Read Hope Restrained (Estate Series) Online
Authors: M.S. Willis
Hope Restrained (Estate Series)
HOPE
RESTRAINED
(Estate
Series — Book 2)
By M.S. Willis
This
is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any
place, events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story
lines are created from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Hope Restrained: Copyright © 2014 by M.S. Willis
All rights reserved. This book or any portion
thereof may not be reproduced, scanned, distributed in any printed or
electronic form or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written
permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book
review.
ISBN:
978-0-9894479-9-7
OTHER BOOKS BY M.S. WILLIS
Control Series
Book One —
Control
Book Two —
Conflict
Book Three —
Conquer
Novella -
David
Estate Series
Book One —
Madeleine
Abducted
Book 0.5 (Prequel) —
Joseph
Fallen
Coming in 2014
Honor
Bound (Estate #4)
Grace
Restored (Estate #5)
Captured
(Control #4)
Changed
(Control #5)
Hope Restrained is dedicated to the first
fan characters of the series, Erica and Crystal. Good luck to you.
Evil. It’s a concept you believe you understand — a thing
that you can declare, without hesitation, as bad. Within evil, there is no
light, there is no hope, and there is no redemption. That is the steadfast rule
most people regard as truth. This is a story, however, that will make you
question the basic tenets of what you believe. It is an introduction to gray
areas. It is a place where decisions must be made. It is a place where evil is
a unit of measure.
There are situations where a person is given a choice; where
the only available options lie between atrocity and the unthinkable; where one
must decide between honor and betrayal; and where the chances of survival are
slim to none.
She is an assassin: a strong woman who was raised to be a
weapon. She has a brilliant mind and a beautiful soul, but she was tarnished at
birth. Brought up within a criminal network, her life was overshadowed by a
rival network called, The Estate. She was taught early on that The Estate was a
place to be avoided, a path never to be crossed.
Fate is never kind. Even when a woman walks carefully to
elude the dark forces surrounding her, circumstances force her path, however,
and she finds herself facing a beast. The confrontation brings with it a binary
dynamic — kill or be killed — and her existence suddenly grows into
a mission of life or death.
Her name is Hope Delacroix, and when she entered the walls
of The Estate stronghold, she was not — like most women — going in
as a slave …
She was going in as a warrior.
Honor sat still
against the corner of the wall. Her vision diluted and hazed; her thoughts only
making sense when the fog lifted for brief terror-filled moments. Huddled over
herself, tears dripped down her face. The screams, blood-gurgled and agonizing,
echoed through her skull while recycled images stalked her thoughts, never
leaving her, never allowing her escape. Battering and relentless, they tore at
her soul while the hands of men tore at her body. She could leave her body
behind. She could
escape
the flesh. If
only the bits and pieces hadn’t shattered her mind — flashes of crimson
stains accompanying sparks of burning pain. Terror knew nothing of this Hell;
no word is strong enough to describe the waking nightmare, the never-ending
cruelty, of this place.
A door opened and
light flooded in attempting to touch her skin before callously being denied the
chance as the door was once again closed.
He walked towards her,
his features liquid and unsettled as she attempted to see beyond the way light
played along his skin.
“My angel …” Her words
were slurred, her voice so fragile, it barely cut through the silence in the
room.
He covered her mouth,
the warmth of his hand seeping into her cold, chapped lips. The salt of his
skin met the broken areas on her face, but she savored his touch, despite the
reminder of the violence committed against her. She knew better than to talk
— he always wanted her silent.
“I’ve come to take you
away my pet — but only if you are ready for me this time.” His voice
rolled across her senses, the words trapped within a tunnel, the meaning lost
to her understanding. She just wanted him to keep talking, to stay with her, to
never go away. He was her angel, he’d told her so. He’d said he’d take her away
if she were good, if she learned to behave. Every time she failed he had no
choice but to leave her alone with the monsters. She hadn’t been ready before,
the pain too much to keep quiet. She prayed that she could behave, could be
good so he would take her as he’d promised.
His hand brushed down
her cheek, his mouth covering hers as the warmth of his hand moved lower to
cover her breast. She moaned into his mouth, welcoming his touch. Lifting her
from the floor by her arms, he held her when she stood on shaky legs, her body
cold from the lack of clothes and the sudden touch of air across her skin. She
was putty, each muscle refusing to cooperate because of the poisons running
through her blood.
He walked her to a
table in the center of the room and she pulled back to remember the things she’d
seen done to women on its surface, the things that had been done to her.
