Depraved by Trent Evans
Prologue
The bound, naked woman knelt on the freezing concrete. Pale, tattooed, and pierced, she’d had quite the transformation since she’d been taken.
It was cold inside the transfer bay at the base of the TSS headquarters complex, the fluorescent overhead lighting lending a garish brightness, but zero warmth.
The engine block of his vehicle crackled now and then, the metal slowly cooling, the acrid note of its exhaust still hanging faintly in the air.
Rexall’s captive shivered, the links of her chains shifting about her rounded hips. Across her plump buttocks, she still displayed a pair of marks from her last appointment with the lash, the formerly livid stripes now ghostly hints of yellowish bruising.
He touched her hair, a gesture more possessive than affectionate. “Be still.”
The three men standing before them were dressed in standard issue TSS uniforms, gray and onyx, the crimson epaulets at the shoulders a trio of diagonal slashes as if a giant cat had rended them with its claws, leaving bloody furrows in their wake.
The central figure though, taller, the shoulders broader than the two who flanked him, he was special.
It wasn’t the first time Rexall had met Kaman, but it wasn’t exactly normal procedure for the leader of the entire Sixth Society to be present for a mere prisoner hand-off.
None of that mattered to Rexall, of course. Politics and protocol meant as much to him as mercy or compassion. Which is to say, very little at all.
Kaman’s eyes glittered as he gazed down at her, the neat, thick goatee at his stout chin as jet black as his eyes.
“She give you any trouble?”
Rexall shrugged. “Nothing that couldn’t be remedied. They all come around, sooner or later.”
Kaman stroked the woman’s cheek, the leather of his gloved fingers playing along the line of her jaw. “I wonder what Dawes would think now, knowing I had his daughter here, like this. Nothing but a chained whore, on her knees before his enemy? Poor bastard—I almost feel sorry for him.”
She looked at the floor, her blonde hair, limp and tangled, a shroud about her face. Her bound hands pulled at the chains binding them behind her back, the fingers twisting together.
Some reflexes hadn’t yet been purged from the former Maryanne Dawes, youngest daughter and confidante of Carlton Dawes, one of Chairman Kaman’s most dogged—and hated—political rivals inside the ruling party.
Shrewd, charming, and bright, she’d been an up-and-coming member of the nascent opposition movement, becoming her father’s right hand woman.
She went by Cunt now.
Rexall knew she wouldn’t say a word about what he’d done to her over the past ninety days or so. He’d trained her out of that particular inclination, to speak of things she shouldn’t. By dint of degradation, humiliation, and agony, he’d shown her the wisdom of keeping her mouth shut—unless it was needed for its one and only true purpose.
Pleasing a male.
“She disclosed everything. Quite the font of intel, actually. Contacts, plans, avenues of support. It’s all on the interrogation report I transmitted over this morning.”
“Yes, yes,” Kaman said, waving a hand. “I understand all of that.”
Kaman crouched down before the girl, grasping her chin. He forced her head up, until she had no choice but to meet his gaze.
“It’s all so much static compared to the value of this one,” the chairman said, staring into her eyes, almost nose-to-nose with her. “Imagine the terror rippling through their ranks when she’s returned to her troublemaking father.”
Her eyelashes fluttered, and her spine straightened ever so slightly, as if the possibility had never occurred to her that she might survive her ordeal.
Kaman thrust two fingers into her mouth then, pushing deep, until she gagged. He did it again, even harder, and her eyes squeezed shut as she choked and coughed, a fat tear sliding down her dirt-encrusted cheek.
“Yes, yes, she’s worth more than ten thousand confessions under torture. The imagination—and fear—pay far more dividends than any counter-espionage mission ever could.”
Kaman withdrew his gloved fingers, the girl gasping. He wiped them off with locks of her hair.
“No offense to your particular… skill set. Ravager.”
Rexall grinned. “None taken.”
Kaman returned his attention back to her, taking a pale pink nipple between thumb and forefinger, squeezing.
She bit back a cry.
“You, my dear. You’ve done a great service for your country, for the TSS. Even if it was the last thing on Earth you’d ever wanted to do.”
The chairmen released her tortured nipple and gave her breast a smack, sending it bounding into its twin. Then he rose, looking back over his shoulder. “Take her.”
“You don’t want me to deliver her back to Dawes?” Rexall leaned an elbow against the roll cage of his vehicle as he watched.
She yelped, terrified, as the two other TSS figures took hold of her under the arms, hoisting her up, her head drooping in shame, hair swinging wildly below her. They hustled her away roughly, pale buttocks jiggling, the chains about her ankles forcing her bare feet to drag along the cold concrete.
For a moment, Kaman watched them go. “I have… discussions still to be had with her. Dawes will have her back… in due time.”
Rexall noted the large bulge at the front of Kaman’s dark uniform pants. “Have an assignment for me?”
He was always impatient to get on to the next one. Despite the fact that for the past three months, he’d spent almost every waking moment with the luscious Cunt, he’d already begun to purge her from his mind.
She was an assignment, nothing more.
And nothing was better than a new one.
He never grew tired of new missions, of the chase—and the conquest.
For it was in his blood.
Kaman cleared his throat, glancing back at the receding guards hauling away their captive. It wasn’t until the trio had disappeared into the main building, the doors slamming with a sepulchral thud, that the chairman turned back to Rexall.
Kaman reached inside his coat, and handed him the disc.
To anyone else, it looked like nothing more than a miniature digital storage disc smaller than the palm of a man’s hand. But it was much more than it appeared.
“This one… is special. None know of its details, not even my personal Guard. The Director has already assigned the NAP solution to you. You must begin your mission no later than one week from today. Review the files, for now—you’ve earned the downtime. The mission parameters are very specific.” Kaman’s voice lowered, his eyes blazing. “But you must speak of this to no one, Ravager. You’ve never had a more important assignment. Failure will not be tolerated—not even from my best HKU.”
Any normal man would have been terrified under the basilisk gaze of the most powerful—and ruthless—man on the planet.
But Rexall was no normal man.
“I don’t need a week, Chairman. I’ll start right now.”