Beauty: Part 1: Blaire's World (Beauty's Duet #1) Read online

  BEAUTY

  A BLAIRE’S WORLD TITLE

  by

  KIRSTY DALLAS

  International Bestselling Author

  GRAY Publishing

  by Anita Gray

  Note to you from the Publisher

  BLAIRE'S WORLD is a spin-off series of 6 Dark Romance titles, written by a collection of USA Today and Amazon Bestselling authors, deriving from Anita Gray’s Top 20 Amazon Bestselling, The Dark Romance Series.

  You do not need to read The Dark Romance Series in order to follow BLAIRE’S WORLD.

  Each story in BLAIRE’S WORLD is a standalone within the series, following the journey of a character from The Dark Romance Series, so expect to see some old faces—and some new ones.

  The BLAIRE’S WORLD Series can be read in any order.

  Anita Gray has had no creative influence over BLAIRE’S WORLD. The storylines are solely crafted by the authors.

  BLAIRE'S WORLD has no affiliation to BLAIR3.

  If you would like to discover where BLAIRE’S WORLD derives from, you can do so by visiting www.anitagrayauthor.com or by searching BLAIRE on Amazon.

  BLAIRE’S WORLD TITLES

  BEAUTY

  LUNA & ANDRES

  SERAFINA

  KRISTOFF

  EVELINA

  OLIVER

  THE DARK ROMANCE SERIES

  BLAIRE

  BLAI2E

  THE DARK ROMANCE SERIES BOX SET

  DEDICATION

  There is a split dedication for this book.

  I would like to dedicate one half to the uber-talented Anita Gray, who broke into the literary world with a masterpiece called BLAIRE. Rock on author-sista!

  The second half of this book is dedicated to a li’l ol’ bird in Texas called Ami. She reminded me that not all abused characters need to be vulnerable. Some could even be heroines, and a very select few could even be psychopathic anti-heroines. Live long the twisted Beauty!

  Copyright © 2019 Kirsty Dallas and GRAY PUBLISHING: eBook edition

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be resold or given away to other people. You are more than welcome to make teasers though and use quotes from the book. Word of mouth is a valuable tool in spreading book love, and far more admirable than spreading that love via illegal file-sharing sites.

  PUBLISHED BY GRAY UPBLISHING

  www.graypublishing.org

  EDITING BY AMI JOHNSON

  FORMATTING BY KIRSTY DALLAS

  COVER DESIGN BY Q Design

  www.qcoverdesign.com

  JOIN KD’S PRIVATE READER GROUP

  “KD’S LIT SQUAD”

  From Blaire

  Hey you...reader...yes, I’m talking to you. If you don’t know what BLAIRE’S WORLD is or who I am, then let me introduce myself. My name is Blaire-Markov. I’m a seasoned hacker and combatant who has been subjected to it all: human trafficking, brutal conditioning, and the most depraved forms of sexual abuse. I’ve lived, loved and lost, but do you know what? I’m still here.

  I’m still fighting.

  If you haven’t read my story already, then pay attention. Luna and Andres, Oliver, Serafina, Beauty, Kristoff, and Evelina, are all connected to my world. Their lives are dark, their journeys are gut-wrenching, and their stories are only just beginning. Prepare to dive into a sphere of pure, untamed, Dark Romance, and don’t expect to walk away unscathed.

  Oh, and if once you’ve finished BLAIRE’S WORLD, you think you can handle me, start with BLAIRE, Part 1 in The Dark Romance Series: Bought. Conditioned. Sold to the enemy—who will change my life forever.

  Sincerely, the start of it all, Blaire.

