Ashes to New Page 3

  Clark Preston gestured down the hall. “Soon, but first, can I interest you in a drink? I have whiskey, scotch, or beer, if you prefer.”

  “Do you have Gentleman Jack?”

  “I was betting you were a Jack fan. Two fingers, neat?”

  John Snowden nodded. “Please.”

  The men left Elsbeth and Forest in the hall. In that sliver of a moment, Forest reached for her hand, curling his fingers around hers. They weren’t allowed to speak, but everything that needed to be said was communicated in the squeeze of his fingers. He was there for her, as much as she would be for him.

  Forest mouthed, Time will pass.

  And, indeed, it would.

  “Elsbeth!” Clark Preston’s command snapped her to her feet. “Judge Johnson desires your attention.”

  She hustled to the great room, unsurprised to find the judge reclined in one of the two leather seats. A couch separated the two facing chairs. Clark Preston busied himself at the bar while the judge and John Snowden took residence in the camel-colored chairs.

  Judge Johnson had his belt unbuckled and his trousers unzipped. There was no reason to ask for direction.

  “Boy,” John Snowden snapped, “come here.”

  While Forest moved to the spot in front of John Snowden, Elsbeth knelt before the judge and squeezed her eyes shut when the stench of him hit her nostrils. But she remembered Clark Preston’s comment about her lack of enthusiasm, and she sought the quiet nothingness of her mind.

  “No!” John Snowden struck Forest. “Not on your knees, boy. I want a good look at this cock I’ve heard so much about.”

  “Did I not tell you it was impressive?” Clark Preston’s tone was filled with an odd emotion—part respect, part envy, but complete control.

  She rushed to please the judge, bowing to her task with an enthusiasm she did not feel. The sooner she finished, the quicker she could move the attention off Forest and on to her.

  “And the boy is how old?”

  The judge’s breathing deepened while anger bubbled within her and boiled to the surface.

  Clark Preston preened his answer. “Seventeen.”

  “Well, that’s convenient. And the girl?”

  “The same.”

  John Snowden leaned forward, his appraisal intensifying. “Can you imagine what that cock will grow into?”

  Elsbeth suppressed a shudder while listening to the men discussing Forest as nothing more than a piece of meat.

  “Yes,” Clark Preston said with a sigh. “Most impressive.”

  John Snowden leaned back. “Is he a virgin?”

  “No, he’s been fucked many times.”

  “That’s not what I meant. Has he ever done the fucking?”

  “You want him to fuck you?” Clark Preston failed to hide the surprise in his voice or the revulsion laced within.

  John Snowden chuckled. “Not me, you fool. I want him to fuck the girl.”

  “Hmm…” Clark Preston’s consideration of John Snowden’s comment set Elsbeth’s nerves on edge.

  Those were not the words she needed to hear. Their foster father had done many things, but he’d never forced her and Forest into sexual contact before. One had always been a participant with the other held in reserve.

  Who was this John Snowden to their foster father? A powerful man, to be certain, and the roll of bills he’d passed to Clark Preston far exceeded the judge’s paltry stack. A thousand dollars was the usual fee for an evening’s entertainment, but John Snowden had put much more than that in Clark Preston’s hands.

  “In fact,” Clark Preston said with a drawl, “he’s never fucked anyone.”

  Elsbeth squeaked when the judge palmed her head. “Focus, girl,” he said with a snarl. “I’m almost there.”

  Gagging down her revulsion, she bit back a scream when he yanked on her roots and emptied himself down her throat with the force of his climax. The urge to wipe her mouth nearly overpowered her, but the weight of Clark Preston’s stare settled heavily on her shoulders. With the powerful force of her will, Elsbeth sat back on her heels, obedient to a fault.

  “What is his stamina like?” John Snowden leaned forward, his eyes focused on Forest’s flaccid cock.

  “He’s young.” Clark Preston lowered onto the sofa. “And well trained.”

