Her Beast: A Dark Romance (Beauty and the Captor Book 1) Page 2

  I screamed louder as panic filled my chest. My breath came faster and my heart beat wildly. I could feel my pulse pounding in my head. I wasn’t beat yet though. I couldn’t give in, I had to fight.

  I struggled to get my feet beneath me, and the moment I did, I lunged upward, not to my full height, just high enough to sink my teeth into the meaty hand on my arm. I bit hard, thanking the stars for the incisor teeth I’d always thought were just a little too sharp.

  They were the only weapon I had, and I sunk them deep into the hand. A thick, metallic-tasting liquid flooded my mouth. I’d done damage—I knew it, but still, the bleeding hand held firm. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw another hand coming at me—fast.

  And the next thing I knew I was lying on the ground. At first, a surge of victory flooded my veins. I’d won. I was free.

  My shoulder hurt and my head throbbed, but I’d done it—I’d made him release me. I felt feral…powerful…

  …And then I felt like a caged animal. A hand gripped each of my arms and yanked me upright. The faces that hadn’t seemed threatening when the man had stepped out of the van just a moment ago now twisted into evil sneers.

  “You’re going to pay for that, bitch!” the man with the bloody hand growled while the two of them dragged me back toward their vehicle.

  I dug my feet into the ground, but it did little to slow their pace.

  I screamed.

  They continued unperturbed.

  And I knew why. A block ago, someone would have heard me. Someone would have rushed out to help, or called the police…or done something. But here, there was a rundown park to one side of me and an abandoned apartment building on the other. My only hope was that someone would be passing by like I had been. Still, it was hope, and I latched on, screaming so loud it hurt my own ears, and whipping my head back and forth, searching for someone—anyone. Please, anyone!

  There was no one.

  Beside the van, Bloody-hand started to open the door, but he jerked his hand away. I must have bitten into something substantial. He howled in pain.

  It gave me a brief moment’s satisfaction to know I’d done some serious damage, and it renewed my dwindling hope of escape. I’d hurt him once; I could do it again.

  But my hope was short-lived. Both hands shoved me, and I fell forward, banging my forehead against the carpeted floor of the van.

  “Dose her,” Bloody-hand snarled.

  That didn’t sound good—rather ironic, though. I’d spent my entire teenagehood avoiding every street drug and stolen prescription drug that circulated my high school, and these two buffoons were going to drug me? It probably shouldn’t have been the first thought to occur to me, but it was almost surreal. Two minutes ago, I’d been hurrying home like any other normal day. And now…now I was desperately clinging to the fleeting hope I could escape these monsters.

  In two minutes, I’d gone from normal to fighting for my life. And I was losing.

  A weight pressed against my back—an elbow, maybe—and it stopped me from throwing my body backward, but I couldn’t stop fighting. I raised my feet off the ground and kicked out, again and again. My boots weren’t pretty—I didn’t wear pretty things—but they were sturdy. If I could just make contact, I knew it would buy me a second or two.

  Something sharp jabbed my neck. It took me a second to realize what it was—a needle. When they’d said they were going to dose me, I envisioned one of them plugging my nose while the other forced me to swallow a bunch of pills. I hadn’t anticipated this. How could I have? My life had been normal two minutes ago.

  I tried to kick out again, but my foot flopped limply back to the ground.

  Again.

  This time, I could barely make my leg move at all. My legs were so heavy. My whole body felt heavy actually, though I don’t know how that was possible since the rest of me was lying on the scratchy carpet. Could something seem heavy if you weren’t trying to lift it?

  When my eyelids grew heavy, the panic I’d been holding at bay flooded my chest. I couldn’t keep it back any longer. Whatever they’d injected me with was doing this, and in a few seconds, I was going to be unconscious—I just knew it—and there wouldn’t be a damn thing I could do to stop them.

  I screamed in my head, too weak to open my mouth to let the sound out. And then I was even too weak to do that, and I drifted into oblivion.