  BEAUTY

  Light bounced off chandeliers, sending beams of luminescent rainbows across the room. The refracted light was beautiful, and I wondered how something so lovely could exist somewhere so evil. This ballroom was stunning, refined, dazzling, everything an exquisite room of this grandeur should be. In another life, I might have been awestruck and perhaps a little overwhelmed to be standing within its superb embrace. The fact was, my life, the one I was trapped within, was anything but beautiful. And this room of debauchery and sin was anything but lovely. The grunts and groans drowned out the classical notes of music in the background. The scent of sweat and sex fell short of the intoxicating aroma that should drift on the air of such finery. The naked flesh was a far cry from the elegant fabrics a place like this should flaunt. The world of sex trafficking was filled with obscene wealth and men with dark obsessions and twisted minds. Perhaps mine was just as twisted. While they lusted for pain, unwilling participants, and underage partners, I lusted for blood, death, and vengeance.

  The ache in my neck had become a throbbing knot, so I lifted my cheek from the polished floor, turning and placing my opposite cheek against the cool surface beneath me. My arms had long since become numb as my hands were secured tightly behind my back with Viršininkas’ belt. Dressed in a minuscule black leather skirt, garters, and stockings with a red satin bustier, I looked the perfect submissive they forced me to be. Beneath the skirt, I was naked, my exposed flesh on display for anyone who might be standing behind me, and they were. Although I couldn’t see them, I could picture the covetous hunger in their greedy eyes, so sick and twisted in their belief that women were placed on this earth merely for the entertainment of their species.

  We weren’t. We had feelings and emotions, however, they had been crushed under these men’s callous hands and insidious natures. Now my dreams were full of blood, their blood, as they writhed at my feet screaming in agony, begging for a mercy I’d never give them. I no longer harbored such useless emotions as kindness and compassion, my soul was drowned in rage, my heart a dried out husk consumed by hate.

  The sharp sting of a slap to my behind ripped me away from thoughts of revenge, reminding me I was still a captive and my body was theirs to play with.

  “Beauty.”

  The pet name was not whispered with affection. Viršininkas didn’t do affection. He did discipline and punishment. He knew how to inflict pain, not love. There was a time, before my captivity, when I had been another girl, one of innocence. I couldn’t really remember that time, though. Every now and again an image would creep into my mind, that of a young teenage girl, beautiful, graceful, perhaps even a little sad, but my mind had become so twisted I wasn’t even sure if that girl was real or not. My memories were muddled, and sometimes I think I conjured pictures in my mind to steal me away from the nightmare I was living. The name of that girl who existed before me had been one of the first things Viršininkas took away. Then he took her innocence, and she was destroyed, in her place, stood me, exquisitely broken Beauty.

  Long fingers slipped around my throat and squeezed, choking the air from my lungs. You would think having been choked hundreds of times would make it easier to bear, but it didn’t. It still made me feel vulnerable and reminded me that my life was at his mercy, and he could take it so easily. Most days I wished he would. The other days I just wished it were me strangling the life from him.

  “If your mind keeps wandering, I will put you up on that stage for every man
in this room to fuck.”

  His hand clenched tighter, bruising my larynx before disappearing. Blinking back tears and drawing a deep breath, I tried to block out the ballroom’s centerpiece: a woman being used, over and over. She was positioned on all fours, a whip lashing her skin as an imposing man in a black mask prepared to fuck her. She was trying so hard to look rapturous, as if she were enjoying this debasement, screaming out her pleasure at the right moments, moaning with each thrust. But I saw beyond the lies. In her dark, almond shaped eyes all I saw was pure, stark fear. Did I mirror that look? What did these men see when they watched me sullied and abused? Did they see vile loathing or subservient willingness? Perhaps I was better at hiding the revulsion behind my blue eyes. While I hated the victim I was forced to be, I didn’t want to be that girl in the middle of the room even more. At least my degradation was taking place on the outer regions of the ballroom, my humiliation for only but a few. My gaze shifted to take in the man kneeling beside me. He was threatening to share me in the middle of this awful room, but the hands that roamed my buttocks and the fingers that slipped into my unwelcoming body told me he was sharing me regardless. It wasn’t uncommon, Viršininkas liked to see me used by his friends, and there was little he didn’t allow, often leaving me bloodied and bruised. His pinched lips relaxed as my eyes found his. He wasn’t handsome. His eyes were sunken deep in their sockets beneath a heavy brow, his nose was large and hooked, and his cheekbones were sharp and pronounced. He wore a finely trimmed goatee that emphasized a pointed chin. The darkness in his eyes and the hatred in his soul reminded me of something evil. I had no idea what his name was. He had only ever been Viršininkas, which I’d learned meant master in Lithuanian, to me. When I first met this evil man, I’d called him sir. He liked that. One night, in defiance, I’d called him an ugly fucking bastard. He did not like that. The pain he bestowed upon me for such a slight was a memory I would never forget. I hated him. No, hate was too insipid a word. I loathed this man with every inch of my used and abused body.

