1 CHAPTER ONE
A delicious, familiar, new car smell met her nostrils. They were talking, two of them, two male voices raised in angry purpose and determination. Kayla knew her languages enough to discern the dialect was Russian. The gorgeous lyrical quality of the language was not heard between the two speakers, though. Their heated words and the hard consonants did not comfort.
She felt a tightness at her wrists and ankles and tried to pull away at her binds but it was futile. The Monkees’ “Daydream Believer” played softly on the car stereo. Everything had a nightmarish quality, the sweet clean scent of the AC and the gentle purr of the motor. It could have been any other day where Kayla was taking a drive with her parents. What was happening? Or what had happened? She remembered seeing her parents. Sharing that moment when everything was safe and warm. She felt loved by her mom and her dad. How had her world changed? She was beginning to panic. She felt the fear rising inside her chest as it seized her stomach. It crawled up and she felt the piercing point of it within her heart.
It was as if everything she had believed was safe and trustworthy in this world revealed its true nature now and it had been turned as a weapon against her. Suddenly darkness came again, but not that pulling, heavy, choking darkness. Her vision had simply gone out. Then she was moving, there was a shuffle of movement, but it seemed the dark choreography of whatever was happening to her had gone smoothly for her kidnappers.
She knew suddenly she was within four walls. Strange how the human equilibrium and sensory capabilities can map out necessary information.
Kayla could hear someone breathing, and she knew she was female. Suddenly the darkness was swept away like a curtain, like tissue paper from a present. The cloak that held her in the dark was pulled away and now she could who stood before her.
She was a short, squat woman. Her features were somewhat coarse, and her eyes had somewhat of a languid slant. When she spoke, her Filipino accent was thick.
“Miss Kayla Mistry. I am Chona, housekeeper of Mr. Chadwick Wadleigh’s castle. You need not know much for your time here. You have been purchased, girl, solely for the master’s pleasure and fulfillment of his sexual needs. For tonight I will escort you to your chamber to wait for Mr. Wadleigh to call for you at dinner.”
Chona took Kayla’s arm and led her from the room and up a shiny mahogany staircase. They reached what would surely be her chamber. Inside were swathes of pale blue satin curtains, a bed with a blue satin bedspread and tasseled pillows, and white carved oak furniture.
“The master wishes for you to wear this to dine with him,” Chona said, turning to Kayla. She held up a dress with both of her hands. It was lush and black with silk spaghetti straps and a gold lace detail. Kayla thought if she’d had a mask, it would be the perfect ensemble for a masquerade.
“Change into this and freshen yourself, girl. When you are ready, ring this bell, and I will summon you when the master is ready.”
Chona left and closed the bedroom door behind her. Kayla suddenly felt like a doll in a dollhouse, within a dollhouse-like room and the glamorous dress lying upon the bed, waiting for her to be placed within it and her hair primped for formal presentation. She changed into the dress, too scared and nervous to rebel, and twisted her hair into a loose chignon with dark brown curls falling at the sides of her face.
Kayla looked in the mirror, and she did not recognize herself. She was a princess from some far away land, or a maiden in a fairy tale. She rang the bell and waited for Chona to escort her to her doom.
When Chona entered the room, she seemed to pause at the sight of Kayla. “That will do,” she said. Then the older woman took her by the arm and led her into a darkened hall, where only an antiquated-looking oil lantern rested upon a hideously carved curio cabinet.
“This way,” Chona said, holding Kayla’s arm firmly where she could not escape her grasp easily, but softly enough to where it would not leave a mark.
It seemed they walked down an endless array of dark, twisting staircases. Their footsteps rang hollowly on the ancient wooden floors. Finally they came to a large door with a black oval knocker upon it. Chona opened it and veritably thrust Kayla into the room as she said, “Sit down and behave yourself, child. The master is in.”
A long, ostentatious table decorated with endless silver was softly lit by firelight. A chair was pulled out for Kayla already, and she sat down in it quickly and pushed herself to the table. Only then did she look up towards the man sitting at the end.
And Kayla would never have expected the surprise her eyes were met with. For instead of her being the mysterious diner in the mask, the man seated opposite her had succeeded in filling this role.
He spoke. His British accent was soft and lilting, like music, and his voice was deep and rich.
“Miss Mistry, I am pleased you have made it in one piece to my castle. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Sir Chadwick Wadleigh, but you are only permitted to greet me as your master.”
Kayla could say nothing. She was gripped by something unexplainable. She was not inexperienced, but it was something she had not truly felt in so long.
And that something Kayla soon realized was latent physical lust. And brought on only by this man’s voice in her ears.
He was dressed in a black tuxedo, and his face was covered with a bolero mask, black as night. His form seemed massive in the fire-lit darkness. He was clearly made of strong build, and it seemed his arms were thickened by muscle.
But his face, as far as Kayla could tell, was aquiline, and his mouth… his mouth made her feel so strange inside, as if she could feel a sort of pulling deep within her core. It was large and sensual with full, beige lips.
But she was annoyed by his audacity after what she had been put through this very night, the fear, the certainty she felt in the car with those men that she would surely be dead quickly. And perhaps most volatile with her temper was the fact that her body seemed to want to open for this man, every pore of her being wanted to scream for him.
“Do you treat all your female guests this way, Mr. Wadleigh?” Kayla asked.
It could have been her imagination, but a ripple seemed to go through his form, a tremor. He coolly collected himself.
“I believe you are the only female guest who has ever graced this castle in my years of residence, Miss Mistry. If I were you, I would feel privileged.”
“I suppose cruelty, darkness, and submission are a privilege?”
The oddest, most humorless smile tugged at the corners of his haunting mouth. He licked his lips. “They can be, yes, Miss Mistry.”
Kayla could feel her chest rising and falling softly with each intake of breath. Besides the sense of pulling deep within was a synchronous sense of tightening. It was like he was conducting a symphony with his voice and words, and her body was the hapless instrument.
“So,” Kayla asked, trying to disguise the quiver in her voice. “You find it gratifying to randomly select a young girl to bring to your lair to ravish?”
He was silent for the slightest space of a second. Then he brought a hand to his mouth, wiping his lips with a long forefinger. “No, Miss Mistry, not at all. You were hand-selected by me.”
And it was as if an invisible hand suddenly entered into her being and squeezed softly at her insides.
“But enough of our delightful banter. Please, eat. Nourish yourself.”
“I don’t have an appetite, thank you. Master.”
Again, that illusion of a shuddering across his form. “Very good, Miss Mistry, what you meant for taunt is approved for my delight and pleasure. You have successfully greeted me in the proper manner of my station. Now, if you do not wish to partake of the delicious assortment of food at my table, kindly leave my dining room and I will have Chona take you up to your room. I will arrive there shortly.”
Anger coursed through Kayla. “The hell you will.”
He seemed to stare at her intently. There was silence. Empty, dripping, harrowing silence.
“As you see more and more of me, Miss Mistry, you might see more of hell indeed.”