“Do you resist me?” Dark
and cold, his words were terrifying despite the beauty of his voice.
She cringed. “No
angel.”
Lifting her, he bent
her over the icy metal surface, immediately securing her hands to the shackles
on top and her feet in the short chains connected to the legs of the table. Her
legs spread wide, she was bared to him, unable to move or resist his demands. Her
head rested perfectly on the other end, a small indented piece trapping her
chin in place at the edge.
She felt his large
body over hers, his hand gripping into her hair and tears traveling down her
cheeks at the pain his grip caused.
When he forced himself
inside, she screamed out, her body too abused to handle the contact, her sobs
so thick, she choked on them as they poured from her mouth. He stood behind her
sucking on his teeth, unmoving, until there was an audible “tsk” sound, and
then he slowly pulled out. Her heart sank into her stomach, hating herself for
having failed.
Moving around the
table, her eyes followed him once he came within her peripheral view. He moved
in front of her, placing his hand on her head. She cried louder, her disgrace
wearing heavily upon her body and soul.
“I’m disappointed with
you, pet. I gave you another opportunity and you failed.” He paused, letting it
sink in that she wouldn’t be saved. “Open your mouth so you can clean off your
shame.”
He grasped the hair at
the top of her head and pulled up, opening her impossibly wide before cleaning
himself within the wet heat of her mouth. “Maybe if you are good the next time,
I won’t have to leave you to be punished again.”
When he’d released,
she swallowed down the taste of her failure before he removed himself from her
mouth and left the room while her tears ran in rivulets towards the table to
which he’d left her strapped.
The wind howled as Hope Delacroix stood surveying the
perimeter of the shadowed house. While tearing at the base of her black leather
trench, the angry wind also beat against the branches above her, unrelenting as
the wood creaked and groaned. Slowly, methodically, she willed the rate of her
breath, calming her body. Her head tilted slightly as she listened for other
noises outside of the wind rushing past her ear. Sweat prickled along her skin
despite the cold.
Maybe, it had been an
accident.
It was a thought that only served to render false comfort.
She’d gone missing three weeks prior. Three long,
aggravating weeks during which Hope had paced the streets, desperately seeking
out any clue that could be found in the dank and dirty alleyways that acted like
a maze within the city.
She knew her sister had been taken, some instinct within her
telling her that darkness was creeping along the edges of her life; small
tendrils of which reached out, wrapping around her despite her efforts to avoid
its gaze. She wasn’t surprised to receive a call from a man claiming to be the
abductor, but what did surprise her was the identity of that man. It was not
his name. No, she didn’t believe he was honest when he identified himself. It
was the network to which he belonged that had been the terrifying shock to her
system.
The Estate. It was a dark power, created by evil and
demented so thoroughly that it lorded over other criminal networks, imparting
fear of a wrong word or wrong move. There were rumors that Joseph Carmichael
had sold his soul to the devil to gain the wealth and power he had over so
short a period of time. But those who’d been in The Estate — the few who’d
survived and made it out with their tongues and minds intact — they
laughed at the rumor. From what they’d seen inside those large foreboding walls
of the compound, Joseph Carmichael hadn’t “sold his soul”; he was the devil
himself.
She remembered a rumor two years prior that Joseph had been
killed. At first, she didn’t believe it — but, when those rumors persisted,
when a year had passed and the dealings of The Estate had lessened, she grew
nervous. Trepidation crept along her bones as she wondered: what was so
powerful it could destroy Joseph?
Now, standing outside a two-story mansion within The Estate
compound, she flicked a knife in her right hand and rested her left on the butt
of a gun she had tucked into the waistband of her pants. There was no movement
outside except for the stirring of leaves in the violent wind at her feet. The
windows of the house were blacked out, preventing her from seeing inside. She’d
wished for an easy solution; break in, find her sister, and get out. But she
knew the likelihood of success was low.
Jumping the walls hadn’t been difficult. She chuckled to
think that she was probably the first person to attempt entering The Estate
uninvited. The compound had a reputation for swallowing bodies — once a
person entered those gates, very rarely were they seen again. What was the use
of keeping people out, when it was almost guaranteed they’d never leave?
But she’d had no choice, her sister was too precious, too
good to be left victim to the beast. And now, Hope had to enter that house.
Creeping forward slowly, she stepped softly across the dried
leaves that blanketed the ground — a silent stalker covered in the
blanket of night. The wind continued tearing at her hair and her coat slapped
the backs of her calves — the sound, reminiscent of skin against skin. Her
boots felt heavy on her feet and she forced her heart to beat slowly,
methodically, when she breached the shadows around the building.
