Chapter 13

As Alex’s eyes fluttered open the morning light filtering through a small window reminded her of the guest cabin, but the reality of her predicament filled her mind an instant later. She blinked and stared around the rough interior of the beachside building. It was little more than a shed and smelled of rotten fish. On the far side of the room, piled on a table, were a heap of fishing nets. The wooden floor was bare and sandy, the walls covered with faded yellowing whitewash. The odd sticks of furniture were sun-bleached and looked like salvage. Alex rubbed her eyes. The makeshift bed smelt of sweat and sex. She shivered. The only crumb of comfort was that she was alone.

Memories of the previous night came flooding back in an intense rush of disjointed images; her escape from Tourne had delivered her straight into the hands of drunken ruffians. Far from making an escape, it appeared she had merely exchanged one horrible prison for another. Her head ached violently from the after effects of the wine they’d forced upon her, and every other part of her body felt tired and tender.

She gingerly tried to slide off the bed. As she rolled over something caught on the tangle of dirty blankets. She stretched across to free herself, and was instantly horrified at what she saw. The fisherman had tied her to the bed with a length of greasy rope. One end was knotted through her collar, and the other was fastened around the metal frame by her head. It certainly wouldn’t prevent her from escaping, but the gesture made her cringe. She was tied in the same way a man would tie a stray dog. Tears trickled down her face. Did the fisherman truly believe she would wait there for him to return? How could she have sunk so low?

Beside the pile of fishing nets her gaoler had left a bucket of water, a tin cup and a half loaf of bread. Alex stared at it and tried to shake off the sense of resignation and despair that threatened to engulf her. Her clothes had to be on the beach - if she found them, got washed and dressed, she could still make her ultimate escape.

It took seconds to free herself from the rope. She hobbled across the rough floor and used the cold water from the bucket to wash away the evidence of the night before as best she could. She was thankful there wasn’t a mirror around to bear witness to her degradation. Wrapping herself in one of the blankets she crept cautiously out onto the beach - it was deserted. Under the hull of the boat she found her jeans and boots. She picked them up, trying to ignore the cache of empty wine bottles littered around in a rough circle. It was here the men had held her down, their arena marked by discarded rubbish.

Across the sand in the shadow of the rocks she found her shirt, jacket and bag. Even though her clothes were stained and torn she pulled them on. Dropping the blanket to the sand she dressed where she stood in the cool rising sun, the fresh sea air helping to revive her - just a little. She checked her meagre possessions, and was relieved to find the men had not taken her money or passport. She then started to explore, trying to get some idea of where she was in relation to the harbour.

The cove she was in appeared to be completely encircled by rocks, but as she had come down a steep path from the villa, she reasoned that there had to be another way out which led in the direction of the village - after all, the boat was still on the beach, so her captors hadn’t left by sea, and she doubted they’d climbed up to Peter Tourne’s villa, because it was situated so far away from the village.

Alex circled the warming beach. Her senses concentrated on any unexpected sounds in the distance; the last thing she wanted was for the fishermen to reappear and find her still there.

After nearly half an hour she came across a well worn trail that seemed to lead up into the hillside but ran in the general direction of where she guessed the harbour to be. There were probably other paths, but she was desperate to get away from the beach and its vivid memories, and the possibility of recapture. Shouldering her holdall, she set off determinedly without looking back; she wanted to put the events in the cove, and at KaRoche, well and truly behind her.

After the first hundred yards or so the path veered steeply up into the hills. What had appeared to be an easy escape route quickly turned into a tortuous climb. The path that had seemed so well trodden close to the cove twisted back and forth between rocks and boulders, at some points fading away totally. The loose stones made it difficult for her to get any decent footing, and the muscles in her thighs and calves soon ached and burned. She considered whether to climb down and try to find another way out, but was afraid she might come across the fishermen again. She was rapidly losing her bearings - which way was the harbour now?

Eventually, after a tortuous climb that tested Alex’s resolve to the limit, she clambered up between a rise of steep rocks and found herself in a deserted olive grove. She paused a moment to gain her breath, and then followed the meandering path until she was beyond the trees, where she found a narrow track which she presumed to be the one she’d crossed the previous night. To her right it climbed back up into the hillside towards the villa, and to the left it ran down in the direction of the sea, which glistened far below.

