Prologue I?
Feelings were a luxury. They were something Kyla simply couldn’t afford. Feelings were for those who didn’t have to fight so hard to survive. They were responsible for making you stop and feel sorry for yourself; they made you weak. They made it so that words, or a look, or lack of one or both could knock you down and render you helpless. She couldn’t afford to be helpless because she had to help herself. There was no one else. No one. Her adult life was about making sure she didn’t allow herself to be a victim. So survival, moving forward, and counting on no one for anything was what she did. Because when you counted on other people they either left you or they let you down. When the going got tough, she could handle it.
When the going made her want to feel… she got going.Prologue II?
Tristan stared out the window into the dark while he slowly rotated a crystal glass tumbler filled with whiskey against the table beside him. He was bored; two of his guys had gone for a run to bring him a snack. They did it as a way to celebrate but for Tristan it would just be something to dull the hunger, something to fill his time --- for a little while, anyway.
He wasn’t even anxious about them coming back. The hunger was always there and he had resigned himself to the fact that it just would be, unending hunger gnawing at him. That constant need had been there for a decade already and yet he never could seem to get his fill --- and he’d tried.
Why would tonight be any different? Whoever was brought here would simply take the edge off a little bit and for only a little while. This was their second run tonight because of the phone call that came a few hours ago. That call had gotten two of the men who worked for him pretty worked up and in the mood to celebrate and he knew others, others who wanted to be in his position, would’ve been thrilled with the news if they’d gotten that same call.
Sam was Tristan’s right hand man, had been there for him since day one, which had been ten years ago. Joe was one of his scouts. They’d both decided celebration was in order so they went out to fetch something that would supposedly help with that. To Tristan the call simply meant the next milestone expected of him; it was the next logical rung on the ladder bringing him closer to that top spot, the spot where he was reportedly destined to sit. Yes, it was happening sooner than expected but the end result was inevitable.
What would he feel like when he got to that pinnacle, which he was now just one promotion away from? Would his hunger be sated then or would existing be as underwhelming as this?
“We’re back. This one was fun.” Joe’s voice snapped him out of his daze.
“Fun?” he rose from his chair and downed the remaining liquid in the glass in his hand.
“Yeah, she’s still lucid.” Joe looked ready to burst with excitement.
“Lucid?”
“Neither of us could get her to comply. Real feisty, actually.”
He arched a brow, “But you brought her here, anyway?”
“Oh yeah, She fits your profile. To a tee. There was no way we could not. And you won’t have a problem getting her in line.” Joe looked beyond excited. He looked like he always did when he wanted approval, which was often enough to annoy Tristan mildly.
“Alright, let’s have a look,” Tristan mumbled, barely able to mask his boredom.-1-Kyla felt herself being physically pulled and at the same time felt like she was being tugged toward consciousness. Then she wasn’t being pulled; she was floating. Something warm surrounded her and it smelled good, like baked goods.
She heard her own faraway-sounding voice moan in protest as the sensation changed from floating to sinking. She wanted to brace herself but her body felt boneless. She finally sank into something soft.
She tried to tune in to her surroundings but felt like she had to wade through a thick soupy haze first. Instinct told her things weren’t right. She knew her wrists and ankles had been bound but wasn’t sure, for the moment, why. A door clicked shut and then her ankles were in someone’s grip and then they were being separated from whatever it was that had bound them together. Her hands and feet felt tingly.
That desserty aroma got stronger and then there was a warm hand slowly rising up the inside of her leg. That warmth landed an inch from there, between her legs. She tried to unglue her eyelids but they wouldn’t cooperate. She wanted to scurry away or clamp her legs shut but couldn’t. Her limbs felt foreign, like they were dead.