Binding Ties

Chapter One

Sophie lay cooped up in the darkness, on a bed made for fucking, not sleeping.

The springs unrelenting against her, the sheets stained with grease and sweat, the blood still tangible in the scent.

Her “chambers” as she’d heard them referred to were on the upper level of the club – one of the rooms specifically designed for private sessions. Private sessions or blind torture, in most cases. Every sadistic impulse known to man – every screaming moment of agony that most of these girls would go – haunted the rooms.

And she was expected to sleep up there.

Helplessly, she shifted on the mattress, lying on her back to stare up at the dark, oppressive ceiling – painted matte black in contrast to the vivid, tacky crimson on the walls.

Jesus, she’d just been trying to keep their heads above water – since the money that her mother had stolen from the Dobrev funds had ran dry, the seven of them had been living in a tiny two bedroom apartment on the shitty side of Manchester.

Well, the six of them really, her brother Bradley hadn’t been heard of for over a year now, he’d just packed his things in the night and vanished. It was a relief really, he was too much of a live wire – he missed the world they’d grown up in, hungered for the power that their father had wielded. It would only have been a matter of time before he’d gotten them all killed fucking around in games he thought he knew the rules to, because he’d been watching the Dobrev family run a unit for years.

So when they woke up one morning to find him gone – with not even a note on the kitchen table to give any indication where they might find him, the only thing that had concerned them was how to tell their mother. But so far, she hadn’t even asked – blessed with a mother’s instinct as she must have been.

The girls had been free to look out for themselves.

She had no qualifications, so when the possibility of a job at Asylum had come up – with a more than beneficial salary, she hadn’t really had a choice. The hours were good, it meant she could arrange for the three youngest to get to school – lunches, uniforms, breakfasts etc – sleep a few hours, pick them up again, and get them settled before starting a new shift at six or seven. Chloe, Sophie’s twin, would then be around in the evenings after college to settle the kids for the night shift, and make sure their mother had everything she needed.

It had been a perfect system – honed and tweaked for the past five years since their mother had been diagnosed with Breast Cancer. At the time, she’d been given eighteen months – that was all the doctors had said she had left, but five years later she was beating the odds.

She wasn’t living – she couldn’t really move out of the bed anymore – but she was alive. Frail and helpless as she stared at the TV, but existing nevertheless.

Sophie started as the door began to creak quietly in the darkness – that dank odour of dry sex was heavy in the air, taunting her.

She refused to cower, even as he stepped into the room – the scarred one – the one with shadows in his eyes. She wouldn’t cower, even in a room of whips and chains there was nothing left for him to break her.

She didn’t move as his eyes searched for the small figure in the dark, oppressive room.

“I ...” his voice faltered. Now that he was here, he had no clue what to say.

She looked so fragile – and yet her spine was stiff beneath the covers. He could see that she feared him, it wasn’t new for him – his face was sliced up, he knew that alone would be enough to send a shiver down your spine, even if you weren’t on sale in the centre of an International sex trafficking business. But she didn’t flinch – or cower away – she met his eyes dead centre – those turquoise blue depths dragging him in.

Though her features were small, they had a sort of sharpness, a definition that he’d never seen any woman have without make-up before her – thick, dark lashes that curled naturally, a softly rounding nose that turned up slightly at the end, and high cheekbones that sloped down to frame a full and sensual pout.

Though she was nowhere near the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, there was something about her. The second he’d seen her picture again, something elemental and primitive had sparked inside him – something roaring, and hungry for vengeance.

Which was fucking mental, because he couldn’t afford to get mixed up with the Russians - not after the last time he’d crossed those borders.

It must be her story that was sparking this need to protect her – it must be the job.

“You ...?” she raised a manicured blonde eyebrow as she sat up and crossed her arms over her chest – the thin sheets falling to her hips to reveal her upper body, encased in a tight black tank top that cupped her breasts.

He realised just how long he must have been standing there – just staring. He realised how captivated he was at the mere sight of her on that bed.

“I wanted to see if you’re okay?” his voice was coarse, and rasping, like it always was – but there was a softness in there, underlying it.

Her eyes narrowed defiantly as she looked back into his green eyes, trying to piece him together. His eyes were different from the other burly men on security. Not so you’d notice, if you didn’t spend so much time trying to catch them, but he fascinated her – his shadows, his darkness – the hidden, razor-cut edges of brutality that most of the men in this place would kill for. Where they wore their darkness on their sleeves, he had no need to.

But still, she knew she could trust nobody in this place.

“Just fucking peachy,” she said jovially, her eyes turning away from him to run across the tools of torture hanging on the walls, “Being sold into slavery has always been a big ambition of mine – it’s about time I was living the dream.”

For a long, drawn out moment, he said nothing. His eyes ran over her slender form, curled up as she was on the bed with an iron spine, and fire in her blood, she still looked ... broken.

He licked his suddenly dry lips, fighting the urge to drag her into his arms and out of the door – every time he left he fought it – because there was a plan, a strategy meticulously thought out to break down the networks.

Once the infrastructure was cracking, they could make their move.

Until then, it was sit tight.

“You’re not alone,” he said quietly, watching the harsh lights from the corridor glare across her like a brand, “You need to know that.”

She gasped in false wonder, her eyes widening imitating a child’s.

“Is the army on their way sir? Will the fairies spring the locks and set me free?” she lay back against the lumpy pillows, turning away to face the crimson walls, her voice dejected and cold, “Tell them not to bother. Shut the door behind you.”