  “I want to watch him fist that beast, and then I want to watch him fuck the girl. Hell, I want to fuck him while he fucks the girl.” John Snowden’s attention turned on her. “I want to fuck every hole—his and hers.”

  The judge chuckled. “Ambitious, are we?”

  “That’s what I’m paying for.” He reached for Forest’s cock but seemed to change his mind at the last minute. “And they’ll obey?”

  John Snowden’s eyes cut to Elsbeth and made her cringe. “I’m very interested in this pair. You said they’d do whatever I wanted?”

  “They will.”

  “Will they come or just go through the motions?”

  Elsbeth’s heart hammered beneath her breastbone. Fear surged in her veins. She was horrified by what this man intended. Worse, shame filled her because she would do everything without question and without a fight.

  “The girl has been trained. She comes like a fucking angel. The boy has not.”

  A sick revulsion crept deep into her bones. That he controlled her with such little effort twisted her from the inside out, but then he’d had five years to condition her responses.

  “I might have some ideas on that.” For the third time, John Snowden’s attention shifted from Forest to her. His eyes narrowed, calculating and cold. “You mentioned a dungeon. I would very much like to see it.”

  “Of course.”

  John Snowden lifted his finger. “But a demonstration first.” He snapped his fingers. “Girl, come here.”

  She couldn’t move without Clark Preston’s consent. And, even though it was foolish to hope, Elsbeth prayed her foster father would command her to stay in place.

  But his mouth opened. His lips moved. His words condemned. “Little one, you will do as Mr. Snowden says.”

  Tears pooled in the corners of her eyes, but she wouldn’t dare blink. He would know what that meant. He knew her every mood, and tears would hand over power because they betrayed weakness. She’d locked the core of her being in the darkest part of her mind, but John Snowden’s demand had snapped all the locks, leaving her raw and breathless.

  “Turn!” He slapped Forest’s hip, twisting him until Forest faced her direction.

  Her stomach sank—please no—but the steel in John Snowden’s expression burned white hot.

  He crooked a finger. “Come, girl.” Pointing down, he indicated precisely where she was to kneel.

  Forest’s breathing hitched. His face paled, and the swell of his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. Even his fingers fluttered against the sides of his thighs.

  She wanted to escape, to turn around and rush right out the patio door, run until her feet bled and her lungs burned. But Forest would be left behind, a boy trapped with predators, and Clark Preston knew the one thing she did not. He knew the names of the people who’d adopted her baby brother. For these reasons, she crawled to the exact spot indicated by Snowden’s finger.

  The smile spreading on John Snowden’s face had her insides a twisting mess. She nearly got sick but managed to control her body’s revulsion for what would come.

  Fear simmered in Forest’s eyes. They’d been forced to do so much but never this.

  A smile spread across John Snowden’s face. “Now, this will be entertaining. We’re going to find out how much stamina you have, little boy.” His pupils dilated, the blackness swallowing the uninspired brown of his eyes. “Open wide, girl. I want to see him fill that pretty mouth of yours.”

  Chapter Five

  THE NIGHT BECAME a river of time, meandering toward morning but never seeming to quite get there. Hardly calm, the moments slipped by in a tumultuous raging torrent, buffeting Elsbeth, until dawn’s cautious light fin
ally cracked through the single small basement window. That sliver of light brought yawns to their tormentors and ushered the men upstairs to their beds. She and Forest remained locked downstairs, but she didn’t care because the arrival of the sun meant one less day of summer stretching out before them.

  She wasn’t entirely certain about Forest’s state of mind. He wasn’t talking to her. Had they broken him? She feared that was the case. He was both too young and too fragile for John Snowden’s merciless coercion. The things done to Forest had turned her stomach and soured her mouth. Even more heartbreaking, she had been one of the tools used to tear apart her precious Beanpole.

  “Forest?” she asked. “Are you awake?”

