I came awake slowly, but right away I knew it wasn’t the first time I’d woken up since slipping into a drug-induced unconsciousness in the back of their van. The last time was cloudy, but it was there. I remembered bits and pieces. I was on a bed, and I was struggling with them. Their hands had been everywhere, ripping and tearing at my clothes. Brutal grips as I was turned this way and that, pinched and squeezed.

I recalled pleading, but it had done nothing. And then, when they’d torn off my bra, I’d gone berserk, kicking and flailing and screaming.

And then nothing.

Had they jabbed me with another needle? Or knocked me unconscious? By the way my head was throbbing from a focal point in the back, I figured I could guess which one.

But then what? What had they done when I was no longer fighting them, no longer even conscious to make the weakest of protests?

Fear lodged in my throat when I thought about the most likely thing they’d done. They’d been stripping me—on a bed. What else could their intentions have been?

But mentally assessing myself, I didn’t feel any different. There was no soreness between my thighs to suggest they’d used me that way. I could feel everything else—my shoulder ached, my arms hurt where they’d first grabbed me. And I could feel every bump and bruise from their rough-handling of me. But not that. They hadn’t raped me.

But why not? Were they waiting until I was conscious again? Is that what they wanted?—for me to fight them, knowing I was going to lose? If I continued to lay here, eyes closed and perfectly still, would they get bored with me, or think they’d done some sort of irreversible damage with their last blow?—no fun to play with a brain-damaged victim, was it? It was my best plan at the moment, or rather, my only plan until I could come up with something better.

So, I did my best to keep my breathing steady and keep my eyes closed without squeezing them too tightly-shut and giving myself away. I tried to keep my limbs still, but that was lowest on the priority list. It seemed reasonable that the body might move innately when unconscious like it did in ordinary sleep.

And then I moved on to assessing my situation.

I was on a bed, presumably the same one I’d woken up on before, but that was little help because I hadn’t had the time to look around and survey my surroundings then.

I was naked—I cringed mentally at the realization, but I struggled to keep my features smooth. But I could feel the same comfortably warm air across every inch of my body that wasn’t pressed against the mattress. My legs had been left—or positioned—slightly parted, and I felt an overwhelming urge to squeeze them shut. I resisted—just barely.

There was no noise in the room aside from my relatively stable breathing, which suggested there was no one else here. That made it tempting to open my eyes, but not yet. For all I knew, it was a really big room and I just couldn’t hear the others breathing.

All right, so, I was naked, on a bed, in a room, the door to which may or may not be locked, and the men who’d done this to me may or may not be in the room with me. So far, this wasn’t looking very good for me.

I ever so slowly moved one hand from where it laid near my side, just enough to ascertain the likelihood of whether I’d been restrained. My hand seemed to move freely though, which made it unlikely.

That was at least one relief. If they did come at me again, I’d have some small chance of catching them off-guard and escaping—through the door which may or may not be locked. Still, that sounded like the beginnings of a plan to me. Not a good one, but better than nothing.

I’d listen for the sound of them approaching and the moment they did, I’d spring away and out the door—assuming it wasn’t locked from the outside or with a key. There was no point in worrying about it—there was no way for me to know ahead of time. And there was no sense in trying to fight them. I’d failed miserably on more than one attempt, and feared it would inevitably only lead to a repeat.

But minutes ticked by and still no movement. Maybe they’d just left me here for good. But just as I was beginning to entertain the possibility, I heard the grind of a lock and a door opened a second later.

I did my damnedest to fight the panic rising in my chest. I wanted to scream, to run, not to lay here and wait patiently for them to approach. But by some miracle, I was able to do it.

As the intruders came closer though, I realized there was only one set of footsteps. Not two. Where was the other one? Was he waiting by the door?—blocking it to impede my escape? Damn it. With my eyes closed and no sounds other than the single set of footsteps, I had no way of knowing. And I didn’t exactly have a whole lot of time to modify the plan. So, I’d stick with the original, and if there was an obstacle in my way, I’d find some way to charge right through it. Maybe there was something I could grab quickly to use as a weapon—like a lamp, or even a heavy book—and I could throw it or ram it into him.

