His Black Pearl (4 page)

I was so stupid, so very, very stupid.

Why did I go to that shop alone?

Why didn’t I wait for Erica to get back?

Why didn’t I just go straight to the
police?

Oh, God, I could ramble through a million
whys, but no amount of second-guessing can change my situation. I’m
trapped. I’m at the complete mercy of a perverted lunatic, and
there’s nothing I can do. There’s nothing I can fucking do.

For the millionth time, I test my bonds, but
it’s no good. I can barely even wiggle an inch, and my fingers are
tingling and useless inside those stupid leather gloves. All I can
do is lay here and breathe. Just breathe. Just take in one breath
of hot, humid air and then another. That’s what my life has
become.

Hours pass. I think nothing can be worse than
this monotonous dread, but when the truck’s engine fades away, I
curse myself for ever wishing this limbo to end. Hell awaits me.
Only a demon would lock me up like this, and I cry harder just
thinking about the misery to come.

Outside, heavy footsteps pace the ground.
Voices emerge. I try to listen to what they’re saying, but I can’t
make out the words. Are they even speaking English? I can’t tell. I
think it might be easier if I could understand them, but then
again…

My crate moves.

I suck in a quick breath when I tip forward,
but my bonds hold me in place. I’m being unloaded. Deep grunts and
more muffled words filter through the boards surrounding me, but my
heart’s pumping too hard to hear much of anything.

Where are these monsters taking me?

I sway back and forth for what feels like
hours until finally I feel the bottom of my crate settle solidly
against the ground. I can’t stop shaking. The voices are louder
now. I think I recognize shopkeeper’s nasal tenor, but there are
others, too. Are they all…are they all here to break me in?

I think I’m going to be sick.

Wood cracks above me, and I scream uselessly
into my gag. What’s going on? Did that old shopkeeper actually nail
my crate shut? Lord, I wouldn’t be surprised if he had. I wouldn’t
be surprised at much of anything now.

There’s a final crack, and then fresh air
streams across my naked skin. A hand touches my head. Another rests
upon my shoulder. My pulse is so loud I can hardly hear their
words. I just tremble as they pull my pallet forward and pray that
my agony won’t last long.

Someone removes my blindfold.

I blink up at my surroundings, but the light
is too bright. I can’t see anything. My eyes burn, but I refuse to
close them for more than a second at a time. I need to know what’s
going on. I have to see where I am, and then, maybe, just maybe, I
can figure out what to do next.

The voices are low, almost whispering, and
when I look up I see rough shadows at first and then sharper
silhouettes. There are three of them. The one nearest has to be the
shopkeeper. His gloved fingers rub my back as he speaks to the
shadow beside him. This one makes only a few clipped replies, and
his bare hands roam across my legs, my ass, even my breasts with
almost clinical detachment.

I shiver harder.

Directly ahead, the last man kneels on the
floor, but he doesn’t say a word. He’s still just a blur, but I
know he’s watching me, assessing me like some sculptor might
evaluate a piece of marble.

Is this my master?

I squeeze my eyes shut at the thought. I’m
not a slave. I’m a free woman. I’m Adair Bartlett and nothing these
monsters can ever do will stop me from being who I am.

Fingers brush my cheek.

I try to jump back, but my bonds hold me in
place. Oh, God, it’s starting already. My breaths quicken. Darkness
eats away at the corners of my vision, and just when I think I’m
about to pass out a warm breath caresses my ear.

“Shh.”

I freeze.

Soft words rain down from the man sitting
beside me. He wipes the tears off my cheeks. I can’t understand
what he’s saying, but his touch is so kind, so gentle that I almost
forget where I am.

When I finally look up at him, I lose my
breath.

Oh, God, he’s so beautiful.

I’d expected a monster, not the god I see
before me now. Wavy blonde hair hangs down across his temples, and
his body might as well have been sculpted by Michaelangelo himself.
He doesn’t look much older than I am—27, possibly 29 at the
most—but his face has the same knowing serenity that I saw chiseled
upon the statue of David, and his eyes…

His eyes are like liquid sky, the bluest blue
I’ve ever scene, and when he smiles down at me my heart quickens
for reasons completely unrelated to my capture.

