Take Me (Enslaved #1)

CHAPTER 11

“Put these on,” Mikhail says one night, throwing a stack of clothes on the mattress. “And these.” A pair of sneakers thud against the floor as he drops them in front of me.

I stare at the items, unable to comprehend what’s going on.

“Let’s go.” He claps his hands, spurring me into action.

I grab the red blouse on top of the pile and push my arms through the sleeves. The fabric feels strange against my skin. Wrong.

“Where am I going?” I ask as I stick my head through the blouse, but Mikhail is on his way out, leaving me with a ton of questions as the door falls shut with a heavy clank.

Anxiety roils in my belly as I proceed to put on panties and jeans, followed by socks and shoes.

Then I wait.

I haven’t seen a clock for ages and have no idea what a minute feels like anymore, but I can almost hear the time ticking, the minutes passing at a dreadfully slow pace.

When the door opens again, I’m fidgeting, pinching the edge of the mattress, twisting my fingers, and tugging at the hem of the blouse.

“What’s going on?” I ask Mikhail.

“It’s your lucky day.” He steps back into the hall, and I know I’m supposed to follow since he leaves the door ajar.

I rush after him, struggling to keep up with his long strides. “Am I going somewhere?” I ask in a thin voice. “Is he here?”

My stomach twists. I’ve somehow gotten so used to the fucked-up depravity of this place, maybe even gotten comfortable with the routines, that the thought of leaving makes me sick with worry.

What if the next place is even worse? What if this man who has bought me is a sadistic psychopath wanting to hurt me for the fun of it? What if he locks me up and forgets to feed me? Simply lets me wither away?

Mikhail leads me down several long halls before he stops at a metal door even heavier than the one to my cell. He presses his finger to the biometric scanner on the wall and shoves the door wide open.

My heart skips a beat as I see what’s on the other side. A long flight of concrete stairs leads right into the open. Tall trees and a starry night sky. Fresh air and the scent of pine trees and moss.

Closing my eyes, I inhale deeply. The fresh air fills my senses with a surge of hope. I feel like I can almost touch it, the freedom. So close.

“You have one chance to get away,” Mikhail says, making me snap back to the present—the dry air and the dusty smell of basement. “If you manage, you’re free.”

I stare at him, through the door, and back up at him, suddenly struck by a wistful feeling.

Despite everything he has done, I’ve come to care for him. Or maybe grown attached because he’s the only thing I have to cling to down here—the only thing keeping me from drowning. Or breaking, as he’d say.

But am I not broken?

I’ve accepted his will and succumbed to his degradations. I’ve let him strip me of all dignity and reduce me to this pliant person I hardly recognize. He has driven me so far out I’m seeing things that aren’t even there.

Yet the thought of never feeling his arms around me again has my heart aching.

But just like his comfort, this wistfulness is false. It’s Stockholm syndrome. Survival.

So I squeeze my eyes shut and conjure images of the man who actually cared about me—whose touch was filled with genuine sympathy and affection.

If I have any chance at getting back to him—even with the very real possibility of him having forgotten about me—I need to grab onto it and fight with everything I have.

So I give a firm nod. “Okay.”

I have no idea where I am, where this forest leads, or if I’ll die trying. It doesn’t matter. This is my only chance.

“You have a fifteen -minute head start.” Mikhail takes out a stopwatch and presses the top.

I stare at him for a moment. Is this it? No goodbye, no last words. I actually thought he cared about me—on some level. But the tender strokes across my forehead and the tight embraces when I cried were all just a means to an end. A method of quickly and effectively bending me to his will.

The realization is like a splash of cold water, ripping me out of the illusion with cruel force.

“Better make them count,” Mikhail says, and I shove down the urge to run into his arms for one final hug and set off up the stairs.

***

Adrenaline pulses through my veins, my legs pounding from the strain of my speed. I nearly trip over branches and stones several times, but somehow, I manage to keep upright, the wind whirring past my ears as I burst through the trees.

I don’t look back. Not once. If I do, I’ll only waver, and I can’t afford that.