  His stillness worried her, and while she wanted nothing more than to wrap her arms around him, two things held her back. First, the steel bars of the cage limited her movement, but worse than not being able to hold and console him was the knowledge of exactly what touching him would do.

  Forest slumped against the restraints holding him in place. The Saint Andrew’s Cross creaked with his weight. The leather shackles groaned in protest. Sweat streaked his skin, and his golden locks hung limp where they dragged against his shoulders. His head dipped low, his chin brushing his chest, and his knees sagged, forcing his shoulders to bear the majority of his weight.

  Whether from dejection or exhaustion, he didn’t answer. He’d stopped speaking hours ago.

  His entire body bore the evidence of the evening’s abuse. Cane and whip marks marred his flesh, the visual display both wretched and terrifying.

  Surges of testosterone hadn’t done him any favors. He had bucked authority when he should’ve remained silent. It hadn’t lessened Clark Preston’s plans. Forest’s resistance had done the opposite and spurred the men to tear into him until he gave in and begged for whatever they desired.

  Confined inside the small cage, Elsbeth’s body ached—not from the aftereffects of implements aimed at her flesh, but from her cramped conditions.

  “Forest,” she called out, “please answer me.”

  A moan escaped him, and his head rolled to the side, but he didn’t answer. He was either unable or unwilling, and she prayed for the first. If he were ever unwilling to speak to her, she wouldn’t want to live. Forest was her lifeline. He would keep her spirits up during the darkest of times. Perhaps now, it was her turn to do the same for him.

  Shifting her weight to her left hip did little to relieve the aching in her limbs. Slowly, she reached out and stroked the cold steel. The metal stung her flesh but warmed slowly stealing her body heat as she palmed the unforgiving steel. “It’s not your fault.” She sniffed to hold back the tears. “You can’t let him win.”

  He groaned and pulled himself up until he could bear his weight. “Elsbeth,” he said with an agonized sigh, “I’m sorry.”

  The first night she’d met him, they were twelve, less than a month’s difference in their ages. She’d held him until morning. Sodomized, broken, and bleeding, Forest had been given a stern introduction to his new home, and with a whip, Clark Preston had taught him what would happen to the little girl he now called his foster sister if he disobeyed.

  “Don’t let him win, Beanpole.”

  His head sagged from side to side, ponderous in its movement. “The things I did—”

  “Weren’t your fault.” Shoot, the things she’d done to him were worse.

  “I need you, Bean.” She tried to portray confidence, but her need for his strength tunneled right through her words.

  His head snapped up. The agony etched into his proud features revealed deep cracks in his control. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  As was she, but they would get through this. They always got through it.

  “We have each other, Bean.” They’d always have each other. “Don’t let them take that away. Don’t disappear, not when I need you the most.”

  “Snowden is spending the summer with us.”

  Yes, she had heard the men talking. Clark Preston had spoken of John Snowden moving into the guest room on the upper level.

  But for the whole summer?

  “I love you,” she said. What else could fill the emptiness stretching between them?

  “I love you, too,” he answered. “But I can’t take another night of…of…of that.”

  “Do what you’ve always told me to do. Pack up everything important, and lock it up where they can’t find it. It’s a body, Forest. It’s only a body.”

  Forest’s icy-blue eyes turned up to focus on the door leading to freedom.

  The lock turned.

  She gripped the bar, leaning forward, as if that would give her a better view. The landing wasn’t visible from where she crouched. The stiffening in Forest’s frame told her everything she needed to know.

  He had returned.

  Clark Preston descended the half flight of stairs into the basement, his steps sure and determined. Light even? The anticipation in his tread raised alarm bells in Elsbeth’s mind. Something was different, and that didn’t bode well.

  Their guardian paused before Forest, taking a measured assessment. After devouring Forest with his eyes, Clark Preston then caressed Forest’s skin with his knuckles.

  “You are miraculous,” he said with a hint of awe. “I admire your strength.”

