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  Savior

  Eden Summers

  Copyright © 2020 by Eden Summers

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the author.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Contents

  1. Penny

  2. Penny

  3. Penny

  4. Penny

  5. Luca

  6. Penny

  7. Luca

  8. Penny

  9. Luca

  10. Penny

  11. Luca

  12. Penny

  13. Luca

  14. Penny

  15. Luca

  Also by Eden Summers

  About the Author

  1

  Penny

  I burrow deeper under the covers, cocooned in luxurious silken sheets, nestled amongst extravagance.

  I’m not ready to let go of sleep just yet. My mind still straddles the line of consciousness where the freedom of dreams overwhelms reality.

  It’s nice here.

  Peaceful.

  There’s nothing but me and my imagination.

  I fantasize about dragging my toes through the waves crashing against the shore in the distance. Raising my face to the sun. Swimming through crystal-clear water. I picture smiling faces beaming at me with gentle affection.

  I visualize love.

  “Good morning, my pretty Penny.”

  I freeze, my breath catching at the deep voice breeching my mental sanctuary.

  The whiplash from dream to nightmare is harsh. Sickening. I panic, like always, then force myself to calm despite the lingering threat.

  The owner of that voice is the devil.

  He’s the cause of my waking hell—a man without conscience or soul.

  He’s also the owner of this bed, and everything in it.

  “It’s time to get up.” He tugs at the covers, dragging the material down to expose my face… shoulders… breasts.

  I measure my breathing, not showing an ounce of emotion as he peers down at my naked body with a leering smile.

  I’d prayed I wouldn’t have to see him today. I’d begged, wished, and hoped he wouldn’t return after he’d brutalized me last night, then left the house under the cover of darkness to undoubtedly destroy more lives.

  I could’ve fled to my room with his disappearance. I should’ve escaped to my own bed instead of fearing a reprimand for leaving before I was dismissed.

  But my prayers went unanswered.

  They always do.

  God can’t help me here. Nobody can. I can’t even help myself. Not against a heartless human trafficker such as the untouchable Luther Torian.

  He scours my body with his gaze, trying to provoke me with the hunger in his eyes.

  “Did you sleep well?” He drags the covers farther, along my stomach… pussy… thighs… all the way to my feet, exposing every inch of me in a deliberate incremental humiliation.

  “Yes.” I spare him the solitary syllable, giving the bare minimum of what he requires before I slide from the mattress, ignoring the lingering aches and pains born from his night of amusement.

  “Did you dream of me?” he drawls.

  I ignore the question and stare at the door, waiting for his freeing words of dismissal. He wants me to bite back—to snap—and I’m not going to give him the satisfaction.

  Last night, he took what he needed. He devoured my aggressive fight along with my screams. Today, routine would suggest I’m meant to be allowed to rest.

  “I said, did you dream of me?” He lashes out, grabs a fistful of my hair, and drags me toward him until I stumble into his tailored-suit covered chest.

  My scalp screams in protest but I keep my lips pressed closed, my blood pounding through my veins as I clench my teeth and ignore the cloying need to scream for help.

  His smile remains in place while his hold tightens. Always taunting. Always tormenting.

  I blink slowly, remembering the one beautiful moment long ago when I responded to his devilry by spitting in his face. He’d balked. Stared. Snarled. His shock at my stupidity had been a reward, at least for a few brief seconds until reality set in and clenched fists rained down on me.

  I used to lash out freely. I tried to deny him my humiliation whenever possible, yet he always claimed it more tightly in the aftermath.

  Now I’ve come to realize I can manipulate him if my aggression is tactical. I only bite when I know it will work in my favor. I snap in the moments when I’m well aware he’s going to violate me. I save all my fight for those moments not because his abuse still scares me after all these years, but because aggression is my only defense.

  I scream and kick to excite him. To quicken his climax.

  I bite and punch and thrash because my hostility is the only thing saving me from a far worse fate.

  Now isn’t one of those times, though. Not when he had me less than eight hours ago. Luther Torian is becoming an old man. I’m told he’s already a grandfather. If I trigger any sort of a thrill the resulting perversion will take longer to conclude.

  So I clench my teeth. Breathe deep. Force calm. And don’t give him one fucking glimmer of what he wants.

  “No.” I hold my chin high. “I didn’t dream of you.”

  His laugh lines deepen. “This is why you’re my favorite, pretty Penny. You cling tight to your anger. It’s invigorating.”

  He’s right. I cling so tight.

  Anger is all I have.

  I hoard the emotion deep in my chest, using it as armor. I rarely show my fear anymore and never, ever weakness. I stopped giving him insight to those parts of me long ago, back when I figured out he detests fragility.

  What he enjoys is the battle.

  It’s what he craves.

  And as much as I hate to hand him his filthy perversions on a silver platter, it’s far better to live under his roof than inside the haunted walls of the place where he houses the majority of his sex slaves.