Fear trickled along her spine. She knew it could never be
this easy, that there were eyes watching her, silently laughing, thinking she
believed she was alone. She knew better than to be so ignorant to believe they
hadn’t already noticed her; they were too well-organized to be surprised by an
ambush. Despite that knowledge, she had to try. Fighting had been ingrained in the
life she led as an assassin.
She’d begun her training when she was still in braids. While
her sister played with dolls and paint, Hope was given blades and sticks. She
was different than her twin, darker somehow, and the adults had simultaneously
admired her and feared her. They’d noticed her differences early on, and after
the discovery, they’d fed and fostered her odd
proclivities
.
But her sister, Honor … she was always the light, almost as
if they’d split apart when their mother had carried them; the light and dark
sides of one soul, so opposite of one another that they couldn’t be contained in
a single body. Hope was the older twin, always protective of the innocence of
Honor. She adored her, and at times grew jealous of Honor’s talent in art,
music and writing — all the things that were beautiful and pure in the
world around them. And whereas Honor was skilled in things of beauty, Hope was
skilled in death and pain.
When she’d learned that Honor had disappeared, she’d lost
her mind, sleeping only two fitful hours a day so that she’d have more time to
search every square inch of the city. Hope felt lost without Honor — darker,
somehow. Without her, there was nothing to pull Hope back from the darkness
that consumed her.
Rounding the corner of the house, Hope’s eyes looked up into
the face of a camera that clicked quietly, following her movements, a hidden
eye watching her and tracking her path. When she heard a branch break beneath
the foot of another person, she gripped her blade tighter against her palm. Turning
slowly, her gaze fell on five men, all armed, guns drawn with her body in their
sights. Flicking the knife in her hand, she smiled. Despite her hesitancy, it
was time.
“Hello boys.” She kept her voice calm, genial, in an attempt
to hide the terror and determination coursing through her veins. She knew she
appeared an easy target — a beautiful woman, tall –yet slim. It was
too much for their testosterone driven egos to believe that she could hold her
own against them. But that was exactly why Hope was so good at what she did.
The men sneered, confident in their belief that they had her
cornered. The tallest of the group spoke first.
“Hope Delacroix. We’ve been waiting for your arrival.”
She noticed how the man’s hand shook slightly as he
spoke. The corner of her lip curled up to discover his anxiety. “Nervous?”
Stepping forward she flipped the side of her trench to
expose the skin of her abdomen. Her typical uniform of black leather pants connected
to straps that wrapped her body to conceal her breasts. The design was not only
intended to prevent her clothes from becoming a hindrance when she fought, but
also to distract her opponent.
“There’s nothing to fear with me.” The knife flicked again,
turning slowly, effortlessly in her hand. “I’ve just come to join the party.”
His hand raised and her eyes shot to see the recorder that
he held. A dimple appeared on his shadowed cheek when he grinned and pressed
the button on the recorder.
“Hope.” It was her sister’s choked word and Hope’s body tensed
in reaction to the sound. “Please.” She groaned, pain evident in her voice. “Help
me, please.” Rage bloomed within Hope’s chest to hear it, but she had to
breathe steady, had to remain calm in the face of the only thing in the world
that could destroy her.
He released the button. “Did you want to cooperate Ms.
Delacroix, or shall I tell my boss that you declined his invitation?”
Her eyes narrowed, but she kept her expression open,
malleable. She’d been trained to never reveal weakness.
Holding out her arm, she indicated towards the front of the
house. “Shall we?”
The men didn’t move, keeping their guns trained on her face
and body, their expressions filled with uncertainty and caution.
The tall man stepped forward, lowering his gun, and reached
out to indicate as well. “Ladies first.”
Hope eyed him, a sweet smile still adorning her face. She
turned her head away from the man and stepped towards the house. She listened to
the rest of his group lower their weapons, relaxing now that she’d complied. When
they’d neared the front entrance, the man behind her stepped faster, quickly
grabbing her left arm to force her up the steps.
His scream was loud — but lasted only a second.
Spinning rapidly, Hope had caught his throat with the
serrated edge of her blade, had pushed the tip inside, using the motion of her
spinning body to rip it outwards, severing the tissue and the bone — the
blood spraying out across her golden skin. His body dropped quickly and silently
to the ground, just as four guns cocked in unison at her back.
Reaching up, she wiped the blood from her face and turned to
look at the men.