Oh, Lord, I’d almost forgotten about my
capture.

My breath hitches when I remember where I am,
and I’m sickened by my weakness. This man isn’t someone to lust
over. He’s a perverted psychopath. He’s going to rape me, probably
even kill me, and here I am swooning over his good looks.

When he unbuckles the belts holding me down,
I expect him to flip me over and take me here and now, but he
doesn’t. He just releases my wrists and ankles. He helps me onto my
hands and knees before he pushes back my sweat matted hair and
whispers a single word.

“Isa.”

I don’t know what that means.

He strokes my cheek one more time, and then
he backs away. They all back away. I don’t know what’s going on,
but as soon as I have room, I bolt. I scamper across the floor on
hands and knees, but the tiles beneath me are slick and my limbs
are still so weak. I tumble forward. My head smacks the corner of
an antique table, and a vase crashes to the floor. I expect a
beating, but when the blue-eyed god rushes towards me, his hands
merely probe my head for lumps before he gives my back a reassuring
pat.

“More careful, bella.” The shopkeeper kneels
down beside us. “Vase can be replaced, but master already too taken
with his Isa to lose her now.”

His Isa?

So that’s what I am to this man, just his
slave girl, his Isa.

I shake even harder. I really am a slave. The
suspicion was enough to send me into fits, but the confirmation
nearly undoes me. I back away from the man I now know to be my
master and don’t stop until my back hits a wall. No one stops me.
They all just watch. My master. The shopkeeper. The man in the
white coat.

I hadn’t given much attention to the last
stranger, but when my eyes settle upon him, I notice his thick
build first. Heavy muscles strain against his thin jacket. Russet
hair tops his head, and a short leather crop hangs from one
arm.

My eyes widen.

For some reason I hadn’t expected a crop.

I shove my hands against the wall behind me
and struggle to get to my feet. I have to get away. I have to run.
Bad enough to be naked and bound, but to be beaten, too?

I crumple to the ground over and over again,
but I still don’t give up. Those shin guards, those greaves,
those…whatever in the hell they are, they’re as inflexible as
steel. I try to bend my ankles, but I can’t. My feet are locked
ballerina-like beneath me, and I can’t even bend a toe for support.
It’s almost as if they don’t want me to walk, as if… as if…

As if I’m meant to crawl.

My gut churns.

I want to tug them off—I have to get them
off—but when I reach for the buckles, my hands are beyond useless.
Fat, stubby fingers stretch out from inflexible leather gloves, and
I go cold. Did that bastard chop off all my fingers? I’m halfway to
clinical shock before I realize that no digits are severed. They’re
all just curled up. Each one is bound into a tightened little U,
and my top knuckles are pulled back so that all I’m left with are a
pair heavily padded palm heels.

Sweet Lord, my hands are no better than paws.
Why they—

Understanding finally kicks in, and I slump
to the ground. Oh, God, what do these people plan to do to me?

More talking emerges, but whatever language
they speak, I can’t understand it. I can’t make out much of
anything right now except the most basic of information.

I’m in a room. A big room. The shopkeeper and
his cohorts stand on the other side, but I can’t focus on them now.
No, I need to figure out a way out of here. There’s a heavy oak
door on the far wall and a long corridor to my right. A huge marble
staircase rises up behind me.

Wait a minute. Is that really marble?

I’d expected to find myself locked inside
some dusty basement but this…this is pure luxury. Handmade
tapestries hang from the walls and frescoes cover the ceiling. Far
above me a giant gold-leaf chandelier lights the room.

Dear Lord, this place makes the Palazzo
Vecchio look like a pauper’s den.

If not for the adrenaline still burning
through me, I might have might lost myself in the details of this
gorgeous prison, but I force myself into action. Futile as it may
be, I have to at least try to escape. The door is only a few yards
away. If I can just get to my feet…

I wobble onto my toes, but my legs fold after
only one step. My chin bounces against the tile. If not for the
ball gag, I might have bitten through my tongue, but thankfully all
I’m left with is a sore jaw and a couple of aching knees.

All three men hurry towards me.

