me to turn. She takes a step closer until I can feel the heat of her body along my back even though she”s not touching me. A shiver rolls down my spine when one of her sharp fingernails drags down my back. Phantom pain floods my body at the touch.

She”s dragging her nail along a scar. One that she gave me during one of the many punishments she”s doled out. She enjoys reminding me of the time I spent cuffed and hanging from the ceiling at her mercy. My arms were stretched so far over my head that my toes barely touched the floor, taking the barest amount of pressure off my shoulders and arms.

She used every implement available to punish me that night. She whipped me, flogged me, caned me, paddled me… when I was sure I would die, she stopped. She left me there for hours before coming back for more. She got more creative using electricity, fire, and ice before pulling a thin blade from the inside of her boot. I thought she would end me then and there, but she didn”t.

Instead, she used that knife to slice a thin line down my back. The whole time she explained how if she had it her way, it would be my face, but that the boss wouldn”t like her damaging his property and that a scarred whore is worthless. The cut was deep enough to leave a scar but not cause any permanent damage. Madame loves to remind me of that day by stroking that scar. A reminder of who I am. As if I could ever forget.

I let out a shaky breath when she moves down the line to the next girl. She doesn”t spend nearly as much time examining them. I don”t know why she”s always given me special attention. I don”t want to know. Enduring is safer than questioning her or any of them, for that matter.

”Vlad, take them to the van.”

”Yes, Madame,” he replies.

We don”t wait for him to give us orders; we fall in line, ready to follow wherever he leads us without a word. When we”re outside and I see the van, I have to bite back a laugh. It screams kidnapper. It”s a white panel van with no windows in the back, and the ones in the front are heavily tinted.

A man I”ve never seen before opens the sliding door. ”Get in,” he growls.

Reghan shakes from fear in front of me while she watches the other three girls stoically climb into the van. There are no seats or cushions of any kind. I secretly hope the metal floorboard is dirty and our pristine white dresses get ruined. It”s Reghan”s turn to get in, but she shakes her head and takes a step backward. I put my hand on her lower back and gently push her.

”It”s safer to cooperate, Reghan,” I whisper.

She whimpers but listens. I follow her inside and sit beside her. I grab her hand and hold it down between our legs so no one can see me comforting her. She clings to me. I do my best to exude calm determination even though my insides are all twisted up.

”You will sit still and stay silent. One fucking peep, and you”ll regret it. We have a long drive, and I don”t want to deal with sniveling,” the same man says darkly.

None of us say anything, giving him the only response he wants—silence.

I rest my head on the side of the van and close my eyes. I let my mind drift to one of my many dreams of Kisten. I completely block out everything around me and barely feel when the van starts to move. I don”t open my eyes until the van stops, and I hear the door slide open.

We”re told to get out, and we don”t hesitate. Even Reghan gets out without pause. I look up at the huge house we”ve been brought to. It”s definitely a mansion. It looks so innocuous, but I know it houses the devil—or worse.

You would think I would feel anxious or scared, but now that we are here, I feel resolute in my decision to fight the person who buys me. I”m going to die anyway, and I want to die a fighter, not the submissive waif they”ve molded me into.

Fuck that and fuck them.

I”m going to be the Willow my father raised me to be. She was a fighter, not just a survivor. I”ve done what he would have wanted me to do up to this point. I”ve survived. Now that the end has come, I”m going to fight until there isn”t any breath left in my lungs. It”s been a long time since I”ve done any kind of self-defense training, but I”ve run through the moves in my mind over and over since I was taken so I wouldn”t forget.

I know how to move my body, but I”m thinner than before I was taken. My reduced muscle mass will greatly limit my abilities, but that”s not going to stop me from trying.

I hope whoever buys me is ready. They”re getting more than they anticipate.