Alex stopped for a quick rest. She quelled her nagging hunger by devouring the two juicy oranges, and despite her desperate predicament, was unable to resist the spectacular views her elevated position afforded her. She shaded her eyes from the sun and watched the tiny dots offshore that were the local fishing boats. Some were stationary, and accompanied by a mass of white flecks which circled and swooped to feed on any discarded scraps, but others were moving slowly in a line, and Alex knew then that they were coming out from the harbour, and in which direction she needed to be walking. Surely she couldn’t now be more than half an hour from the village and the harbour?

Slinging the holdall over her back she set off with a new feeling of optimism. Sadly that optimism was punctured fatally as she rounded a large boulder a little way down the track. Below her, parked in the curve of the bend, was Peter Tourne’s distinctive Mercedes. She stopped abruptly, almost losing her footing, and inadvertently sent a number of large stones clattering noisily down towards the car. Spinning round to flee back the way she’d come, she came face to face with Peter Tourne and Starn Fettico.

‘No!’ she screamed in horror and frustration. ‘No! Where did you...? How did you...?’

She quickly turned again trying desperately to locate an escape route, and saw Mario was now leaning cockily against the car. They had cut her off. She stared at Mario, then at the track, then back to Mario, wondering if she dare try to run past him. Even from a distance she could see he had a sore looking lump across the side of his head, and she knew that if he caught her he would be eager to repay her for the blows she’d struck the night before. He grinned malevolently as their eyes met. She sensed he would be only too pleased for her to try and make a break for it. She knew she was lost. Her shoulders sagged in defeat, and she turned and looked up at Peter Tourne.

‘How... how did you find me so easily?’ she asked quietly.

He smiled with his usual, infuriating confidence. ‘Your little friends were eager to let me know they’d found one of my girls. I hope you enjoyed their company. We’d already guessed where you were; there are only three paths up from the cove, and someone would’ve let me know if you appeared down in the harbour.’ He paused, his eyes resting on her ruined clothes. ‘You wouldn’t have got very far on the island anyway - my marks are well known all over.’

Alex’s wrists were suddenly seized and twisted painfully up behind her back. She shrieked with agony and arched onto tiptoes in an attempt to decrease the discomfort of Mario’s rough and unnecessary treatment. Both Tourne and Starn enjoyed the way her shirt stretched tightly over her vulnerable breasts, her nipples clearly visible, and then the former waved Mario away.

‘Let her go, that won’t be necessary. Will it, Alex?’

She shook her head miserably as she rubbed her freed wrists.

Starn grunted and mopped his brow with a handkerchief. ‘You’re too damned soft, Peter. I’d flay the skin off the little bitch if she was mine.’

Tourne smiled. ‘Then I’m sure she’ll be relieved to know that you haven’t bought her, Starn. But as it is, her punishment is no longer my concern.’

Alex stared at him. ‘What do you mean?’ she whispered.

Tourne reached forward and gently brushed the hair back off her forehead. As he did he snapped the lead onto her collar. ‘You are no longer my property, Alex. At lunchtime today I hand you over to your new owner. I think under the circumstances it would be better if we went back to the villa and prepared you for their arrival.’

Alex stood rooted to the spot. Mustafa’s face formed in her mind, followed rapidly by Monique’s. ‘Who is it?’

Tourne smiled and then tugged at her leash. ‘You never learn, do you? Let’s just say he’s an old friend of mine. I’m certain you’ll make him very happy.’

Alex’s thoughts raced. Was it Simon Bay? Was he to be her new owner? She silently fell into step between Peter Tourne and Starn Fettico, and contemplated the fate that awaited her back at KaRoche as they led her to the waiting car.

When they reached the villa Tourne turned to her. ‘I’m going to chain you in the gallery room. My housekeeper will come and get you ready for your presentation to your new owner.’ He stared intently into her eyes. ‘Don’t ever lose sight of the game, Alex. I told you before that I make the rules, and despite how it may seem to you at this moment, I promise I will do all I can to ensure you are well treated when you leave here.’

Alex barely heard his words of scant comfort. She was looking up the garden steps at Mario, who was already standing beneath the shady archway that led into the gallery. He was obviously waiting for her. She wondered with a shudder what revenge he might exact upon her for having the audacity to escape.

Peter Tourne tugged at the lead. ‘Come on, we don’t have much time.’

The gallery was cool and dark after the glare of the bright morning sun. Alex would have been grateful to have shed her filthy clothes if it hadn’t been for Mario watching her undress with his lust filled eyes. He hadn’t spoken since his boss had handed him Alex’s leash. To ensure she made no further escape attempts the collar was now connected to an overhead chain, like the one in the cells.

