Epilogue #2
Grayson raised his eyebrows. “Excellent. But first, this. We need to seal the moment in history.”
Though I suspected his motives, because his hand went to the fly of his jeans, I barely hesitated and slowly kneeled. Desire rose fiercely.
They both unzipped and took out their cocks.
“Gods.” Axl’s fierce look had returned to his eyes. He spat on his hand then worked his fist up and down the shaft. “Open your mouth, girl. Or else.”
After this, what would they do to me? That was the big question.
Knife play? Clamps and mittens and kitteny things? Like a butt plug tail?
Or my mouth sewn shut while they took me elsewhere? That would be the ultimate predicament bondage. Screaming in the throes of an orgasm would be quite a dilemma.
I squirmed on the spot as Grayson approached, trusting the two of them to take care of me and keep life interesting.
GET MY BONUS EPILOGUE
With more of Grayson, Axl, and Emme, at the CNC mansion.
Charity’s story has not ended! The CNC Fraternity continues with Charity’s story in His Talisman. Turn the page for an excerpt.
ABOUT His Talisman
THE DOCTOR / HULK
I have another lost girl, after I’d told myself to stop doing this.
I meant to walk away and leave her, alone in her locked room.
I couldn't resist the pretty thing –
the twitch of her rear, the curve of her lips,
the way she lies on the table when instructed to do so.
I might keep this one.
CHARITY
I’m hurt but not broken, and now I know how steeped in evil is the CNC Fraternity. I have said yes to the doctor. I will be his toy in return for a little freedom on his island.
I have so many doubts, especially when Cassius, an ex-soldier, joins us.
They make me whimper and beg. They take me whenever and however they wish. And yet I can’t stop myself from wanting more.
Yes, I am falling for these cruel monsters.
But some of the lost girls from the past have gone missing.
The doctor once promised not to cut out my heart and eat it.
That macabre joke echoes in my mind.
I’m partial to my heart staying inside of me, while it is still beating.
Especially that last part.
Dark unearthly secrets will be brought into the light.
CHAPTER ONE - HIS TALISMAN
CHARITY
Blood could be shocking when it was your own.
By his scent I knew him—even when I was blindfolded.
I grew to learn when the doctor entered the room, my cell, or the swaying, wave-rolled cabin of that unknown ship. The scent changed day by day, but never seemed right for a man. Lavender, rosemary, and the perfume of roses accompanied him, from his first step in the room, on that first occasion.
Some might think that would make him less a man but his eyes, if not his manners, gave him away.
I could be left breathless simply by a casual connection, by the sweep of his gaze down my body.
For that to happen with a man who was present to help me, even if he did have to lay hands on me, or instruments inside me… it was fucked up.
That first time, the first time I saw him, I was barely a person. I was shaken, bloodied, bruised, and sure that I was torn below.
The blood around my fingernails held me in horrified thrall.
When illuminated by the dusty light coming in through the smudged glass of the porthole, my hands were sad things.
Every nail was shredded, torn, and bloodied.
My wrists were bruised. Between my legs ached with deep pains, and now and then more urgent pains twinged at me.
Yet it was my hands that bothered me the most. As I moved them, they shook.
My chest was tight with shock and a need to breathe.
Each moment seemed likely to erupt into fear and danger.
I’d felt my face, and it was swollen and almost as painful as below. One eye still wept liquid after I stopped crying.
These fingernails, though, they were stark evidence of the fight, and I could not avoid seeing them.
My throat hurt from the screaming or from their hands around it, but I could not see that.
These I could see. I frowned at them. Finally, anger stirred.
I was alive. I would stay alive and not succumb to misery. I wouldn’t lie here moaning and rocking. Fuck the men who raped me. Fuck them to hell and back.
Anger was good. Anger was empowering.
The cabin door clicked, and the handle rotated.
I snatched myself into a sitting position, wincing and stiff.
The twist of the handcuffs abraded the wounds on my wrists.
The harsh blanket slid from my upper body to my lap then to the floor.
I was sitting up and glaring by the time the door swung open.
His brown sneakers thunked as they landed on the metal floor.
I shivered and covered my chest, as best as I could.
Minus the blanket, my nakedness reminded me of the cold on the ship.
The handcuffs had scraped my thighs. Even there I was bruised and already purple in broad lines and in places where their hands had grabbed. Fuck them, I reminded myself as a broad-shouldered man approached, slowly.