  “That’s a good beauty,” he crooned.

  Teeth, stained yellow from years of smoking, smiled at me as I winced. Something had been shoved deep into my pussy. It was too cold and smooth to be a cock, so I assumed it was a dildo or something alike.

  “Do you know how splendid you look right now?”

  Anyone who could find splendor in my current degradation had to be sick, and Viršininkas was the sickest of them all. The ways in which he had took liberties with my body over the years had stained my soul so dark I knew there was no light left to be found, not even in death. If there had been any goodness inside me before my life with Viršininkas, it been beaten and raped out of me until it was gone. The girl left behind didn’t have good thoughts, she wasn’t kind, in fact, maybe she was a little bit evil, too. My dreams were filled with the want for blood. His blood. Their blood.

  The long fingers that had moments ago been wrapped around my throat cupped my breast. I didn’t flinch, a reaction long since beaten out of me. Viršininkas pinched my nipple too hard to be considered teasing or sexual, a punishment for allowing my mind to wander. My cheek rubbed on the ballroom floor as my body rocked in motion with the object thrusting in and out of my pussy.

  “Pone.”

  A sharp familiar voice hissed from somewhere behind my master. It was Matis, Viršininkas’ personal assistant and best friend, a man with just as much sadistic hate in him, if not more. He disliked me immensely, the feeling was mutual. When Viršininkas allowed Matis to fuck me, he did it in a way that emphasised his hatred, often using a blade to cut into my flesh. The first time I’d been cut in such a way, Viršininkas ranted and raved for days, angry at Matis for marring my skin. The second time Matis took me, Viršininkas tried to be more patient, watching the gore-like show Matis provided for him. It wasn’t long before Viršininkas found the same kind of erotic magnetism in the blood that dripped from my body as I was brutally fucked. He allowed Matis to cut me from then onwards, shallow cuts that wouldn’t scar. After three years, I was covered in fine white lines, the markings like a map of my continued abuse.

  “Pone,” he snapped again when Viršininkas continued to play with my breasts, ignoring him. Pone was Lithuanian for “sir,” the only other Lithuanian word I had learned during my captivity.

  Viršininkas’ hands left me, and he glanced over his shoulder to look at Matis.

  “There are men with guns surrounding the mansion. We must leave. Now.”

  The hands on my body stilled, and Viršininkas was quick to stand, yanking me up by my elbow, my shoulders screaming in protest. Whatever had been probing my pussy slipped free, and I relaxed the moment my body was empty of its presence. With my skirt still bunched around my hips, I was unceremoniously dragged along the fringes of the ballroom as a commotion from the opposite side caught my attention.

  “Everyone, stay where you are,” came the order from an accent that sounded oddly familiar. American?

  Viršininkas and Matis slowed their gait but didn’t stop, they continued to edge around the room as it became silent.

  “If you move before we state otherwise, we’ll shoot. Girls get your fucking clothes on.”

  The belt securing my wrists was promptly removed, and I breathed a sigh of relief as my arms swung forward, pain shooting down to my fingertips as blood returned to the extremities.

  “Pull down your damn skirt,” Viršininkas hissed in my ear.