So I run until my lungs burn, and then I run some more.

My nape prickles with awareness as if someone’s watching me, and once in a while, I think I hear twigs snag behind me and feel a presence lurking close by.

But I still don’t turn. I keep going. Not thinking, not wondering, just running. Deeper and deeper into the thick woods.

Only when I feel like I’m about to collapse from exertion does my rational brain kick in. Knowing I can’t keep going like this, I start scouting for places to hide. A tree I can climb, a gathering of large rocks, or a fallen trunk.

With the dense thicket of tree tops only allowing a sliver of the pale moonlight to seep through, I can’t see much, so I end up choosing a particularly thick tree as cover. It only hides me from anyone approaching from behind me, so if Mikhail has sent men searching for me from different directions, it won’t do me much good. But it’s better than trying to climb one of the impossibly tall trunks or trying to merge with the ground.

My breath wheezes in and out of my nose, filling the quiet night with too much sound. I try to breathe through my mouth instead, licking my lips as the air rushes past them, but it doesn’t do me much good. The sound is pervasive no matter how I breathe.

When I hear the dull thuds of stealthy footsteps behind me, I slam my hand over my mouth. I stop breathing entirely as my system goes into overdrive, beating with the urge to run. But I can’t break my cover.

Not until I feel it. A hand grabbing for my arm.

I shove off the tree, miraculously slipping out of his grip. My feet pound against the soil, but so does another set of much heavier steps. Right behind me.

Hands grab me. Hard. I fly back, slamming into a wide chest. My reaction is instant and instinctive. With a wail that tears through the night, I kick back against long legs and shove at a thick arm that bands around my chest. Corded muscles bulge beneath my fingers as I dig into his skin. His torso feels just as strong as I try to push off him. A wall of muscle rippling against my back.

There’s no escaping this man.

I gasp when he whips me around and shoves me against the wide trunk.

Then hands are on my hips, yanking down my pants, ripping the flimsy panties.

I try to turn my head to see who has caught me, but a massive hand pins my head against the trunk. All I see are trees and pale moonlight.

I can’t recognize the hands. They’re too big to belong to Mikhail, too smooth to belong to Dax or Dorin. Yet they seem achingly familiar. But none of the other guards in the basement has ever touched me.

The hands prod at my opening, and I whimper as they slide through my slick lips. I’m always wet at the hands of brutal men. Mikhail did train me well as he promised. Or I’m just fucked-up.

It doesn’t matter. The fingers shove inside, making me buck from the force.

A gentle breeze drifts through the trees, caressing my cheek and bringing me the earthy scent of a cologne with hints of pine.

No, it can’t be.

I squeeze my eyes shut and inhale again. It’s the exact same scent that became branded deep into my brain when large hands held me down, took my breath, fucked me brutally, and then caressed me sweetly.

It’s so real. So painfully real.

There’s no fabric covering my head to muddle the scent and induce doubt. And the hands... I suddenly remember with startling clarity. They are his too. Nikolai. The man I’ve dreamed about every day throughout this nightmare. He’s here! I’m not insane.

“Is that you?” I whisper, then imbue my voice with more strength. “Niko—”

A large hand cuts off the word as it presses onto my mouth.

“Shh,” he lulls, shutting off my airflow with a big palm, fingers pinching my nose.

I don’t know what happens. It’s not a conscious choice. It’s something instinctive and reflexive that shuts me down. The urge to submit or maybe the familiar feeling of safety. Maybe the obedience taught at the terrifyingly competent hands of Mikhail. It doesn’t matter.

My body gives in and my brain turns quiet.

“Hmm,” he hums as I sink into him, and he lifts his other hand to caress my temple.

It’s strangely intimate—the stroking and the choking, the safety and the fear. It goes to my head, pulling me deep into a warm, floaty space.

But the peace doesn’t last. It never does.

As the need to breathe intensifies, burning in my lungs, I start twitching. But I still don’t fight. Not until instinct takes over. My reactions are out of my control when my hands fly up to grab the hand over my mouth. My captor releases my nose, just long enough to let me draw in air. Then he clamps my airway shut again, leaving my breath wholly under the control of this mighty man.