  Forest hung his head, pulling deep breaths in and out of his lungs. He didn’t speak. He wouldn’t, not until commanded. Elsbeth feared what would happen if he did. Could Forest stand much more? It would break him; of that, she was certain.

  Bending her legs beneath her, she assumed the pose for greeting, hands pressed to the floor, forehead touching the backs of her hands. The entire cage shifted with her intent, doing exactly as she’d hoped. Clark Preston’s heated gaze turned her way. And, while her stomach trembled with what would come next, she cheered for the result. Forest would sit this one out.

  Only Forest didn’t sit. Clark Preston forced him to remain on the Saint Andrew’s Cross. When his legs buckled, he groaned against what must have been tremendous pain.

  Clark Preston came to the cage, released her, and drew her to the far corner of the room. “We’re going to try something, my pet.”

  * * *

  It was noon before she was set free.

  Hours of screaming had made her throat bleed. The forced orgasms had taken a different toll. Clark Preston’s face had filled her mind and commanded her performance. When she’d failed, he had attacked Forest with a cane until she begged to be allowed another chance to come.

  Pleased with her progress, Clark Preston left her with instructions to release Forest. It was Saturday, and they had the rest of the day off but were warned that Sunday would bring more guests.

  She released Forest, and he slumped into her waiting arms. He could barely walk.

  “Come,” she said. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

  He moaned. “I can’t do this anymore.”

  “You will.”

  He had to because she couldn’t do it alone. Maybe that made her selfish—to want someone to share in the misery that permeated every painful breath. It had to mean she was a horrible person. But how could she think otherwise?

  She took Forest into her bathroom because she had a tub.

  “Why are you bringing me in here?”

  “It’s easier to help you in here.”

  “I can take a shower in my own bathroom.”

  “You’re not even capable of supporting your weight, Bean.”

  His entire body was covered in dried sweat and crusty secretions. His rank smell inundated her nostrils and forced her to breathe through her mouth.

  “I don’t need your help.”

  His entire body shook as she held him. Getting him into the Jacuzzi tub took effort on both their parts, and it didn’t help that they were still naked from the evening’s activities.

  Forest flinched every time she readjusted her hold. He pulled away when she wrapped her arm around him to steady him. He refuse
d her grip when she tried to help him sit in the tub.

  Hesitant to touch or terrified to be touched? There was little she could do about that.

  He needed a bath, and he wasn’t strong enough to do it himself.

  The water coming out of the faucet was cold, and he hissed when it splashed his feet and lower legs. The water did warm, and with the filling of the tub, tension eased in his body.

  She took the soap from the shower. Opening the cabinet, she retrieved a clean washcloth. When she returned to Forest, the water filled half of the tub. He had his head resting against the back of the tub, slipping down to submerge as much of his body as possible. Tension tugged at the corners of his closed eyes and reflected in the tightness of his jaw.

  Crouching, she positioned herself on the edge of the marble step. “Do you want me to put on the jets?”

  He cracked one eyelid and gave a shake of his head. “I’m good.”

  “Is it too warm?” She leaned over and tested the temperature.

  “It’s perfect. In fact, can you make it a little hotter?”

  Making the adjustments, she dipped the washcloth into the water to wet it and then folded the soap inside. Reaching out, she pressed the washcloth to his upper arm.

  Forest jumped. His eyes flew wide open, and his entire body shifted away.

  She withdrew her hand. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to surprise you.”

  His large hand took the washcloth. “I got this. Maybe just let me sit for a bit?”

  “You might fall asleep.”

  “If I go under the water, I’m pretty sure I’ll wake up.” He held his body rigid, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “Are you okay?”

  The muscles of his jaw clenched. “I will be.”

  But was that the truth? Would either of them ever be okay? And, when Clark Preston went too far, what would happen? What would it take to free her and Forest? There weren’t too many answers to that question. Would she be strong enough? Could she?

  When she glanced at Forest, the answer materialized. She’d be strong enough for whatever it took.