Wicked Master's Trap

Chapter 5

"What is happening here?"

A deep voice echoed, laced with authority, followed by the slow thud of approaching footsteps.

Kiara's breath hitched. Her head turned toward the sound, and there he was.

Master Asher.

Her lips parted, soft and unsure, and Asher’s eyes zeroed in on the small movement. He bit down lightly on his lower lip, gaze locked on her face, the same face that had haunted him ever since he'd left for Queenvich. That innocence. That quiet beauty. Still untouched by the filth of the world around her.

Zander groaned when he saw who had interrupted him. His hand dropped from Gabrielle’s wrist.

And without a second's delay, Gabrielle stumbled back. She quickly moved in front of Kiara, placing herself like a fragile shield between her and Zander. The sight made him smirk.

Even now, she dared to protect someone else?

“I’m sorry, Master,” Patrick rushed forward, sensing the shift in the air. “I’ll take them away.”

But Zander wasn’t done. He raised a hand and motioned toward Gabrielle.

“She’s coming with me. Take the other one.”

Patrick paused, uncertain.

Then came Asher’s voice, calm, but with an edge of steel.

“Patrick, take both.”

Zander’s expression dimmed.

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

Asher had never cared who he took. Never interfered.

Seated in one of the shadowy chambers of the Zest Coterie, Zander poured himself a glass of liquor, the amber liquid catching the flickering candlelight. He grumbled, voice thick with irritation, “I mean, come on. Why would you do that? I was one second away from tasting that feisty little kitten. Don’t tell me you’re interested in her.”

Asher exhaled slowly, the end of his cigar glowing faintly.

“No,” he said calmly.

Zander studied him for a beat, brows raised. There was something too measured in Asher’s tone, too collected. A smirk curved his lips.

“Then what? Was it the blackhead?”

Asher’s hand stilled midair.

Zander chuckled, catching the reaction.

“Knew it.” His voice turned hungry, darker.

“But I still don’t get it. Why stop me from taking that wild one? God, the way she opposes.”

Asher finally looked up, eyes meeting Zander’s without flinching.

“You’ll get her,” he said.

Zander leaned back with a satisfied sigh. When Asher made a commitment, he delivered.

“I need a f**k,” Zander muttered, standing to go hunt for a concubine.

Right on cue, a sultry voice cooed from the front chamber.

“Master…”

The same blonde, expecting Asher, stood in the doorway, fully bare, her curves shamelessly on display. Her breasts pushed forward as she leaned, hoping it was Asher she’d caught.

But it wasn’t.

Zander’s eyes lit up. He stalked toward her. She gasped when she realized it wasn’t the man she expected, but it was too late. Zander gripped her wrist and dragged her inside like a toy he was tired of waiting to play with.

Asher leaned back in his chair, cigar smoke curling around his face.

Poor girl, he thought grimly.

When Zander’s pissed, he doesn’t f**k, he ravages.

Kiara’s face wouldn’t leave his mind.

Her soft lips. Her wide eyes. The innocence she tried to tuck away from a world like his. And that was the problem.

She wasn’t meant for men like him.

But he was done pretending.

He was going to take that innocence. Devour every ounce of her. Brand her.

Loud moans echoed from the adjacent room, raw, desperate, and vulgar. Asher’s jaw clenched. Each sound scraped at his sanity. When Zander started groaning, it became too much.

“f*****g keep it down,” he snapped.

Silence followed.

He yanked a newspaper off the table, eyes scanning nonsense, trying to anchor himself, to distract from the ache in his blood.

But nothing worked.

Not when the memory of her still burned behind his eyes.

He couldn’t touch another woman now.

Not after seeing his angel again.

Once he had her in his hands, he wouldn’t let her leave his bed.

Not for a night.

Not ever.

..........................................

Kiara and Gabrielle froze, their bodies trembling with fear as Beatrice’s eyes blazed with fury. The older woman stormed toward them like a predator, and before either could react...

Crack.

A brutal slap struck Kiara’s delicate cheek, sending her crumpling to the cold floor. A soft, pained cry escaped her lips as her palm flew to the burning sting. Her wide, innocent eyes shimmered with tears, her fragile frame curling inward like a wounded child.

“How dare you filthy lowlives!” Beatrice’s voice rang out, venom lacing every word.

“It wasn’t her,” Gabrielle cried, falling beside her friend, shielding Kiara’s trembling body. “She didn’t do anything! Hit me instead...please!”

But mercy wasn’t something Beatrice knew.

“Mozelle,” she barked to her assistant, “take them to the basement. Ten lashes each. No food. No water. Not until tomorrow night.”

Mozelle’s face twisted into a cruel grin, her eyes alight with excitement at the order.

“With pleasure, Madam. I’ll make sure they remember this lesson in their bones.”

Without another glance, Beatrice turned on her heels and walked away, her heels clicking like a death sentence against the stone floor. She didn’t care to see what came next.

But Mozelle did.

“Grab these rats,” she spat, and the female guards obeyed instantly.

Rough hands seized Kiara and Gabrielle, yanking them up by their arms as they whimpered in fear. Kiara’s knees scraped against the floor, her voice cracking with soft sobs.

“Please! Don’t hurt her! It’s my fault! Just take me!” Gabrielle begged, fighting against the guards with everything she had.

But her pleas fell on deaf ears.

No one came to save them.

And as they were dragged toward the darkness of the basement, the sound of their desperate cries echoed down the halls, just another forgotten song in a household that thrived on cruelty.

As the guards dragged Kiara and Gabrielle down the cold stone corridor, their wrists bruising beneath the tight grip, the air thickened with helplessness. Their skirts scraped along the floor, their whimpers echoing faintly against the walls.

A blood-curdling scream tore from Kiara’s lips as the whip sliced across her back.

Agony ignited in her nerves like fire, every lash burning deeper than the last. Her delicate frame jerked with each strike, the coarse rope digging cruelly into her wrists as it held her suspended above the ground. Tears streamed silently down her cheeks, her cries barely echoing in the stone-walled chamber anymore, her voice already hoarse from pleading.

And then, suddenly, the tension in her arms gave way.

The rope uncoiled from her wrists, and her body collapsed to the cold floor like a broken doll. Her arms were numb, her skin raw and bloodied. The freezing ground stung her bruised knees and torn feet, but she couldn’t bring herself to move.

Through the haze of pain, her eyes fluttered open.

Gabrielle.

She spotted her friend slumped in the far corner, unconscious. Her tangled hair draped across her battered face, her body unnervingly still. Kiara’s heart twisted with panic, but she couldn’t even crawl to her.

She didn’t have the strength.

Mozelle’s cold voice echoed as she turned to leave.

“Let them rot a while. They’ll learn.”

The guards chuckled and followed her out, the heavy door groaning shut behind them.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Shivering, Kiara curled into herself, her fragile form folding in tight. Her lips trembled as she whispered between sobs,

“Mommy... Daddy... please save me…”

The pain. The fear. The loneliness. It all swallowed her.

Somewhere between whimpers and tears, her consciousness slipped. Sleep claimed her like a shadowy fog, and in it, a dream emerged.

She was somewhere warm. Somewhere safe. And standing before her was a man cloaked in moonlight, his grey eyes locked on hers, not with cruelty, but with an aching softness.

His voice was a whisper that wrapped around her soul.

“You are mine, little one… and I will always protect you.”

And for a brief, flickering moment... she believed him.