Neither male spoke. Kahler’s immediate use for her was finished. He seemed content to keep her spread wide until his knot diminished. She supposed she should be grateful he didn’t try to rip it out of her as some would. Pressed against him, his heart thumping against her cheek, she almost wished he would.
Time stretched and bent. It felt like it had been hours since he had stolen her from her last sanctuary, ruined her, killed off every inch of calm she had ever possessed. Only seconds ticked by between the sedan turning off the highway and down a road she recognized. Decades before she caught sight of the low wall that surrounded Kahler’s home. Had it only been two weeks since she had scrambled over the thing in the backyard?
As the painful swelling of the knot lessened, slipping free of her abused cunt, the car meandered up a crushed gravel drive. She took little notice of the house itself, her eyes still turned towards the trees that ran thick and forbidding just past the ordered lawn.
Before Quinn could even think of making overwrought muscles move, the door was flung open, and her body dumped out on the cold drive. Shards of stone stabbed into soft flesh. The bruised side of her face came alive with violet pulses that blinded her when it met the craggy terrain. Kahler’s shoes came into view with a sickening crunch and all she could think of was how, even after all of this, they remained polished and impeccable.
A hand descended, taking hold of her arm in a grip that could snap her bones with the same ease as it was bruising her. Jerked up to her feet, Quinn gagged on a shriek and forced her legs to stumble into a shaky run at Kahler’s side lest he be tempted to exert any more pressure.
“Where is he?” The words were bit out, smothering the turbulent breeze of shock and dismay that erupted when he burst through the door.
Head heavy with a multitude of torments, Quinn couldn’t bear to face these new people. The scurrying quality of all those feet told her they were his anyhow. People who wouldn’t dare to help her in any way.
Not that the ones she had believed in had rushed to her aid.
Tears turning caustic, burning pallid cheeks, he marched her through one hall after the other after a mumbled reply was directed to the monster. She took as little notice of her surroundings as she had the last time she’d traversed this place, just an impression of space that meant nothing.
Catching herself on the heavy desk when he shoved her into a final room, Quinn stared bleary eyed at the old man seated in one of the chairs opposite. The monster’s coat hung open on her, she reeked of sex and his slimy fluids coursed down her thighs. Judging by the man’s expressive face and focus though, her face was an awful mess.
Shaking legs turned to water, sending her crashing to the floor. Bent over his leather case, the old Alpha paused but soon returned to the shuffling of papers. Curling up on her side, knees tucked tight under her chin, Quinn muffled her cries as much as she could. For once, she wanted to be invisible.
She heard nothing of what they said. There was only the rise and fall of their voices, the controlled violence of Kahler’s tone pushing her to curl up ever smaller. At one point the stranger moved to sit closer. Some part of her knew the male was speaking to her, that he was droning on about something. It was important judging by his tone, something she should listen to. She couldn’t.
The monster didn’t try to force her to her feet again when the old man ceased his long-winded chattering. Instead he grabbed the back of her neck, hauling her up to kneel. A broad knee shoved between her shoulders to pin her to the desk. A pen pressed into her hand by soft, weathered fingers, a stack of papers slapped down in front of her. Black blurs across pristine white wavered as fresh anguish welled.
There was a chance it wasn’t what she thought it could be. It was small and weak, the hope that tried to flicker into being within her chest. Foolish to the end, she prayed, because the alternatives made no sense.
As she blinked away the tears to make out the first lines, she felt the last bit of her world crumble and die.
“Sign it,” Kahler said on a low growl. It demanded obedience and promised a fresh hell for defiance.
Her hand moved without thought, the wavering scrawl of her signature half finished before she realized it. Sobbing outright, hysterical at the last, the final curves of her name were signed.
Chapter 7
Quinn didn’t remember how she had arrived in the room. A gray haze had descended as everything shattered inside of her, obliterating even the sound of her own screams. It was only the fresher throbs of pain that told her a vague tale.
The mattress she lay on was small and narrow, hard and uncomfortable. A single sheet and thin blanket were all that she had. Despite the aching cold that permeated her to the core, she didn’t wrap herself in those scant offerings. Shivering in near violent fits, teeth chattering, she could do nothing more than remain prone on the bed where she had been tossed. Naked, bruised and still bleeding in places, she stared without seeing.
There would be no comfort here.
There were no windows, no clock, nothing to discern the passing of time. No other furniture was in the small room, only the mattress lying in uncomfortable perfection smack in the middle. All this she took in from her position, seen by the dim glow that managed to seep between the cracks around the door. She could only assume they locked it. There was no urge to try it.
Breaths hitching through the raw ruin of her throat, Quinn watched the shadowy corners expand and recede with the heavy blows of her pulse. Sounds drifted into the darkness, voices and the general clatter of life continuing on as if she’d never existed.
It was fitting.
Quinn Ivers no longer existed, not in any real way. She no longer had a name or voice beyond his. There was no place in the world for her now. The moment she had set pen to paper, the growling demand of the Alpha controlling her in a way she didn’t understand, she ceased to be. Everything that was her was now his. Quinn was nothing more than his… whatever he made her to be. Just another possession, to be used and discarded at will.
It wasn’t all just on paper. The bond was growing stronger with every breath she took, every faltering beat of her heart. Here in his home, the walls bleeding his presence, she was doomed. That sense of otherness lodged in her chest wrapped tighter and tighter around the shattered pieces of her soul. It smothered her, drowning the small voice that was hers alone. At least hiding in the West district, the separation had offered her a painful reprieve. If she had accepted Alton as soon as she had realized what had happened, she wouldn’t be here now. If Kahler had made any other choice, there might have been some small sliver of hope.
None of it made any sense.
Footsteps tread near the door. Unable—or perhaps unwilling—to give a damn about anything beyond the shadowy interior of her new prison, the cottony film of apathy was pulled close. Blinding light seared the back of her eyes, but she didn’t bother to close them. Squinting would have taken too much effort. She watched the dark blur framed in all that brilliance become large before a pale sun was unleashed in the small space.
High brows and round cheekbones resolved into the now familiar features of Curtis’ face. The white of his shirt wasn’t as crisp as it had started out in the beginning of the day. With the dark tie loosened and top button undone, he looked unkempt.
The short bridge of his nose scrunched at the miasma of her suffering infusing the room, but he was careful not to stare as he looked down at her once the door was shut behind him. Two long steps brought him near. The tray in his hands was set on the floor beside the mattress with studious care.