The footsteps were only a couple of feet away, and I could hear him breathing. The sound was faint but somehow reassuring. He wasn’t some kind of larger-than-life monster. He was just human. Flesh and blood. And I could do this.

He stopped right next to the bed, but be remained there. I’d swear I could feel his eyes on me and the urge to cover up skyrocketed. Not yet. Don’t do it, I cautioned myself. I wondered which one it was. The one I’d bit or the one who’d jabbed me with the needle? It didn’t really smell like either of them. In fact, it smelled nothing like them. It was a heady, woody scent, with an undertone of something that could only be described as one hundred percent male—not the old sweat and gym socks kind of ‘male’, but virile, the kind of scent a woman couldn’t help but notice—apparently, no matter the situation.

“I know you’re awake,” a voice spoke from next to the bed—a voice I’d never heard before. It was clear and deep, with the faintest hint of an accent—though I couldn’t place what kind. It definitely wasn’t either of the men I’d been expecting.

I resisted the urge to open my eyes. Yes, I’d probably been busted, and it seemed like there was little point in keeping up the charade. But it was possible it was a trick, that he was just trying to find out if I was awake.

So caught up in thought, I wasn’t prepared for it when a finger brushed across my lips. I hadn’t been expecting it. His touch was gentle and fleeting, not like the way the other men had mauled at me.

My eyes flew open and I gasped. This was certainly not what I’d been expecting, though it rather lined up with the scent of him. The man was beautiful. Well, maybe that was a poor choice of words since there wasn’t anything feminine about him. But handsome was just too weak a word to describe the man hovering above me. Dark hair, vivid blue eyes, perfectly balanced features, a strong jaw…the list went on, but the eyes kept drawing me back. For the briefest of moments, they even put me at ease, as if I knew somehow they were a comfort, not a danger.

But then logic won out and I scurried off the bed, away from him, dragging the covers from the bed with me as I went. There was no one standing in the doorway to block my exit, but the door was closed. I hadn’t heard him close it, and I could only hope he hadn’t had the sense to lock it.

I dashed to the door, but the handle wouldn’t budge. I kept trying it anyway, expecting to feel his hands latch on me from behind at any moment, but they didn’t.

Abandoning the door, I spun around to fight him off, but he was still standing next to the bed, though he wore an amused expression now and his vivid eyes were filled with heat.

I spotted another door out the corner of my eye, and I ran for it, hoping it might lead me to an escape before the cocky man came after me. But it was a bathroom, I realized once I’d made it through the door uninhibited. An enormous walk-in shower and giant bathtub…but, not a single door or window.

It made sense now why he hadn’t bothered wasting his energy coming after me—there was nowhere for me to go. I stayed in the bathroom with the bedcover wrapped around me, huddled in one corner as if I could will the wall to swallow me up.

It didn’t.

His footsteps sounded quietly across the carpet, and I pressed my body harder against the wall. He stopped at the doorway, wearing the same amused grin. If I wasn’t terrified, I would have wanted to slap that cocky expression right off his too-handsome face. As it was though, I had no intentions of coming out of my corner—maybe ever.

After a moment he turned away and walked over to the bathroom sink. I wished I’d picked a corner in the other room because even though the bathroom was bigger than any I’d seen, it was still too small. His presence seemed to take up too much of the precious space between us.

He picked up a plastic cup sitting next to the facet, turned on the sink and filled it up. A strange time to stop for a drink, wasn’t it?

But when he turned off the facet, he started toward me and I pressed back so hard against the wall that it felt like the tile on the wall behind me was digging into my bones.

