Home > Irish Rogue (Brooklyn Kings #5)

Irish Rogue (Brooklyn Kings #5)
Author: L.K. Shaw


Chapter 1



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Not for the first time, I wish he’d kill me already.

It would be a much kinder fate than to continue enduring the pain and torture he inflicts. But Krzysztof Gornak is neither kind nor merciful. A lesson I learned the day he bought me.

I sit on the only piece of furniture in my room, huddled against the wall with my knees to my chest. I laugh bitterly. Almost maniacally. Room? More like prison cell. A cold shiver dashes across my neck. Goose bumps pepper my arms. The only clothing I’m allowed is a thin scrap of sheer fabric that’s meant to entice.

To seduce.

Still, I welcome the false sense of modesty it provides, even though it offers nothing more than if I were completely naked. It exposes everything. It’s my tormentor’s intent. His men need to see what they’re getting for their money. Bile rises in my throat. Gornak has done nothing but taunt me since yesterday.

“I found a buyer for you,” he announces in his heavy Polish accent the second he strolls into my room. “He’s going to pay a high price for that sweet pussy of yours. And your ass. The man is massive, too. No doubt he’ll make you bleed. I better get one final taste of that tight, little hole before he ruins it.”

After everything he’s done to me—forced me to do—I thought my tears had dried up, but there seem to be more left. Screams echo outside my room. On most days, I can ignore them, but sitting here, waiting to be taken to the next monster who will own me, they’re all I focus on. The endless wailing that serves as a reminder of who we are.



Fuck toys.

Over the faint screams, footsteps plod down the hallway. The familiar creak from that one spot on the floor makes me tremble, and not just from the cold.

My gaze darts to the door. There’s a click, and the knob slowly turns. My heart pounds. Vomit churns. I swallow it back and try to control my breathing. A narrow crack appears, then widens, until Gornak steps through, carrying something in his hand. The evil grin he wears when he’s feeling particularly sadistic contorts his face into a macabre picture. I bite my cheek, and blood fills my mouth. The copper flavor of it bursts across my tongue.

“How’s my little pet this evening?”

I don’t respond.

“It’s time to go. Are you ready to meet your new master?” he mocks.

Knowing better than to take too long, I climb off the bed and stand next to it. I stare straight ahead. Gornak moves into my line of vision. His perusal of my near-naked body makes my skin crawl. I hold my hands out in front of me like I’ve been trained to do these last six months.

My almost-healed wrists already hurt in anticipation of the rough texture of the rope he frequently uses to bind them. Ever since the first time he raped me and I nearly clawed his eyes out. He smirks as he wraps the length tautly around them, not even attempting to be gentle.

It abrades my sores, and rips off scabs, turning my battered flesh raw and bloody. I wince at the pain. Gornak merely smiles.

“Let’s go.” He grabs my upper arm and drags me out of the room.

I can barely keep up with his quick pace and trip more than once. He jerks me upright each time, yanking my arm hard enough I’m scared he’ll pull it out of the socket. Tears from the agony of my wrists and shoulder spill down my cheeks. I’m shaking with cold. And more than a little fear.

Gornak chuckles, sending a bolt of panic through me. It’s a familiar laugh. A terrifying laugh. It’s the one he uses when he’s feeling particularly vicious.

“Just wait until you see your new master. He reminds me of the devil himself. Covering his entire throat is a skull tattoo with eyes the color of the flames of hell. Rumor has it, it’s an exact replica of the skull from the first man he killed,” he says with glee. “It’s the devil’s own eyes, though, that are terrifying. They’re cold. Emotionless. Soulless. Like you’re looking into the face of a true killer.”

It’s the last part that sends my terror spiking. Maybe I don’t want to die after all. We exit through a door and cross a parking garage. Gornak nearly throws me in the back seat of a car. I stumble and fall to the floor, scraping my knees across the fabric, adding more abrasions to the collection I already have.

I scramble onto the seat, my movements awkward and hindered by my bound wrists. He and two more men climb in behind me. The driver pulls away, and the farther from my former prison we get, the more tears that fall, though I try to hide them.

My sister’s face flashes before me. Along with the last conversation we had. Every hateful word I spewed at her slams against the inside of my brain. For six months, I’ve held out hope I’ll see her again. But lately, that bright ray of hope has grown dimmer. I’m scared that before the evening ends, and my ownership switches hands, it will be extinguished. My body continues to tremble. I will it to stop, but it’s useless.

We trail behind another town car until, at last, we turn down an alley and come to a stop behind a single-story building. The other two occupants exit first, then Gornak. He snaps his fingers at me, and I follow behind him. My bare feet land in a puddle of water.

From the first vehicle, three men exit. We join their group, and they all converse in Polish. I’ve picked up a few words since the beginning of my captivity, but they’re speaking too fast for me to keep up. The warm air feels good against my cool flesh, and I stare up at the night sky. I take a shuddering breath, breathing in the scents of sugar and yeast. My stomach growls.

One of the men pounds on the back door of the building. Moments later, it opens, and a man with fear-filled eyes stands there. He steps back, and our entourage enters. Gornak speaks to one of his buddies, then turns to me. His arm lashes out, and he grabs a fistful of my hair. He yanks my head back and slams his mouth down on mine. His tongue forces its way past my lips, and his teeth gnash my flesh. I whimper in pain.

“Krzysztof,” someone snaps.

He releases me and smiles. Blood is smeared across his lips. His tongue swipes across them, pulling it into his mouth. He lets out an, “Ahhhh.” His gaze shifts to his comrade behind me, and he barks out an order. Then, with another glance in my direction, Gornak pivots to face his boss, who’s glaring at him in annoyance. I’ve only seen the man a few times in the common area of the warehouse, where the other women and I were forced to “entertain” the men. Thankfully, he never spent time with me.

Gornak dips his head in acquiescence. “My apologies, Panie Wójcik.”

“You know what will happen if the merchandise is too damaged,” the Polish leader admonishes.

Appearing properly chastised, the five men follow the terrified man, who’d first opened the door, out of the back room we’d been escorted to.

I move to follow them, but the remaining guard latches onto my arm. He shakes his head. I tense, unsure what’s happening. Time passes. It could be seconds or minutes. It’s endless and only makes my anxiety worse. My captor’s phone beeps. He glances at it, pockets it again, and grabs my arm, dragging me forward.

I’d gotten my tears under control, but the thought of who is on the other side of the door, of the unknown fate that awaits me, brings them forth. I’m trembling. My teeth chatter. He turns the knob, and the bright light from the next room nearly blinds me. It’s as though I’m being transported to another world. A worse one. I take a few, slow steps forward and must hesitate a moment too long to take the next ones because I’m shoved none-too-gently farther in.

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