My hands fall back down, hanging at my sides. I don’t even struggle when the sound of a belt and a zipper works its way through my brain, or when fingers flick through my pussy.

It’s only when a cock presses against my opening that I snap out of the trance.

Suddenly, I writhe between the trunk and the man. But he simply puts more weight on my back, and I’m left to uselessly flail my hands as he forces his way inside me.

Panic rises, restricting my lungs and dragging whimpers from my throat. But there’s also something else. A hot, urgent pounding. The need to arch back and lose myself to strong hands.

He releases my nose, allowing me another breath before he shuts off my airways again.

Helplessness becomes a cloudy veil over my mind as he sinks into me with a slowness that has me feeling every devastating inch of the intrusion. I don’t control anything. Not my breath, not my body, and not even the throbbing need gathering at my core. I grapple at the bark, seeking purchase through the overwhelming mix of sensations. It’s all I can do.

“Mine,” he growls against my ear, sending a flurry of shivers and butterflies through my system as I recognize the possessive rumble.

Tears spring to my eyes, a moan rising in my throat.

I can’t tell if I want this anymore; I can’t tell if it really is him. My mind is wrought with the need to find out, but it’s no use. So I give up. I give in to the cloudy haze and let primal desire take my body.

A deep groan rumbles in his chest as he senses the moment I give in. He goes still, pausing with the head of his cock just inside my opening. And then he slams inside. So hard I dig my nails into the tree as I buck back. I cry out, but the sound dies in his hand.

“Don’t say a fucking word.” He releases my mouth, and the forest fills with my screams and moans—the sound of flesh slapping against flesh. He keeps pounding, sending shock waves through my core, into my body, making me spasm and writhe.

“Don’t come,” he growls and bites into my neck, awakening new waves of sensation. Pain mixing with pleasure. Pleasure mixing with pain.

Pulling out, he throws me to the ground, stomach-down. Flashes of brown boots and green hunting pants flicker in my vision. A rifle tossed aside on the ground. Then something wet runs down between my ass cheeks. Spit, I realize at another pfft sound.

The only protest I manage is a long, plaintive moan as he drags his cock through the moisture and positions himself against my narrow opening. My breath comes in heavy pants as he starts pressing. I shake my head against the ground. He’s too big. It doesn’t matter how well Mikhail has trained me; there’s no way I’m taking this man without tearing. But my ass isn’t all Mikhail has trained. Even as my mind is reeling from flashes of panic, I can’t protest. Because deep down, I want this. I want to be taken by force—taken by competent hands and have my body reduced to an object.

And most of all, I want this: unmerciful, unrelenting possession. I want to be owned.

Something happens as he wraps his strong hand around my nape, pinning me to the ground as he starts the slow process of pushing inside me. My brain tells me to fight, but something familiar and safe tugs at me, blending with the submission that has become second nature at the terrifyingly competent hands of Mikhail. I don’t want to fight. I want to give in. Feel the sweet peace of giving up myself to another person.

So I do just that. I slump as I let go, slackening my muscles and allowing him to advance. I pant hard as he presses past my tight ring of muscle. His wide size burns against my narrow walls, but the pain mixes with a crackling sensation as all my sensitive nerves down there spark to life.

I tremble beneath him as he sinks deeper into me, every inch a testament to his power and my surrender.

His growl reverberates through the night, a primal declaration of conquest—the hunter having caught his prey. Leaning over me, he traps me beneath his weight as he starts fucking me, hard and unrelenting. I cling to the earth, digging my fingers into the soil to seek purchase through the violent storm that threatens to tear my world apart, or maybe mend it.

I don’t know; I can’t see anything through the storm of his possession. It wraps around my mind, blurs my world, and coils at my core with licks of fire circling each other, faster and faster, into a whirlwind about to explode.

He grows impossibly hard inside me, and I squeeze my eyes shut as my sensitive tissues burn around him. But the pain does nothing to hinder the blast of desire. If anything, it adds to it.