A shiver ran through me. He couldn’t be worse than them.
I’d stabbed one of them with a dropped knife. That incident flung itself into my memory, turned my stomach with newly fresh nausea. Maybe that was why they’d hurt me badly. My screams, from that night, echoed anew. More tears flooded my eyes.
Shit. Get a fucking grip. Survive this. It’s all I can do.
I swallowed and braced myself. If he meant to assault me, I would endure, I would live.
Best if I didn’t stab anyone again. Last time it had not worked out well.
Unless I can make them really, really dead, and then escape.
He’d paused a moment, studying my face, while I took in his neat cream T-shirt, with the kraken illustration on the front, and his dark jeans. He looked as if he’d just returned from a holiday at the beach. He came closer and placed a gray metal case on the floor, a few feet away.
What was in that case? The unknown was frightening, as was he.
“Hello. I’m a doctor.” He spoke quietly, with a burr running through it. Maybe that was his bedside manner but there was no politeness in the way his gaze catalogued every inch of my nakedness in a languid, dragging assessment.
I blinked and cleared my throat, running through the possibilities.
Although I was handcuffed, what doctor would be here if this was…
bad. Had the police been involved? The men had fled from me, leaving me lying on the deck with my hands bound.
Gunshots and male screams had echoed as I wobbled in and out of consciousness.
Someone must have injected me with something, soon after that.
I remembered a cold sting. I’d lapsed into unconsciousness.
“I’m here on behalf of the CNC Fraternity, which I’m informed you know of. They want you well, but you won’t be freed.”
Disturbed by his announcement, I swallowed. They wanted me well—that was something to cling to.
Except… What did they mean to do with me?
Did I detect a hint of pity in those stark gray eyes? Of sorrow even?
This doctor was working outside the law.
With a toss of my head, I flicked aside the tendrils of damp hair cloaking my face. I tried to make that casual, but it hurt my neck, and the hair came back to fall over my eyes. I decided not to use my cuffed hands to push at it. I was on top of this. Messy hair was nothing.
“Hi, doc.” I smirked. Now I did raise my hands, to gesture at my battered face. “Understand me, please.” I twisted my lips at my stupidly polite please. “This does not define me.”
DR. H ROMANUS aka HULK
This does not define me. Brave words.
Her words traveled into my chest and reached my heart.
An ache settled and deepened, and I mulled over why I had hardened myself.
The seconds, minutes, days, of watching humans at play, work, and war had encased my heart in fatigue.
It wasn’t bitterness. I was jaded. I’d seen it all.
My wall was made of centuries of the seriously nasty things people liked to do to each other, piled up brick by brick.
How fucked up was I then to see past her brutalized face and body and feel not just compassion and sorrow and a need to comfort, but the stirrings of desire. I could see her beauty, and I admired her statement, no matter how useless it would be.
Being a physician did not eradicate lusts, and my lusts leaned into the dark side. I held out for the argument that it was not my thoughts that counted but my actions.
If I wished to, I could control myself, even when the women were healthy and spread before me naked and begging for it.
And this one? This woman? Jesus himself would probably weep if I dared to touch her with any fucked-up fucking in mind.
“Stand up, please, if you can?”
She nodded and after a small hesitation, stood for me.
“Turn. I want to see the bruising before I palpate for deeper injuries.”
Apart from wincing, she did that too.
I unlocked the case and removed the stethoscope and ophthalmoscope.
These were simple but adequate devices. If she needed X-rays or anything more complex than ultrasound, I would have to finesse something.
The CNC Fraternity had a wide reach and a pool of exceptionally rich professionals to call upon. If she needed it, I would get it done.
“Your chest sounds clear. Still…” I began to palpate the ribs, noting when she drew away that it was only a mild reaction.
“Thank you for being cooperative. This is good. Nothing is fractured. Up here though, I’m not sure.
You can sit for this.” I moved my focus to her face and checked her jaw and her left eye carefully.
Her reflexes and sight were normal, so was the interior of the eye, though the peri-orbital trauma was extensive.
“You’ve been lucky. Not even a dislodged tooth.
You will have a scar here.” I gently touched above her eyebrow.
The bone had caught a blow, and the skin had split. A staple would fix that.
“Lucky?” she said quietly, letting out a short laugh.