He stopped maybe two feet away and extended the hand holding the cup. He was giving me water? Why? And then he extended his other hand and opened it up. There was a pill in it—ibuprofen, I recognized. Again, why?

“I imagine you must have quite the headache,” he said and extended both hands a little further.

Confused, but recognizing the truth in what he said, I clenched the blanket tighter against me with one hand and took the proffered pill with the other. I popped it into my mouth and reached for the glass, sipping just enough to swallow the pill. Since he’d brought it up, I’d become much more aware of the pain throbbing at the back of my head, and was hopeful the pill would provide some relief. It was difficult to think clearly the way it was pounding. Every beat reverberated through my head.

I handed the glass back and doubled up my grip on the blanket. He took the cup and placed it back on the sink and then returned to where he’d been standing in front of me. He didn’t make any move to touch me. He just stood there. The silence stretched out, winding its way through our frozen tableau and making me feel even jumpier than I’d been.

What the hell did he want from me? Was this a game?—some twisted way of drawing out the anticipation of what was coming? Or was he their lackey?—sent to keep an eye on me until they came back? No, I dismissed the last thought. This man was nobody’s lackey. His clothes, his posture, the tilt of his chin, the aura that radiated from him, the cocky smile, the steely control in his eyes—this man did nobody’s bidding but his own.

So, what did that make him?—the ringleader? He was the alpha who demanded the first bite, and when he was finished the others could have whatever scraps he left behind?

“What…what do you want?” I stuttered in a weak and pathetic voice.

“Ah, you can speak. I was beginning to doubt what Alejandro and Vito had to say about your wicked tongue.”

My wicked tongue? They’d kidnapped me, stripped me and knocked me unconscious, and I was the one with the ‘wicked’ anything?

“Why don’t we have a seat and talk?” he suggested, motioning back toward the other room.

I didn’t want to sit or talk, but at least getting out of this room would put some distance between us. So, I nodded, and then waited for him to leave the room first.

I breathed a small sigh of relief when he’d stepped through the doorway, taking with him the feeling of claustrophobia that had begun to creep in on me, and then I followed him out slowly. But when he sat down on the edge of the bed, I stopped where I was. I was not going to sit on the bed with this man, and since there were no other seats in the room, I decided I was fine right where I was.

“Come closer,” he said in a tone that made it seem like keeping my distance was silly, and yet, two more steps and that was as close as I was going to get.

He chuckled and seemed to let it go. “The first rule you will learn is you will obey. If you don’t, you will be punished however I see fit. Do you understand?”

Understand? No, I certainly did not understand. What the hell was he talking about?

“No,” I cried and backed up several steps.

“No, you don’t understand? Or no, you won’t obey?” he asked easily.

He had to be crazy. “No, I don’t understand what the hell you’re talking about, and no, I will not obey you. You don’t own me.”

“You may not understand, Pet, but you will come to obey me, I assure you.”

I stood there frozen, my mind reeling in shock. This couldn’t be happening. It was beyond insane.

“Now, remove the blanket.”

What? No! Hell, no. I clutched the blanket tighter against me and glared back at him.

“I won’t tell you again,” he said, and though I could tell he meant it, and I didn’t even want to guess at what he was going to do, I stood there stiffly, refusing to relinquish it.

He sighed heavily and rose to his feet. He moved gracefully, like a lion, and I had a sinking feeling I was his prey. He kept coming until he was right in front of me and his presence was ten times more overwhelming—and scary—than it had been in the bathroom. He didn’t look angry. His breathing hadn’t changed and his hands were unclenched, relaxed at his sides, but I knew looks could be deceiving.

I should have run, retreated back to my corner in the bathroom, but he would just follow me there, so I stood my ground.

“I’ll make this easy for you, Pet. Kneel.” His voice was little more than a whisper, but he didn’t need to talk louder. His lips were just inches from my ear.

He wanted me to kneel?—like a dog? I wasn’t some animal he could tame. “I’m not a dog,” I snapped at him.