The room had already been prepared for her return - she wondered how it was that Tourne had been so confident he would find her so quickly. Once she was undressed the housekeeper re-shaved her sex with deftly confident fingers. Alex could hardly believe she now found such intimacy acceptable. Her sex and nipples still bore the crimson stain that Antia had applied to them. Climbing into the steaming bath Alex tried hard to concentrate her mind. If she thought for more than an instant about who her new owner might be she could feel a sense of panic growing low in her belly. Mario remained unmoving against the wall - his expression was dark, thunderous.

As the housekeeper helped Alex from the bath and wrapped her in a fluffy towel, Mario mumbled threateningly: ‘You soon get what it is coming to you, English girl.’

Alex flinched. The housekeeper glared at him, but he continued unperturbed. ‘I am everywhere. Every house has a Mario.’

Alex felt an icy chill run down her spine. He was right - every master would have a friend or a servant, who would demand or steal her favours. She straightened her back and squared her shoulders, and challenged him with a confidence she didn’t feel. ‘I’ll be ready for him next time, you’ve taught me a great deal.’

Mario’s eyes flashed furiously and he lunged towards her. It must have hurt his pride to let a girl like Alex escape his clutches. Alex leapt back in alarm as he raised his fist. The little housekeeper intervened.

‘No!’ she snapped at the corpulent driver. ‘I get her ready now! You don’t mark her face, you fool!’

Mario spat in disgust. ‘Bitch!’ he growled. He was genuinely very angry.

Alex prayed that whoever had bought her intended to take her away from KaRoche straight away - if she was left alone with Mario she dreaded to think what might happen. The housekeeper waved her towards the leather surgical couch. Glad to break eye contact with the driver, Alex climbed onto the padded top and stared at the ceiling. The old woman secured her wrists to the framework. It wasn’t until she was totally immobilised that Alex wondered why she had been secured.

Mario’s distinctive features came into her field her vision. He was grinning like an imbecile.

‘He going to brand you now. Your new boss want you marked so everyone know you belong to him,’ the housekeeper said as if she could read her mind. Alex gasped and began to struggle frantically, rolling sideways off the couch. With her wrists secured any real chance of escape was impossible. Mario grabbed her and dragged a heavy leather strap around her waist.

‘Please! Please don’t do this!’ Alex pleaded as he turned his attentions to her ankles. ‘Let me go! I’ll do whatever you want... please Mario!’

The sweating driver merely laughed. She should have known that there was no point in appealing to him; he would be only too pleased to see her hurt and humiliated, as he had been. Despite her frantic despair Alex heard a door open, and then saw Peter Tourne approaching her.

‘We’ve come a very long way, you and I,’ he said with a casualness that belied the insanity of her situation. She stared at him, longing for him to untie her. At his shoulder Mario reached across her and took a cloth bag from the housekeeper. Before Alex could really focus on what he was doing, he lifted her head and pulled the bag down over her face, plunging her into stuffy darkness. She heard the door to the gallery open again and strained to pick up any sounds that might give a clue as to who was with Tourne.

‘It’s good to see you again,’ she heard his muffled voice greet the unseen guest. As you can see, we have her ready for you. What do you think?’

The reply was too indistinct to catch. Alex closed her eyes and struggled to concentrate on the voice of the new arrival. It had to be the man Peter had sold her to; her new owner. A cool hand stroked her thighs and then lifted to outline her breasts. A fingertip lingered on the rings that pierced her nipples.

‘Ummm,’ murmured her unseen examiner. It was impossibly frustrating, not to mention alarming. The hand returned to her thighs, easing them wider and then stroking her exposed sex. Alex instinctively strained her hips against the leather strap that held her waist to the couch, and a low chuckle told her that her rude movement had been noted. A thought formed in Alex’s mind, but quickly fluttered away as a probing finger slipped inside her.

‘Very nice... very tight. You’ve done a good job,’ said a man. ‘I’d like my mark in the usual place.’ The finger slid from her and was gone.

Unseen hands loosened the strap at her waist and rolled her over. They pinned her firmly to the couch. Something pliable but hard was pressed between her lips. She bit down hard and held her breath. An instant later a searing lightening strike exploded on her buttock. The pain roared through her body. The scream caught in her lungs. She bucked and twisted against the excruciating heat of the branding iron. Sobbing incoherently, she clenched her fists, refusing to be overtaken by the shadowy waves of unconsciousness that beckoned. Despite her determination the darkness draped over her. The voices around her fragmented and broke into abstract sounds, floating on a swirling wind, and she slipped effortlessly into oblivion.