My master reaches me first. Once more he
examines me for injuries, but I’m not bleeding, and I’m pretty sure
I’m not concussed. When he’s done he just shakes his head. He
addresses the men behind him in a clipped voice, and then the
shopkeeper and the man in the white coat move to my legs.

My heart beats faster.

What are they doing? Oh, God, why are they
holding me down?

I try to kick out, but the shopkeeper’s hands
are like vises around my ankles. I thrash out with my arms, but my
master grabs my elbows.

“Ki,” he says.

I’ve never heard the word before, but from
the sharpness of his tone, I know it can’t be good.

I go still.

Tight leather bands bite into my upper
thighs, and when I hear the rattle of a chain, I squeeze my eyes
shut. I’m shaking hard. My master releases one of my arms and
reaches up to stroke my hair. He cups my face in one hand and
whispers soft shushing sounds into my ear.

Why is he doing this?

He doesn’t look like a monster, and he
doesn’t act like one either. Well, not unless you count the
kidnapping part. He holds me gently. Tenderness fills those blue
eyes, and even though I can’t understand a word he’s saying, I’m
comforted by every syllable he speaks.

Sweet Lord, what is wrong with me?

The men behind me bend my knees, and after a
final rattle and click of the chain, they step away. My master
strokes my cheek one last time before following them. When he stops
halfway across the room, he drops to one knee and holds out his
hand.

“Alore.”

I don’t know what he wants.

I try to go through all the Italian phrases I
memorized, but his words have none of the familiar cadences I
remember hearing in Florence. The dialect is too hard, too primal,
and I wonder if he’s even speaking a Romantic language at all.

He beckons me forward. “Alore.”

Okay, so he wants me to come.

I clamber onto my hands and knees, and when I
crawl forward, I nearly fall on my face. What in God’s name…

I look behind me. Thin silver chains stretch
from my ankles to the bands wrapped around my upper thighs. I can’t
stretch out my legs. I have just enough slack to crawl, but any
hope of standing is completely gone.

Sweet Lord, these bastards have hobbled
me.

I try to pull off my newest bonds, but as
soon as my hand touches the chain, a sharp sting bites my ass.

“Ki!’

The man in the white coat holds his crop
above me, and I cower against the ground. Tears fill my eyes.

Please don’t hit me. Please, please don’t hit
me again.

I keep my hands far away from the chains on
my legs, and slowly he retreats. A snap to my right turns my
attention back to my blue-eyed master.

“Alore.”

I rush forward before the man in the white
coat can lift his crop again.

My master hugs me when I reach him.

“Sona,” he says. “Sona. Sona. Sona.”

His fingers dance across my scalp, my back,
my neck, and for a moment, I almost feel…good. The thought sickens
me, but it’s true. This man’s praise—at least I’m guessing that’s
what sona must mean—is a welcome relief compared to the whipping
I’d just received.

His touch almost makes me forget where I am,
but then I hear a snap beneath my chin, and when I look down,
another silver chain hangs from my neck.

My breath catches.

He put a leash on me. This man actually put a
leash on me.

I jerk away, but the lead is short and his
grip is tight. My leather choker digs into my neck, and the pearl
bounces against my throat.

My pearl…

I’d wanted it so badly once, but that was
before I had any idea of the horrors to come with it. I sob. Only a
few days ago it was just part of a beautiful necklace, but now I
can see it for what it really is.

A collar.

And not just any collar. My collar. The only
piece of jewelry I ever wanted, and the very one I sold my soul to
attain.

Oh God, how stupid am I?

My breath quickens. I struggle for several
more seconds, but it does no good. That god-like man is holding the
other end of my leash, and no matter how much I try, I know I’ll
never be able to fight my way free.

For all the trouble I give him, though, he
doesn’t yell at me. His eyes are calm. He holds out his free hand
and once more says that word single word: “Alore.”

I crawl forward obediently.

More sona’s fill the room. Master’s hands
consume me. The shopkeeper laughs. Even the man in the white coat
smiles.

Each one of them pets and praises me, and
even though I know I should feel disgusted to be treated like some
animal, a small part of me feels almost…proud.