They tensed when she held up her hand to show them the blood
smeared across her skin. “Are you upset about this?” She laughed. “Don’t worry.
As long as you don’t make the same mistake, you will be allowed to continue
breathing.” Her brow arched. “We can be friends as long as you remember to never
touch me.”
Spinning on her heel, she took a deep and calming breath
before stepping up the large staircase and entering the dark and shadowed
mansion.
~
~
~
“You’re insane. That’s nothing more than a suicide mission. Not
even I am capable of pulling something like that off.” Her eyes locked on the
man who stood before her. At his feet, knelt her sister, a mirror image of
herself, now marked and bruised from her captivity over the previous three weeks.
Honor didn’t look up and Hope assumed it was because her sister understood the
importance of remaining as emotionless as possible.
His voice was slow and assured when he smiled and responded,
“You, my beautiful girl, are the
only
person who can succeed. Everybody is well aware of your status within the smaller
networks. If any person can compete against Aaron Carmichael — it’s you.”
“What happens if I don’t kill him? No man has attempted to
assassinate Aaron and survived. He enjoys his job too much, feeds off of it,
from what I hear.”
He chuckled. “Then it appears you two have something in
common.” The sudden transformation of his expression from jovial to stern was
unnerving. “I suggest you succeed, Ms. Delacroix.” His hand flinched and the
chain wrapped around her sister’s neck tightened. “Her life depends on it.”
She looked down into Honor’s face. She wasn’t in pain, but
she was so heavily drugged that even if she had been horribly injured, she
wouldn’t have been aware.
Hope’s hand twitched, her desire to snap his neck while shoving
her blade deep inside him, overpowering the calm façade she wore. They’d not
bothered to strip her of her weapons when she’d entered, realizing she wouldn’t
act in a way that could kill her twin. Pacing, she continued rolling her blade
in her hand, her other hand fisting in anticipation of a kill. Surveying the
room, she noticed how the men stood about, guns drawn, booted feet held at
shoulder width in postures intended for a fight. Her sister was barely able to
hold herself in an upright and kneeling position on the floor — her body
appeared frail, her spirit already broken. What had these men done to her? Hope
could only assume the worst, but kept her expression bored and blank.
“You need something from me — that much is apparent. Why
help you if you’ll only destroy her in the process? Each day she remains here
could be her last. Your treatment of her is obvious.”
He mocked her when he smiled. “I believe you’ve just
discovered your incentive to move quickly, Ms. Delacroix. The longer you take,
the longer she is made to suffer. Once you accomplish your task, you are free
to take her home. I have enough toys to keep me adequately entertained. I won’t
miss giving up this one should you comply.”
Her eyes searched the room and she took note of the women
that were chained or bound in some manner. Naked and obviously used, they were
withdrawn — most likely drugged like her sister. “I can see that.”
“Although, I wouldn’t mind playing with twins. You don’t
have to take her home immediately. She’s not much to play with, having broken
so easily. I suspect you could be more suitable for a man of my tastes.”
A humorless laugh escaped her. Hope’s eyes leisurely looked
over his body and she walked to him slowly, seductively, until she could feel
the heat of his body roll across hers. It would be so easy to strike out, to
hit him with one fatal blow, but his men outnumbered her and she knew better
than to try. With her eyes locked to his, she ran her hand over his abdomen and
chest, eventually following his shoulder to his bicep where she squeezed.
“You are strong, I’ll give you that.” She whispered to him
so that only he could hear; the red stain to her lips brushing across his skin
as she spoke. “But I doubt you can handle me.” She felt him tremble slightly at
her touch.
His head rotated slowly until his mouth pressed against her
ear. “Come back when you’ve killed Aaron and we’ll find out then just how well
I can handle my toys.”
Wrapping itself tightly around her blade, her palm ignited
in pain as it gripped the razor sharp edge. She wanted to bury the steel in his
body, feel the resistance of his skin when she ripped it apart — but that
wouldn’t save her sister.
“You can count on the fact that I’ll return when I’m
finished, and then you and I will play.” Despite the disgust that prickled
along her skin, she placed a soft kiss on his cheek before turning to exit the
house.
“One more thing, Ms. Delacroix.”
She stopped, turning her head slightly so that she could
hear what he had to say.
“There’s an Estate meeting in the ballroom this evening. I
suggest you clear your calendar so that you may attend. If you fail, we’ll keep
your sister alive — that is, until she can no longer serve our needs. I
want to make sure you understand that fact. I hope it’ll act as additional
incentive for your success.”