  It was only in that last moment of consciousness the thought hit me; would I ever wake up again?

  2

  Scarlett

  I came awake slowly, but right away I knew it wasn’t the first time I’d woken up since slipping into a drug-induced unconsciousness in the back of their van. The last time was cloudy, but it was there. I remembered bits and pieces. I was on a bed, and I was struggling with them. Their hands had been everywhere, ripping and tearing at my clothes. Brutal grips as I was turned this way and that, pinched and squeezed.

  I recalled pleading, but it had done nothing. And then, when they’d torn off my bra, I’d gone berserk, kicking and flailing and screaming.

  And then nothing.

  Had they jabbed me with another needle? Or knocked me unconscious? By the way my head was throbbing from a focal point in the back, I figured I could guess which one.

  But then what? What had they done when I was no longer fighting them, no longer even conscious to make the weakest of protests?

  Fear lodged in my throat when I thought about the most likely thing they’d done. They’d been stripping me—on a bed. What else could their intentions have been?

  But mentally assessing myself, I didn’t feel any different. There was no soreness between my thighs to suggest they’d used me that way. I could feel everything else—my shoulder ached, my arms hurt where they’d first grabbed me. And I could feel every bump and bruise from their rough-handling of me. But not that. They hadn’t raped me.

  But why not? Were they waiting until I was conscious again? Is that what they wanted?—for me to fight them, knowing I was going to lose? If I continued to lay here, eyes closed and perfectly still, would they get bored with me, or think they’d done some sort of irreversible damage with their last blow?—no fun to play with a brain-damaged victim, was it? It was my best plan at the moment, or rather, my only plan until I could come up with something better.

  So, I did my best to keep my breathing steady and keep my eyes closed without squeezing them too tightly-shut and giving myself away. I tried to keep my limbs still, but that was lowest on the priority list. It seemed reasonable that the body might move innately when unconscious like it did in ordinary sleep.

  And then I moved on to assessing my situation.

  I was on a bed, presumably the same one I’d woken up on before, but that was little help because I hadn’t had the time to look around and survey my surroundings then.

  I was naked—I cringed mentally at the realization, but I struggled to keep my features smooth. But I could feel the same comfortably warm air across every inch of my body that wasn’t pressed against the mattress. My legs had been left—or positioned—slightly parted, and I felt an overwhelming urge to squeeze them shut. I resisted—just barely.

  There was no noise in the room aside from my relatively stable breathing, which suggested there was no one else here. That made it tempting to open my eyes, but not yet. For all I knew, it was a really big room and I just couldn’t hear the others breathing.

  All right, so, I was naked, on a bed, in a room, the door to which may or may not be locked, and the men who’d done this to me may or may not be in the room with me. So far, this wasn’t looking very good for me.

  I ever so slowly moved one hand from where it laid near my side, just enough to ascertain the likelihood of whether I’d been restrained. My hand seemed to move freely though, which made it unlikely.

  That was at least one relief. If they did come at me again, I’d have some small chance of catching them off-guard and escaping—through the door which may or may not be locked. Still, that sound
ed like the beginnings of a plan to me. Not a good one, but better than nothing.

  I’d listen for the sound of them approaching and the moment they did, I’d spring away and out the door—assuming it wasn’t locked from the outside or with a key. There was no point in worrying about it—there was no way for me to know ahead of time. And there was no sense in trying to fight them. I’d failed miserably on more than one attempt, and feared it would inevitably only lead to a repeat.

  But minutes ticked by and still no movement. Maybe they’d just left me here for good. But just as I was beginning to entertain the possibility, I heard the grind of a lock and a door opened a second later.

  I did my damnedest to fight the panic rising in my chest. I wanted to scream, to run, not to lay here and wait patiently for them to approach. But by some miracle, I was able to do it.

