Two weeks earlier . . .
Tears roll down her bright red cheeks and her garbled pleas become more frantic with each passing mile. Dubois trussed her up tight at the estate—her wrists fastened behind her back with a zip tie, a matching one around her bare ankles, and a scarf strung through her open mouth to the point of nearly gagging her. She’s most likely cut the flesh on her arms from trying to escape. The thought of blood smeared over her olive skin sends a surge of excitement through my veins.
They all try to escape the inevitable in the end.
Every single fucking time it’s the same.
Please don’t get rid of me, sir.
I drag my eyes away from the glorified whore and turn my bored attention to the Washington state tree line along the interstate. We’re almost there—to the place where each toy meets their end. Where I dust my hands and start anew.
“Another ten minutes, sir,” Dubois assures me from the driver’s seat.
I meet his eyes in the mirror and nod before turning back to the window. When we slow and then turn onto a gravel road that leads into the dark, thick woods, she begins screaming through the scarf. With an infuriated huff, I snap my gaze to meet hers.
The toy, one whom I actually enjoyed for a spell, is getting on my fucking nerves. Her almond-shaped eyes are swollen from crying for the entire two-hour drive. They flicker with fear when the vehicle slows to a stop.
“You were fun for a little while,” I tell her with a yawn. I’m going to sleep for a fucking week before making my journey back to London. This shit, no matter how gratifying, gets so goddamn exhausting. Especially at the end. I’m bored and tired. And the toy is used and done with.
Dubois climbs out of the car and I hear him exchange words in Russian with Matvei. The toy, even though she doesn’t know a word in the language, becomes hysterical. I’m assuming she understands her fate—as they all do about now.
“Time to say goodbye, Swan.”
I’d like to taste her lips once more—to savor her essence for the way back home. She flinches when I reach over and tug the scarf free from her swollen lips but doesn’t waste any time begging.
“Please, my master. Don’t do this,” she cries out, “You don’t have to do this!”
My eyes narrow and I lazily drag my gaze down her throat to her heaving breasts—breasts I know are marked and bruised from my teeth beneath her thin black dress. My dick doesn’t even stir at the reminder which is exactly why I must get rid of her.
She bores me now.
“Swan, I suggest you shut your stupid mouth before I choke you with this scarf,” I tell her with a growl. “You belong to me until that very last second. Do you understand me?”
Hope flickers in her eyes and I have the urge to slap the look right off her face. It’s as if she doesn’t know me at all.
“Y-Y-You c-c-could k-keep me,” she chatters, the frigid air that’s swirled in from Dubois’ open door, chilling her.
I scoff. “And do what? Marry you? Have half fucking Asian babies with you?”
She nods rapidly and it pisses me off. Lightning fast, I snatch a handful of her black hair and yank her to me.
Wide, terrified eyes meet mine and my dick actually does twitch for a moment. I could fuck her one last time—for old times’ sake.
“Ready, sir?”
Dubois’ voice from the front jerks me from my thoughts of doing anything stupid and I turn my attention to him.
“Yes. Bring me the scissors.”
I drag my gaze back to hers and inhale her. Swan, who loved to cook, smells of ginger and wasabi. She’d been in the middle of making me sushi when I decided I was done with her.
“Please, sir,” she begs again, “Don’t do this. I love you!”
They all love me.
How could they not?
“Swan, I could never love a whore. You were nothing more than a toy to me. Now you’re done, baby.”
A gust of frigid air enters the back of the car when Dubois opens my door. The gleam of the scissors in the moonlight is beautiful but the scream that rips from Swan is otherworldly.
“Hold her mouth shut, D,” I grunt when she starts to wiggle in my grasp.
He climbs in beside her and slaps a black, leather glove over her mouth to shut her the fuck up. Dubois isn’t the biggest man but he’s cunning and strong. I’d hired him to be my right hand man when I saw how he handled himself in a gang fight in LA. Six motherfuckers tried to take down the lean, black man but he damn near gutted four of them before one pulled a gun on him and shot him in the belly. They’d left him for dead but when he awoke in the hospital, I was there for him and with a proposition he couldn’t refuse.
They never refuse.
I snatch the scissors from the seat beside me and wave them in front of her face. It actually turns me right the fuck on to see her fighting against Dubois’ unyielding grasp. If we were back home, I’d want him to fuck her so I could watch.
But then I remember her time is up.
I want a new toy.
One that I can restore.
An ugly thing turned pristine and shiny.
“I need a souvenir to add to my scrapbook.” I bark out a laugh and clip a long strand of hair from her gorgeous head. I’m pleased when I inhale it and the ginger-wasabi combination remains. Perfect. Like this toy once was.
I give D a nod and he drops his hand.
“Any last words, Swan?”
She sobs but no words come out. Taking pity on her pathetic ass, I draw forward and brush a soft kiss on her lips.
I’ll definitely miss her.
Until I get a new one.
“Goodbye,” I tell her, my breath the last part of me she’ll ever be gifted.
She screams when Dubois jerks her with him out of the car. Matvei helps him wrangle her away from my presence. Together, they do what I don’t like doing. They do the hard part. My part is always easy.
Find new toys.
Play with them.
Tell them goodbye.
And my boys do the rest.
A chill skitters through me from the fall night air and I yank the door closed. My mind clears as I begin wondering what kind of toy I want next. Tonight I’ll do some research. See what strikes my fancy. Perhaps my next toy will be a plus-sized girl—I’ve always had a thing for curves and big tits. Or, maybe I can have a lesbian with a boy haircut—that toy would be fun breaking in for sure. And gingers seem to be the craze right now too—maybe I’ll find me a freckly red-headed toy.
My dick thickens and I smirk. It was smart getting rid of Swan when I did. For one second, I considered keeping her. Then I remembered I don’t keep my toys for very long. I’m a very spoiled man and like new ones.
When Swan’s screams are silenced finally, Dubois returns to the car. He puts it in drive and we head back home. I drop my gaze to the lock of hair between my fingers and grin. Nineteen toys. Nineteen locks of hair. Nineteen times I’d indulged in my greatest fantasies.
I believe the twentieth one will be extra special.
And I can’t wait to make her mine.
At least for a little while . . .