“No, you most certainly are not,” he agreed as he ran a finger down my jaw. “But you will kneel and you will give me that blanket.”

“Never,” I barked.

“We’ll see about that,” he said, and in a flash, he had my wrists trapped in one, big hand and he was dragging me toward the bed.

I dug in my heels, but I was no match for his strength, and he pulled me with him easily. Once there, he untucked a pair of shackles that had been concealed between the mattress and the box spring and hooked them on my wrists.

I tugged, but the shackles were attached to somewhere in the bed. I was trapped, hunched over at the side of the bed. I couldn’t even stand upright. The blanket had bunched around my waist as he’d dragged me, and he yanked it off, leaving me completely exposed, with no way of covering myself.

I cried and screamed and tugged against the restraints, but it was no use.

“You may kneel, and I will punish you for your disobedience with my hand. Or you can refuse, and I will use my belt.”

That’s why he’d trapped me like this, with more than enough slack to go down on my knees, but not enough to stand up, keeping me in a perfect position to…to punish me.

I screamed louder, hurting my own ears and making my headache more. I twisted and turned in a futile effort to get away while he stood there beside me, just out of reach so I couldn’t even lash out at him. I saw his hands move to his waist, unbuckling the strap of leather…

“Please let me go,” I pleaded in the same futile effort. He wasn’t going to let me go—maybe ever.

He shook his head and then moved behind me, and I knew I had about three seconds left to make a choice. I couldn’t stop this from happening, and the belt was going to hurt a lot more than his hand. But still, I couldn’t force my legs to comply. They would not obey, no matter the consequences. Maybe it was still too unreal. Perhaps I couldn’t believe he would actually do it, that he could actually spank a complete stranger with his belt.

But then I felt his hands on me, grazing over my backside. My attention had been diverted to escape, first from the room and then from his belt, but now I became painfully aware of my state of undress. I was completely naked, bent over more than enough for him to see every part of me. No one had seen me there, and I didn’t want him there now, looking at me, touching me.

Without warning, his hand left my flesh and I felt the sting of his belt, like a lash of fire across my cheeks. I cried out, gripping the bottom of the mattress when my knees threatened to buckle.

Another lash of fire crisscrossed the first. I screamed so loud my throat started to ache.

Another, and then another, and I couldn’t stop my knees from giving out. I sobbed in between screams. He had what he wanted—I was kneeling before him now.

But the belt came down again, lower, across the backs of my thighs. “Stop! What the hell do you want from me?”

He had what he wanted. Why wouldn’t he stop?

The belt struck me again, across my cheeks, on top of a previous strike and blazing ten times hotter.

“You did not obey, Pet. Your knees gave out on you,” he said when he stopped, but then he spanked me again, and the fire made my whole body jerk against the bed. And then again.

“Are you ready to obey?”

“Yes,” I sobbed pathetically as a steady stream of tears dripped down onto my naked breasts.

He dropped the belt on the bed and bent down to unshackle me. He didn’t seem the least bit worried that I’d grab for his belt and give him a taste of his own medicine. But of course he wasn’t worried—he was infinitely stronger than me. The sick freak could have easily pushed me down on my knees if he’d wanted to, but he’d wanted to hurt me and humiliate me. And if I lunged for that belt, I had no doubt he’d do it again.

“Now, turn around and face me. And kneel.”

I hated him. He was sick and twisted and evil. And somehow I would make him pay for this. For now, though, I couldn’t take one more lash across my flaming backside, so I scooted around on my knees and sat back, almost on my heels, when I faced him. Keeping my thigh muscles squeezed tight, I was able to keep myself elevated just enough to stop my heels from digging into the fresh welts that had no doubt risen across my skin.

“Very good, Pet. Next time, don’t make it so difficult for yourself. It will be much easier for you here if you understand that obedience is mandatory.”