  As the intruders came closer though, I realized there was only one set of footsteps. Not two. Where was the other one? Was he waiting by the door?—blocking it to impede my escape? Damn it. With my eyes closed and no sounds other than the single set of footsteps, I had no way of knowing. And I didn’t exactly have a whole lot of time to modify the plan. So, I’d stick with the original, and if there was an obstacle in my way, I’d find some way to charge right through it. Maybe there was something I could grab quickly to use as a weapon—like a lamp, or even a heavy book—and I could throw it or ram it into him.

  The footsteps were only a couple of feet away, and I could hear him breathing. The sound was faint but somehow reassuring. He wasn’t some kind of larger-than-life monster. He was just human. Flesh and blood. And I could do this.

  He stopped right next to the bed, but be remained there. I’d swear I could feel his eyes on me and the urge to cover up skyrocketed. Not yet. Don’t do it, I cautioned myself. I wondered which one it was. The one I’d bit or the one who’d jabbed me with the needle? It didn’t really smell like either of them. In fact, it smelled nothing like them. It was a heady, woody scent, with an undertone of something that could only be described as one hundred percent male—not the old sweat and gym socks kind of ‘male’, but virile, the kind of scent a woman couldn’t help but notice—apparently, no matter the situation.

  “I know you’re awake,” a voice spoke from next to the bed—a voice I’d never heard before. It was clear and deep, with the faintest hint of an accent—though I couldn’t place what kind. It definitely wasn’t either of the men I’d been expecting.

  I resisted the urge to open my eyes. Yes, I’d probably been busted, and it seemed like there was little point in keeping up the charade. But it was possible it was a trick, that he was just trying to find out if I was awake.

  So caught up in thought, I wasn’t prepared for it when a finger brushed across my lips. I hadn’t been expecting it. His touch was gentle and fleeting, not like the way the other men had mauled at me.

  My eyes flew open and I gasped. This was certainly not what I’d been expecting, though it rather lined up with the scent of him. The man was beautiful. Well, maybe that was a poor choice of words since there wasn’t anything feminine about him. But handsome was just too weak a word to describe the man hovering above me. Dark hair, vivid blue eyes, perfectly balanced features, a strong jaw…the list went on, but the eyes kept drawing me back. For the briefest of moments, they even put me at ease, as if I knew somehow they were a comfort, not a danger.

  But then logic won out and I scurried off the bed, away from him, dragging the covers from the bed with me as I went. There was no one standing in the doorway to block my exit, but the door was closed. I hadn’t heard him close it, and I could only hope he hadn’t had the sense to lock it.

  I dashed to the door, but the handle wouldn’t budge. I kept trying it anyway, expecting to feel his hands latch on me from behind at any moment, but they didn’t.

  Abandoning the door, I spun around to fight him off, but he was still standing next to the bed, though he wore an amused expression now and his vivid eyes were filled with heat.

  I spotted another door out the corner of my eye, and I ran for it, hoping it might lead me to an escape before the cocky man came after me. But it was a bathroom, I realized once I’d made it through the door uninhibited. An enormous walk-in shower and giant bathtub…but, not a single door or window.

  It made sense now why he hadn’t bothered wasting his energy coming after me—there was nowhere for me to go. I stayed in the bathroom with the bedcover wrapped around me, huddled in one corner as if I could will the wall to swallow me up.

  It didn’t.

  His footsteps sounded quietly across the carpet, and I pressed my body harder against the wall. He stopped at the doorway, wearing the same amused grin. If I wasn’t terrified, I would have wanted to slap that cocky expression right off his too-handsome face. As it was though, I had no intentions of coming out of my corner—maybe ever.

  After a moment he turned away and walked over to the bathroom sink. I wished I’d picked a corner in the other room because even though the bathroom was bigger than any I’d seen, it was still too small. His presence seemed to take up too much of the precious space between us.

  He picked up a plastic cup sitting next to the facet, turned on the sink and filled it up. A strange time to stop for a drink, wasn’t it?

  But when he turned off the facet, he started toward me and I pressed back so hard against the wall that it felt like the tile on the wall behind me was digging into my bones.

