Briar Valley: The Complete Duet

Prologue

PROLOGUE

OUTRUN MYSELF - JACK KAYS my father used to get his backside beaten by them for owing too much money.

“Having a good shift, darling?”

“I suppose,” I whisper back. “Keeping busy.”

“So obedient. You’re a quick learner. Fancy earning yourself an extra cheque?”

Perked up by his offer, I nod and stare at his designer trainers. There’s another pair of shoes standing directly behind him, as if waiting for something. We have company.

“I’ve got someone special here for you, Willow. A dear friend. I want you to show him a good time. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir. I understand.”

Mario hums his approval, turning away from me. “She’ll take good care of you, Mr Sanchez. Willow is brand new, like you requested. She’s yours for the price we discussed.”

The other man advances, marked by his Italian-leather dress shoes that scream wealth and high standards. The scent of cigar smoke burns my lungs while unease trickles down my spine.

I don’t dare to lift my eyes from the floor. I’m surrounded by sharks, and a single wrong move might just end my life. These people aren’t to be trusted—even I know that.

“She’s a virgin?” a deep voice rumbles.

“Of course. Nothing but the best for you.”

“How can you be sure?”

Mario runs a hand over my lowered head. “Feel free to take her out back and inspect for yourself. Willow will be a good girl, won’t you?”

Frozen by terror, I can’t respond. Check? Virgin? This isn’t right. I’m supposed to be giving lap dances and taking drinks orders, nothing more like the others sometimes do.

A large, rough hand grabs my chin, forcing me to look up. I meet a pair of ice-cold blue eyes, framed by thick lashes that accentuate the frosty depths of his irises.

“Hello there, chica . You’ll do nicely, hmm?”

This man is middle-aged and, admittedly, very handsome. His appearance screams of foreign charm and confidence. But that doesn’t stop dread from pooling in my gut.

Something’s wrong here. There’s a look in his eyes—a sick, lascivious gleam that sets off mental alarm bells. He’s staring at me like I’m his dinner.

“I’ll take that inspection, Mario.”

My heart somersaults.

“You know I like to be thorough,” he adds. “Especially given the price.”

“Of course,” Mario blusters, shooting me a stern look. “Go with Mr Sanchez, Willow. Best behaviour. Don’t let me down now.”

“But—”

“No buts or I’ll be keeping tonight’s pay cheque.”

Fuck. I really need that money. It’s been almost a week since I ate a real meal, and my stomach feels like it’s eating itself. I’ve been sleeping on the park bench every night.

I had to use last week’s cheque to pay off one of my father’s old friends who tracked me down, threatening unspeakable violence if I didn’t cough up the money he wanted.

Dragged away before I can protest further, we leave Mario’s boastful grin behind. I’m guided through the curling smoke and writhing bodies towards the dreaded unknown.

I have no choice but to follow the overbearing, muscled frame of my captor into a private room out back, drenched in black leather and the sensual shadows of darkness.

The door clicks shut, and the snick of the lock sends terror spiking through my veins. I’m locked in here with no escape route, and the stranger prowls towards me.

“On the bed,” Mr Sanchez orders. “Clothes off.”

“My… clothes? The b-bed?” I repeat.

“Yes, child. Are you deaf?”

Trembling all over, I inch towards the metal bed frame placed in the exact centre of the room. It’s covered in blood-red satin sheets, accompanied by built-in leather restraints.

I haven’t been in this room before, but I’ve heard the screams that echo through the locked door. The other girls have warned me to never come here. This is really bad.

Run, Willow.

No amount of money is worth this.

Before I can flee, two firm hands grab my hips from behind. I’m shoved forwards onto the bed, my face smacking into the slippery sheets. Pressure explodes across my scalp as he yanks on my long ringlets.

Roughly flipped over by my hair, Mr Sanchez splays me out across the mattress. In this position, I’m completely vulnerable, and my legs are forced wide open for him to step between.

He stares down at me with visible lust. “You’re such a beautiful girl, Willow. So beautiful. Perfect.”

“Thank y-you,” I stutter.

His vivid blue gaze hardens, filling with rage. “You will address me as Mr Sanchez. Nothing else. Is that clear?”

Staring deep into his eyes, gleaming with intelligence and framed by neatly combed salt-and-pepper hair, I nearly swallow my tongue from fright.

“Thank you, Mr Sanchez.”

“Better. How old are you, chica ?”

“Eighteen,” I lie easily.

Mr Sanchez’s glare grows even colder, and he rolls up the sleeves of his expensive dress shirt, discarding twinkling diamond cufflinks that would clear my name in one payment.

“That’s a lie,” he spits. “You want to try that again?”

“It’s the truth.”

The backhand comes so fast, I cry out in shock. His slap splits my lip open, and stars burst behind my eyes from the sheer strength of it.

“Another lie.”

Licking the hot flow of blood from my lip to buy some time, I try to clear the haze fogging my brain. He isn’t my first monster. I won’t survive this if I don’t play along.

“Sixteen, Mr Sanchez.”

“That’s the truth?”

“Y-Yes.”

“Good. I’ll have no lies, Willow.”

“Sorry, Mr Sanchez.”

“If you’re to be mine, then you will learn some discipline and respect. I won’t have some careless slut walking around my home, understand?”

“Your home?” I dare to whisper.

Lips spreading into a satisfied grin, Mr Sanchez pops a few of his shirt buttons, exposing the dark hair smattering across his chest that covers swirling tattoos.

I can see the bulge of his growing erection through his grey suit trousers. It’s so obvious, near bursting out with anticipation. He cups it and squeezes, his lips parted on a sigh.

“I haven’t purchased you for the night, my love. I just want a trial run before I commit, you see. Then you’ll be coming with me and leaving this filth behind.”

“I don’t understand.”

With a snarl, he rips my flimsy bikini top in one cruel move. It hits the floor, leaving my small, growing breasts on full display. When I try to cover them, he hits me again.

Mr Sanchez licks his lips and stares at my slumped form with hunger. Dizzy from pain, I’ve collapsed back on the bed in a lifeless, compliant heap.

He laughs, unzipping his fly to free his dick. “I want to hear how good your screams are. I’ll want to hear them every day when we’re married.”

Married?

Every day?

Too petrified to move a muscle, I silently beg for someone to come and rescue me. He climbs on top of me and pins my wrists above my head, preventing my escape.

“P-Please, let m-me go!”

“That’s it,” he praises. “Beg me louder.”

“Please… you c-can’t do this.”

Two fingers wrap around my nipple, and he twists so hard that agony races across my chest. His disgustingly hard length is rocking against me, inching ever closer.

“Keep it coming now.”

He hits me again, and the hard punch to my jaw steals any remaining defiance inside me. Limp and sobbing freely, I realise my mistake. I trusted Mario, against my own instincts.

I thought that I was adult enough to navigate this place, and I was wrong. I’ve waded into the danger zone and been snapped up by a ravenous predator.

Leaning closer, his tongue scrapes up the side of my cheek, lapping up my fast-flowing tears. His mouth travels lower, over my shuddering chest, so he can rip the rest of my clothes off.

“Legs open, Willow. Let me see you.”

Unable to escape, I shut down instead. The tiny voice in my head is begging for relief, but no one comes to stop his assault. The door remains locked as Mr Sanchez breaks me.

That night was the beginning of the end. I didn’t know it at the time, but my life would never be the same. I thought I knew suffering, but the lessons were only just beginning.

Sometimes, existing in empty spaces can be fatal. But sometimes… it’s the only way to survive.