I kept my mouth shut. I wanted to tell him where he could shove his obedience, but I wasn’t stupid enough to do it. Or maybe I just wasn’t brave enough. I’d never had to be brave, not like this. And I wasn’t feeling it in overwhelming abundance right now. So instead, I glared at the floor, trying to ignore the red-hot lashes and the eyes I could feel grazing over every inch of me.

“Open your legs and rest your hands flat on your thighs,” he commanded.

Oh god, why was this happening to me? I knew the consequences all too well now if I didn’t obey, but I wasn’t just some whore who could spread her legs on demand.

I tried, while every fiber of my body resisted. Eventually, the will to avoid his belt won out over a lifetime of modesty, and I did what I was told. I obeyed. And I cursed myself for being so weak all the while.

And I sobbed as he looked me over. His expression was neutral, controlled, but I could see the heat blazing in his eyes. It was strange. It was the kind of heated gaze I’d tried to avoid all my life but forced to endure it now, I could analyze it—probably because I couldn’t just sit there. I needed to think about something. And not about why he was doing this, or what he was going to do to me next.

So, where did it come from?—that heat? Was he turned on by me?—by something particular about my body? Or would he be just as aroused by any woman, naked and forced to her knees in front of him? And did that same rationale apply to other men, too? So long as a woman played into his fetish, was she interchangeable?

And how did it make me feel? If I could separate myself from my situation, and pretend he was just an ordinary man—an extremely attractive, ordinary man—how would I feel about him looking at me that way?

I didn’t like my answer.

“You have a very beautiful body, Pet.” He was looking at me expectantly as if he was waiting for me to thank him for the compliment. He really was insane.

He let out a sigh as if he was disappointed, but he seemed to dismiss it. “I’ll tend to your welts now. Climb up on the bed and lay down on your stomach.”

“My…my backside is fine,” I lied, but I’d rather live with the sting for the rest of my life than submit to whatever ‘tending’ he had in mind.

He eyed me for a moment, maybe debating whether my words constituted disobedience. But I had been careful in my phrasing. I didn’t tell him ‘no’, only that it was unnecessary. Apparently, this coward was a quick learner.

“Suit yourself,” he said then, but he proceeded to come even closer. He stopped right in front of me and reached out to stroke his fingers through my hair.

I wanted to pull away, but I held still. There were worse things he could be touching. If I was going to fight him, I was going to save my strength for that. And I knew ‘that’ was coming. If not now, then soon. I choked back a sob, knowing that in the end, no matter how much I fought him, he would take what he wanted. And whatever he couldn’t take, he would just hurt me until I handed it over to him. All it had taken was a few lashes with his belt and I’d jumped to obey. How much more would he take before he was done with me?

An icy chill shivered down my spine at the thought because the answer was clear and far more terrifying than I could have imagined not so long ago. He wanted everything. He wasn’t content to rape me and then leave me alone. If that was what he’d wanted, he would have gotten it over with by now. Forcing me to submit, to obey him…he didn’t just want my body. He wanted my soul.

It was too bad for him there wasn’t much of one left for him to take. But he didn’t care—whole or broken, he’d take it all.

“When I return, I expect you to greet me in this position. Always. Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” I said, a little too eagerly. But if he was going to return, that also meant he was going to leave. I might still be trapped here, but at least I would be alone.

He chuckled, obviously not missing the eagerness in my tone. But he caressed my cheek once more, and then he was leaving. Across the room, at the door, and then he was gone.

When I heard the scrape of the lock, I breathed a sigh of relief and sprang to my feet. He couldn’t damn well make me kneel if he wasn’t here, could he? And I wrapped the blanket back around my body, pulling so tight when I tucked the edge between my breasts that it felt like an old-fashioned corset, cinching my breasts together. I didn’t care. It felt like armor, and I was glad to have it back on. Exactly how long I’d have it on before he made me take it off again, I didn’t know. But I intended to have a better plan than to cry and obey him figured out before he returned.