  With numb hands, I fumbled to grasp the fabric around my waist but managed to shove the leather down over my nakedness. A group of men flooded the room, all of them dressed in head to toe black clothing, with hulking black boots, and heavy looking dark vests adorned with a red letter ‘Z’ on their chests. Rifles and guns were drawn with purpose. Hope flooded my body with the sweet taste of freedom, the emotion like a shot of pure adrenaline. Before a smile could find my lips, though, I was dragged from the room. Stumbling on my spiked heels, I caught myself before I could fall and was propelled forward by Matis’ hand on the middle of my back. Viršininkas led us down a narrow, dimly lit corridor. Reality slapped me sharply across the face: Viršininkas was fleeing, he feared the men behind us, the men with guns. Were they police? Soldiers? Could they have been there for me? The thought stopped me dead in my tracks. Matis’ hard, bulky body rammed into me, and I staggered forward a few paces.

  “Move,” he snapped.

  My body remained frozen, though, and as the shock quickly wore away, determination filled its place. The chance at freedom had me turning toward the men with guns, catching Matis by surprise, and it took little more than an unexpected shove to move him aside. Wobbling precariously on the heels I’d been forced to wear, I took a few running steps forward before a hard body slammed me into the wall.

  “Wrong way, Beauty,” Matis growled in my ear, shoving me back in the direction we’d been running.

  The thought of freedom burned like fire in my veins, and I fought to free myself of Matis’ bear-like hands.

  “No,” I growled. It had been a long time since that word had fallen from my lips. Saying it seemed to release something inside me, a flame I thought long ago extinguished.

  Fight.

  And fight I did. With flaying hands, I lashed out, scratching, punching, and slapping Matis. When he simply restrained my hands and picked me up, I used my feet, kicking with all the strength I could muster. I knew the moment one of my heels had found its mark. Matis dropped me with a pained snarl. Before I could make use of being free from his grip, I caught a glimpse of a hammer-like fist coming at my face seconds before it connected with such force that I flew backwards against the hard ground. For the first time, in a long time, I fought to stay conscious, but as Matis heaved me over his shoulder, I lost that fight, much like I’d lost all the others I’d battled in this hell.

  2

  BEAUTY

  The pounding in my head dragged me to consciousness. Trying to roll to one side, my cheek burned with pain, and I winced. Th
rough a foggy haze, I tried to force my eyes open, but it was a battle my mind and body weren’t going to win right away. I lay awkwardly on one side, my legs pulled to my chest, the cold bite of concrete beneath my cheek. When I tried to stretch out, my foot hit something hard and icy, something familiar, something that sent my heart into a reckless beat. Blinking away the fog, I was greeted with darkness. An inky gloom so obscure I couldn’t see my hand as I raised it to push away the hair that fell into my eyes. It was a familiar darkness, accompanied with a familiar stench. Old blood. My blood. I was in the cage—one meant for a medium-sized dog—that sat in the basement below my master’s home. His dungeon was a cold, large room with the walls, floors, and ceiling of concrete. Shiny, steel instruments like scalpels, scissors, and saws lined cabinet tops, and chains hung from the ceiling, innocuous and waiting to be used. At a moment’s notice, I could be manacled and restrained. Whips, ropes, hand cuffs, and other such paraphernalia hung from their appropriate places, the only comfort a small leather sofa against one wall. It was truly a room of torture. The walls and roof of my cage were made of solid steel bars, with a small padlocked opening at one end. It had been many months since I’d been locked down here, my behavior worthy of time upstairs. Up there, I had the luxury of space. Even though I was still captive, the house was much larger than the space below its ground level floor. The floors were carpeted which eased the pain on my knees, and I was allowed to use a bathroom with a door for privacy. Mind you, the door didn’t lock. In Viršininkas private quarters, I had my very own thick rug and soft blanket for bedding, positioned on the floor right beside his luxurious king-size bed. He rarely even chained me while I slept anymore. I was obedient. There was fight left in me, but it was useless fighting when I didn’t have a hope in hell of freeing myself. Down here, there were no luxuries: no bathrooms, no sound, no light. Just the cage and the echoes of my screams which bounced off the walls when Viršininkas punished me. It was in this room a young girl’s innocence was destroyed, where her dreams had been whipped right out of her. Purity had bled onto the cold floor, a virgin’s blood. This was the dungeon where that girl died, reborn as nothing more than a vessel for men’s pleasure. Beauty.