Stolen Beauty (Jackson Family 1)

EMMALINE

This was endless torture.

Three years ago, I had been kidnapped, though it had kind of been a blessing. At the time, I was homeless, sleeping wherever I could find some kind of shelter for a few hours. Most of the time, it was a bus stop bench, and many of those times, there wasn’t any shelter.

Cops could be right fucking assholes about that kind of shit.

Without any kind of warning, one night I’d been snatched off the bench I was sleeping on, and a rag soaked in chloroform had been shoved over my nose and mouth. I’d fought, but I wasn’t strong enough to get away from the two men holding me.

Add chloroform to the mix? I stood no chance.

When I woke up, I was in a basement tied to a chair, some kind of cloth stuck in my mouth to keep me silent. I sat there for a while – had to have been hours – before a woman dressed in all leather came downstairs and untied me. She’d shoved a gun to my cheek, warning me what would happen if I dared to defy her orders.

So, I complied.

I silently followed her up some stairs where numerous women then bathed me, exfoliated me, cut and styled my hair – bleaching it an almost white color before adding blue tips – and then stuck me in a tiny black dress. My hands got cuffed behind my back and extremely high black heels got shoved onto my feet.

I was then marched out to a black SUV where I was driven to a club. But when I had been marched in, I’d quickly come to the realization that it wasn’t just any kind of club. There were men and women everywhere, but there were women in similar clothing to mine, some with collar-like necklaces and others not, either getting fucked on random surfaces or pleasing whatever person was in front of them.

But – and as fucked up as this may sound – it was a home. As long as I complied and did what I was told – whatever that might be – I got food, a warm, soft bed, and something to drink. I didn’t have to scrounge for my next meal. I didn’t have to worry about whether I would have some kind of shelter over my head that night.

I felt like my body was a small price to pay.

For three years now, this had been my life. I slept, ate, someone dressed me, and then, I was brought here. I ate if the man or woman I was with for the day deemed it was okay for me to eat. But when I got back to my room in the evening, I was given dinner and three bottles of water with strict instructions to eat everything and to drink all of the water.

Hydration was important, especially with the exertion my body was put through every single day.

“Emmaline, you’re in a back room today,” Gemma announced as she strode towards me. She was clad in her normal attire of complete leather, her make-up done dark, her nails so pointy they could probably slice my throat.

Knowing to stay silent, I followed her without a word, ignoring all of the eyes that were following me as she led me to the back hallway where all of the private rooms were. She knocked lightly on the one at the very end, and a gruff, rough voice instructed for her to come in.

I was not prepared for the sight in front of me – could never have been.

The man lounging on the couch was tall and well-built. He was wearing a pair of black slacks and expensive, leather shoes. His blazer and tie were tossed over the arm of the couch, and his white shirt was unbuttoned halfway down, revealing his muscular, tattooed chest. His eyes were an icy blue – almost like a mixture between blue and gray – and his hair was a dirty-blonde color, curling over his forehead.

“This is the Emmaline I’ve heard so much about?” he asked, his deep voice booming around the red room, though he hadn’t actually raised his voice. I trembled beneath his power as he rose from the couch he’d been sitting on.

“This is Emmaline, sir,” Gemma said, her voice for once timid and not at all strong like it normally was.

Who was this man?

He didn’t even look at her as he strode towards me. “Leave us,” he ordered her.

She quickly stepped out of the room, shutting the door behind her. I turned my gaze to the floor in a submissive gesture, keeping my body straight despite how much I wanted to cower in his presence.

“Raise your fucking eyes and look at me,” he commanded.

I snapped my eyes up to look at him, my brown eyes clashing with his blue ones. He reached up and wrapped his hand around my throat, but unlike everyone else that normally handled me, his touch was gentle despite the strength I knew he possessed. I swallowed thickly, nervous. I hadn’t been nervous with a man in almost three years, but this man? He made me tremble.

“My second in command got a taste of you yesterday when I gave him a day off, and he couldn’t shut the fuck up about you. So, I had to come see what the big hype was about.”

I didn’t speak, though I was shocked to hear someone had been that pleased with me as their submissive. He brushed his thumb over my bottom lip. My breath hitched in my throat. “How long have you been a submissive here?” he asked me.

“Three years, sir,” I told him quietly.

He dropped his hand and shoved his hands in the pockets of his black slacks. They were pulled tight over his hips, showcasing the indentation of his cock, which I could tell was already rock hard.

“There’s something about you, little one . . . I just can’t put my fucking finger on it.” My hands trembled behind my back. “The moment I laid my fucking eyes on you, I wanted to claim you as mine – collar you – so no one else can touch you but me.” My breath left me on a whoosh of air at his words – stunning me. “But I’m not going to do that unless you can promise me it’ll be worth my time. Can you do that?”

I trembled. Collaring meant that I would no longer be used by multiple people. I would only be used by one man – this man.

“Yes, sir,” I told him, knowing that was the answer he wanted to hear. And honestly, it was also an answer I wanted to give him.

“On your knees,” he ordered. “Keep your eyes on me.”