  He stopped maybe two feet away and extended the hand holding the cup. He was giving me water? Why? And then he extended his other hand and opened it up. There was a pill in it—ibuprofen, I recognized. Again, why?

  “I imagine you must have quite the headache,” he said and extended both hands a little further.

  Confused, but recognizing the truth in what he said, I clenched the blanket tighter against me with one hand and took the proffered pill with the other. I popped it into my mouth and reached for the glass, sipping just enough to swallow the pill. Since he’d brought it up, I’d become much more aware of the pain throbbing at the back of my head, and was hopeful the pill would provide some relief. It was difficult to think clearly the way it was pounding. Every beat reverberated through my head.

  I handed the glass back and doubled up my grip on the blanket. He took the cup and placed it back on the sink and then returned to where he’d been standing in front of me. He didn’t make any move to touch me. He just stood there. The silence stretched out, winding its way through our frozen tableau and making me feel even jumpier than I’d been.

  What the hell did he want from me? Was this a game?—some twisted way of drawing out the anticipation of what was coming? Or was he their lackey?—sent to keep an eye on me until they came back? No, I dismissed the last thought. This man was nobody’s lackey. His clothes, his posture, the tilt of his chin, the aura that radiated from him, the cocky smile, the steely control in his eyes—this man did nobody’s bidding but his own.

  So, what did that make him?—the ringleader? He was the alpha who demanded the first bite, and when he was finished the others could have whatever scraps he left behind?

  “What…what do you want?” I stuttered in a weak and pathetic voice.

  “Ah, you can speak. I was beginning to doubt what Alejandro and Vito had to say about your wicked tongue.”

  My wicked tongue? They’d kidnapped me, stripped me and knocked me unconscious, and I was the one with the ‘wicked’ anything?

  “Why don’t we have a seat and talk?” he suggested, motioning back toward the other room.

  I didn’t want to sit or talk, but at least getting out of this room would put some distance between us. So, I nodded, and then waited for him to leave the room first.

  I breathed a small sigh of relief when he’d stepped through the doorway, taking with him the feeling of claustrophobia that had begun to creep in on me, and then I followed him out slowly. But when he sat down on the edge of the bed, I stopped where I was. I was not going to
sit on the bed with this man, and since there were no other seats in the room, I decided I was fine right where I was.

  “Come closer,” he said in a tone that made it seem like keeping my distance was silly, and yet, two more steps and that was as close as I was going to get.

  He chuckled and seemed to let it go. “The first rule you will learn is you will obey. If you don’t, you will be punished however I see fit. Do you understand?”

  Understand? No, I certainly did not understand. What the hell was he talking about?

  “No,” I cried and backed up several steps.

  “No, you don’t understand? Or no, you won’t obey?” he asked easily.

  He had to be crazy. “No, I don’t understand what the hell you’re talking about, and no, I will not obey you. You don’t own me.”

  “You may not understand, Pet, but you will come to obey me, I assure you.”

  I stood there frozen, my mind reeling in shock. This couldn’t be happening. It was beyond insane.

  “Now, remove the blanket.”

  What? No! Hell, no. I clutched the blanket tighter against me and glared back at him.

  “I won’t tell you again,” he said, and though I could tell he meant it, and I didn’t even want to guess at what he was going to do, I stood there stiffly, refusing to relinquish it.

  He sighed heavily and rose to his feet. He moved gracefully, like a lion, and I had a sinking feeling I was his prey. He kept coming until he was right in front of me and his presence was ten times more overwhelming—and scary—than it had been in the bathroom. He didn’t look angry. His breathing hadn’t changed and his hands were unclenched, relaxed at his sides, but I knew looks could be deceiving.

  I should have run, retreated back to my corner in the bathroom, but he would just follow me there, so I stood my ground.

  “I’ll make this easy for you, Pet. Kneel.” His voice was little more than a whisper, but he didn’t need to talk louder. His lips were just inches from my ear.