“Come,” he demands, just as he shoots his cum inside me, marking me in the most primal of ways. I crash over the edge, screaming into the night as I buck into him.

Resting his weight on his elbows on each side of my face, he leans down and pebbles tiny kisses across my neck. Shivers scurry down my arms, and I crane my neck to allow him better access. I want to stay here forever, safely nestled into the shield of his strong body.

But when he withdraws and I lose his warmth, it’s like an icy gust of wind, shuddering through my bones and sending painful clarity to my mind.

I have no idea who this man is. He’s not Nikolai. I’m only imagining things. And if I don’t get away, I will get sold off to a stranger. Maybe this one, maybe someone else. I have no idea, and I can’t take that chance. So I stagger to my feet, glancing behind me to see the back of a tall, broad figure as he pulls something out of a bag. Maybe a blanket. I don’t know; I don’t care. This is my final shot, so I take it.

I bolt forward, struggling to make my heavy limbs comply and shaking from the last ripples of the orgasm.

Heavy steps pound behind me as he gives chase, and I whimper as I put in all my strength, my lungs burning with exertion. I keep going even knowing I don’t stand a chance in living hell. He’s right behind me. At any moment, he’ll snatch me and throw me to the ground.

But it doesn’t happen.

I whip my head back when I realize the thuds of his steps are gone. And he’s gone too. All I see are trees. I keep going, almost slamming into trunks as I whip my head from side to side, expecting him to jump me from the side.

My energy quickly fades, and fear becomes a vise around my chest, keeping my breaths shallow and painful even as I slow down. I stop to catch my breath. I have to, or I’ll collapse and become a sitting duck.

Pressing my sweaty palms to my knees, I lean forward, panting. Movement at the edges of my vision makes me look up. I’m about to set off again when something moves between the trees. But then I see the swish of a fluffy tail. Something red. A white tip.

I freeze as I gaze into the low bushes. The moon casts its pale light through the treetops, lighting up the small clearing I’m standing in. A slow wind rustles through the forest, and an owl hoots in the distance.

It’s peaceful. Quiet.

The red fur moves, and then I see it. A beautiful fox appears between the trees, coming straight toward me.

It sniffs the ground, the black nose twitching as the tail swishes above the moss. Then it looks up and stops as it sees me.

I hold my breath as I stare into the eyes of the beautiful creature. I’ve always dreamed about seeing a fox in more than flashes of red disappearing into the night. And here it is, on this fateful night.

I usually don’t believe in signs, but this must be one. How can it not?

The fox lowers itself to its hind legs, curling the tail around itself as it watches me. I carefully move a hand from my thigh, and it remains. So I move the other as well, wanting to sink to my knees too.

But then I hear it. A twig snapping.

The fox gets up, ears pointing into the air, ready to bolt too.

There’s a swish through the air, and I jerk at a sharp sting in my right butt cheek. Time seems to slow down as I blink toward the fox, staggering a step forward as my balance wavers. Turning my head, I see a small dart lodged in my ass.

I stare at the fox as I drop to my knees, my head swimming and the forest blurring before me.

I fall forward, hitting the ground with a thud, and red fur flashes in my peripheral vision as the fox leaps away.

I’ve lost, is all I can think. They’ve caught me. I’ve squandered my only chance at escape.

Pine needles crunch gently as feet move toward me. A pair of brown boots appear, the vision distorted and hazy. Turning my head slightly, I blink to focus my gaze on the man who crouches before me, but all I see is camouflage clothes and something long. A rifle.

Fingers move over my cheek to brush my long hair from my face, and the faint scent of an earthy cologne hits my nose. The hand trails farther down in one long, firm stroke, over my back and down to my ass, where it pulls out the dart.

“Mine,” a deep voice says with fierce possession as the man who shot me wraps a hand around my neck.

“Nikolai. Is that…” I close my eyes, the world spinning too quickly before me. “Is that you?” I manage just before the world fades and I slip into a dreamland.