When Alex recovered she was laying on her side on the uncomfortable mattress in the cell. Surely she couldn’t have been unconscious for more than a second or two? She stared around, struggling to get her bearings. The cell door was slightly ajar. As she watched it opened and a figure appeared from the shadows.

Alex stiffened - it was impossible. A name formed in her mind and then on her parched lips.

‘Laurence?’ she whispered in total astonishment. Her agent, her would-be rescuer, the man who’d sent her to the villa in the first place, stepped into the tiny room. She struggled to lift her head, and repeated his name. ‘Laurence? Oh my, it is you.’ A great wave of relief swept over her. ‘I’m so glad you’re here.’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘Why did you take so long - ?’

Laurence smiled gently. ‘Hello Alex. I’ve come to take you home. That’s what you rang me for, wasn’t it? You wanted me to rescue you from Peter Tourne’s clutches?’

She began to nod, but something in his tone and expression made her stop. Why was it he showed no surprise or shock at finding her bound and naked in a tiny cell? And why didn’t he seem concerned for his own safety?

‘Why didn’t you come straight away, when I first rang you?’

He smiled again. ‘What, and spoil Peter’s fun? I don’t think so Alex. I came here today because he told me you’re ready - and I can see that you are.’

He stared down at her, relishing the details of her body. Alex shivered, realisation trickling down her spine like icy water. Looking up into his eyes she knew exactly why he’d come to KaRoche.

‘Was this your idea all along, Laurence?’

‘I’m afraid so,’ he grinned and shrugged as though he’d merely been uncovered as the perpetrator of a harmless prank. ‘Peter Tourne and I have been friends for years. When I took the commission for the mural I didn’t tell him you were a beautiful woman, but I knew he wouldn’t be able to resist breaking you in once he saw you.’ He moved closer, as though about to tell her a secret. ‘And that’s precisely why I sent you here in the first place. I wanted to possess you from the first moment you came into my office for an interview. You look quite lovely, Alex. But then again, I always knew you would.’ He ran his fingers lightly over her forehead. ‘Peter gave you a light sedative to help with the pain, are you feeling okay?’

Alex nodded weakly. ‘And so you’re my new master?’

‘That’s right, my dear. We couldn’t have Mustafa taking you off to God knows where, now could we? The man’s an animal, let’s face it, Monique is not much better. Such a waste to let either of them have you. I’d planned to bid for you at Simon Bay’s auction - it seemed like a suitably melodramatic conclusion to your training - but as you generated so much interest amongst his associates, Peter and I came to a private arrangement; we couldn’t risk losing you. I must say, he seems commendably interested in your future welfare. He knows you’ll be well looked after in my stable; my companions are part of a very exclusive coterie. You’ve been marked with my initials, as are all the girl’s I own. You can meet the rest of them when we get back to London.’

He gently unfastened the leash from her collar. She made no attempt to escape - what was the point?

Lawrence nodded towards the cell door. ‘When we’re done here I’d like you to collect your things together so that we can catch the evening ferry. I’d like to get back to London as soon as possible.’ He paused and smiled with genuine warmth. ‘You’ll like the rest of my clique, I’m quite certain. The girls are all like you; artists, sculptors - a very select band of England’s most talented young stars...’ he gently touched the dressing which soothed the smarting area of the branding. ‘It’ll look quite exquisite once it’s healed, believe me. Oh, I ought to tell you that I’ve already arranged for all of your things to be delivered to my house. I expect my slave to be on hand for my every whim.’ He patted his thigh. ‘Now, come here, Alex. Show me that you understand totally what I expect from you.’

Alex swallowed hard, almost unable to believe what she was hearing. Hadn’t she always suspected that Laurence Russell’s interest in her was more than just professional? Wasn’t his carefully hidden desire what she’d hoped would spur him on to come to D’arnos to rescue her?

She slowly slipped from the mattress and crept towards the man who’d delivered her into the hands of Peter Tourne. He was her rescuer turned master. She didn’t need to ask what he wanted from her. His penis was jutting forward like a rapier against the soft fabric of his trousers. Catching hold of her collar he pulled her up onto her knees and bent from the waist to kiss her passionately.

‘Oh Alex,’ he murmured. ‘You have no idea how much I’ve dreamt about this moment.’

Without a word she undid his belt and, kneeling at his feet, ran her tongue along his exposed shaft in an ancient act of worship.

Even as she tasted his first salty offering she could feel the excitement stirring deep inside her own body. Her sex moistened, her nipples hardened, and the dark half of her mind had finally won the battle.