  Here, in his Greek Island mansion, I’m only forced to do unimaginable things once or twice a week.

  If I was sent to live with his less fortunate captives, I’m led to believe I’d have to perform once or twice an hour. The beating and torture would be unending instead of intermittent.

  Permanent, not cyclic.

  He releases my hair and grips my chin, his fingers digging into skin. “Don’t worry. One day I’ll grow tired of you.”

  I swallow, the deep chill of fear increasing.

  It’s such a twisted, nauseating reality to want to be here. To fight to remain under this roof where I have clean sheets and a comfortable bed. I’ve made friendships in this gilded cage. I have relative freedom.

  I’ll do anything—give anything—to remain as far as possible from the revolving door of Luther’s personal harem. And so far, my tactics have worked. I’m the longest-standing woman in residence, having seen innumerable victims—sisters—come and go during my time.

  I can’t lose my position.

  I’ll never survive if I’m forced to leave.

  “Go.” He shoves me backward, chin first. “Make yourself look pretty. We’re going to have visitors soon.”

  I stumble, quic
kly righting myself, the voice of curiosity tingling at the tip of my tongue.

  Visitors are never a good thing. New faces mean new perversions. Fresh instruments of torture.

  “I’ll make sure I’m at my best.” I turn and walk for the door, my stride confident before I grab the handle and twist.

  I should be relieved to have survived another night in his bed. But that emotion is never present. Not when I’m dead inside.

  No, not dead.

  Death would be a blessing. Pure nirvana.

  Instead, I’m constantly plagued by life. Every breath is a punishment.

  I step into the hall, my anger spiking when I see Robert standing in wait, his back against the wall, his mouth curved in a sickening grin.

  “Afternoon.” He licks his lips, his gaze riveted on my bare chest. “Did you have a good night?”

  I maneuver around him, determined not to engage.

  “It sounded like you were enjoying yourself.” He pushes off the wall and follows after me, his bulky frame hovering close at my back, raising the hair on my neck. “You know your screams make me hard.”

  I keep walking, keep eating up the distance to my room.

  “How does it feel knowing you’ll soon be mine?” he taunts.

  I stop, not just my steps, but my breathing.

  “You heard right.” There’s humor in his voice. “Luther agreed to hand you over once he’s finished with you. Isn’t it a relief to find out you’ll be saved from the whorehouse yet again?”

  Everything kicks back in—my fractured heartbeats, my panicked speculation, and so much stifling anger. It takes all my strength not to let my emotions show.

  Luther is a monster. Always has been. Always will be. But Robert’s violations will be an even deeper layer of hell seeing as though I’ve been an untouchable temptation to him for so long.

  I raise my chin. Square my shoulders. “I look forward to our time together.” I don’t wait for a reply. My numb feet carry me along the hall, his laughter haunting me as he leaves in the opposite direction.

  When I reach the door to my shared bedroom, the slightest sense of relief warms my chest until quickened footsteps carry from the kitchen.

  “Penny, wait.” Tobias, Luther’s son, runs along the hall, his tiny frame barreling toward me.

  I force a smile. I force so much fake bravado for this boy that it physically pains me. “Hey, little man. What are you up to this morning?”

  He beams up at me, not acknowledging my nudity or the myriad of new bruises and scratches now marking my skin.

  The sight before him is normal. The brutality an everyday occurrence. This beautiful little boy, with his sleek black hair and his deep blue eyes, is immune to the horrors surrounding him.

  “I finished the writing task you gave me.”

  “Already?” I ruffle his hair. “That was fast.”

  “I’ve been awake forever. Dad took me out last night to meet my brother and when we returned I couldn’t sleep.”

  Unease slithers down my spine. “Your brother?”

  “Half-brother,” he corrects. “His name is Cole. He’s big and scary-looking. He’s really old, too. Even older than you. But Dad says we have a lot in common.”

  I fake a chuckle, the sound bubbling over the bile rising in my throat.

  I knew Luther had an adult son. Some of the women I’ve met in here have told stories about him. The kind of Chinese whispers capable of making my skin crawl. They spoke of his reputation in Oregon. About him being a well-known criminal. A murderer. And also the apple of his father’s eye.

  I’ve just never known him to come to the Greek Islands. Not once in the lifetime I’ve been here.

  “I’m not really old, Tobias.” But I am really worried. Luther’s son has to be the visitor. “And I’m sure your brother isn’t either.”

  He shakes his head. “That’s not what I want to talk to you about. I have to show you my assignment. It’s really good.”

  My heart squeezes at his innocence. “You can show it to me later. Let me get dressed first.”

  His face falls. “Please?”

  “Later.” I ruffle his hair again. I have to speak to the other women and warn them of the approaching danger. “I promise.”

  He pouts and blinks those puppy-dog eyes at me. “Please. Please. Please.”

  This time my chuckle isn’t forced, only short-lived. “Later, gorgeous boy.”

  “Fine.” His shoulders slump as he huffs and storms off in the direction he came.

  I wait a pain-filled heartbeat, making sure he’s out of sight before I rush into my room.

  It’s exactly how it is every day—three sets of bunk beds evenly spaced along the side wall. Five beds are perfectly made, with the lower bed in the middle bunk being the anomaly.

  Lilly is still under the covers, curled in a ball, her gaze meeting mine. Those soul-shattered eyes are the only reason I don’t blurt out the news about Luther’s son.

  This woman—this girl—is close to breaking under the pressure of our tortured existence.

  She rarely leaves our small sanctuary, choosing to sleep away the nightmares as much as possible. There’s no fight left in her. No life. It’s only a matter of time before she slips through the revolving door.

  “Morning, Lill.” I continue to the closet, pull out a loose sundress, and slide it over my head, letting the thin cotton cover the bruises on my thighs and hips.

  She watches me, her eyes dreary, her skin ashen. “Luther’s son is coming.”

  I wince and walk toward her, climbing onto her bed to spoon under the covers. “Did you hear me talking to Tobias?”

  “No,” she whispers. “Chloe told me. It’s all I can think about.”

  I relax a little, entirely selfish with relief at not having been the bearer of bad news. “How did she find out?”

  “She overheard Robert and Chris talking.” She sucks in a shaky breath. “It’s a business meeting. She thinks he’s going to help traffic more women.”

  I wrap my arm around her waist and hug her tight. “Lill, I need you to listen to me. I know you’re scared, but you can’t keep hiding in here. Luther loathes fragility. You have to find something to fight for. You can’t give up, especially if his son is coming. You need to be strong.”

  “I can’t.” Her voice breaks. “I don’t know how.”

  An ache forms under my sternum, the discomfort building.

  She’s going to be taken away. I’ve seen it happen too many times not to predict the separation.

  “All I can think about is my family, which only makes me want to cry.” She turns into me, her face pressing against my shoulder, her tears heating my skin. “I miss them, Penny. I just want to go home.”

  I hug her tighter and press my eyes closed, knowing exactly how hard it is to get out of the emotional minefield. “You need to forget your past. You can’t think of anything before your time here. It doesn’t exist. Not anymore.”

  A sob escapes her. “I don’t know how you stay strong.”

  “There’s no choice. We both know the alternative is worse.”

  If there was another option to combat my reality, I’d take it. But I’ve learned the ways of Luther’s world. There’s no escape. Only darker pits of despair if we don’t comply.

  I can’t kill him. I wouldn’t dare to try. Not when failure would turn this nightmare into something unimaginable.

  Women have attempted before and the aftermath still haunts me.

  One woman even came close to success. Cody. A victim barely in her twenties.

  She’d been frail. Mindless. And didn’t think of the consequences of stealing a visitor’s gun before she aimed the barrel at Luther.

  She also didn’t anticipate the gun’s safety lock or know how to switch it off after she failed to successfully pull the trigger.

  Cody went from elation to annihilation in the space of heartbeats. But not through physical pain. At least not to start with. After Robert and Chris tackle
d her to the ground, Luther told them to fetch another one of the women from his personal harem—her closest confidant.

  He’d then enlightened both women on how to turn off the gun’s safety and held Cody’s trembling hands steady as they found a new aim for the barrel.

  He’d ripped out her heart with the pull of a trigger. He made her murder a woman she loved.

  Then he tied her, face down, to the dining table, allowing anyone and everyone who walked into his home the chance to fulfil their perverted fantasies for days on end before he sent her through his revolving door.

  “You haven’t always been this way, have you?” Lilly whispers. “I’ve heard stories.”

  I stiffen, well aware of the tale she’s referring to. The one where I foolishly thought my tactics were far better than anyone else’s.

  “It’s been a long time since Luther has seen any weakness from me.”

  She pulls back to look at me with tear-soaked eyes. “But you—”

  “Yes, I tried to kill myself. But that was out of strength, not instability.”

  It was how I planned to win this game.

  A final fuck you.

  All it took was a hair-dryer and a warm, soothing bath.

  I don’t even remember what it felt like. The electrocution. The death. One second, I was lying in the scented water. The next, I opened my eyes to Robert’s angry face looming over me as he paused chest compressions while I lay on the chilling wet tiles of the bathroom floor.

  “Did Luther go easier on you afterward?”

  “No. It never gets easier. You need to remember that.”

  “Then how did you survive?” She punishes me with her sorrow. Kills me with her pained tone. “How could you…?”

  I shrug. “Luther gave me no choice.”

  He kept me on a leash for weeks, dragging me everywhere he went. There was no reprieve from his horror. No respite from the constant onslaught of mental and physical torture. “But right now, you have a choice, Lill. You can either give him exactly what he wants or you’ll be sent some place far worse than this.”