Uncovering You 4: Retribution Read online

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Reader Warning

  About the Series

  Note from Scarlett

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Epilogue

  The End

  Mailing List Sign-up

  Enjoyed this book?

  Copyright © 2014 Edwards Publishing, Ltd.

  All rights reserved.

  Edited by Gail Lennon.

  Cover design by Scarlett Edwards.

  Interior design by Scarlett Edwards.

  Published by Edwards Publishing, Ltd.

  Edwards Publishing

  477 Peace Portal Drive

  Suite 107-154

  Blaine, WA 98230

  ISBN: 978-0-9937370-5-3

  Uncovering You 4

  Retribution

  by Scarlett Edwards

  Reader Warning:

  Uncovering You 4: Retribution contains scenes of intense emotional and physical abuse. Readers with sensitivity to such subjects are advised to proceed with caution.

  About the Series

  The story of Uncovering You unfolds over multiple volumes. The first three books are approximately 125 pages each. Future volumes, starting with Uncovering You 5, will be 200 pages or more

  Currently Available:

  Uncovering You 1: The Contract

  Uncovering You 2: Submission

  Uncovering You 3: Resistance

  Uncovering You 4: Retribution

  Future Releases:

  Uncovering You #5 - June 20, 2014

  Uncovering You #6 - July 30, 2014

  Uncovering You #7 - August 30, 2014

  Note from Scarlett: Longer Books Coming!

  Hey all,

  I said that I read all your reviews in the note I left in Uncovering You 2. That’s true. I do. And you let me know, loud and clear, that you want longer books.

  I’m happy to say that I’m going to deliver. Starting from Uncovering You 5, each book will be much, much longer. Two hundred pages or more.

  Uncovering You 4: Retribution is the first ‘transition’ book into the longer ones. I couldn’t increase the length of this one because it was already written when I saw your requests. Still, it’s the longest book so far by about 25%

  (For those of you wondering how I get to the ‘125 pages’ count that I mention in the description, it’s easy. A standard kindle page contains about 175 words. The first three Uncovering You books were around 22,000 words. Do a little bit of math, and you end up at 125 pages.)

  I know that Amazon originally put a lower estimated page count for Uncovering You 3. It’s since been corrected, but I thought that seeing the first number wasn’t fair to you guys because you felt like you were getting ripped off.

  In fact, Uncovering You 3 was the same length as the previous books. Here’s the exact word count for the series:

  Uncovering You 1 – 21,958 words

  Uncovering You 2 – 24,244 words

  Uncovering You 3 – 22,631 words

  And this book is even longer:

  Uncovering You 4 – 27,486 words

  All that is to say: I’m not trying to rip anybody off, and the reason for writing the story in installments is that I can adjust my writing on the fly based on your feedback. I’ve read some amazing theories about Stonehart and Lilly on both Goodreads and Amazon. Your passion is unbelievable, contagious, and makes me so excited to present Lilly and Stonehart’s story to you.

  Enjoy book 4.

  Scarlett Edwards

  May 30, 2014.

  PS: One downside of making the books longer is that they’ll take me a little bit more time to write. Instead of releasing a book every 20 days, I’ll have to push it back to every 30 days. That doesn’t change the release of Uncovering You 5, which is still June 20, 2014. It only affects the books that come after.

  PPS: I will try my best to get the releases out sooner, though. The schedule I put up is a worst-case scenario. Still, I don’t want to disappoint anybody by promising release dates that I can’t make.

  Chapter One

  The cold, dull edge of the knife runs down the midline of my body. The only sounds I hear are my fast, terrified breaths.

  I cannot see. The blindfold ensures that. I cannot move. Ropes around my wrists and ankles ensure that. I cannot even scream. The rag in my mouth muffles all noise.

  Worst of all, I can’t defend myself.

  I’ve never felt more exposed…or more frightened.

  The knife stops above my navel. The point dips into my flesh. My nostrils flare as I take a sharp breath. A tiny bit more pressure and the blade will pierce my skin…

  Stonehart relents. The blade lifts off. My tense body relaxes a fraction of a degree.

  “This is about reminding you who is in control.” His voice sounds low and hoarse, and comes from somewhere far below my spread legs. “Lilly¸ your body is mine. And if your mind is not yet…” I feel the bed shift with his weight as he climbs between my legs, “… it will be soon.”

  He accentuates the words by licking up, once, over my clit.

  The most appalling and shocking wave of pleasure ripples through me at the touch of his tongue. My natural instinct is to press my knees together and deny him access. But I am helpless against the ropes.

  “You enjoyed that,” Stonehart observes. There is an obvious smugness in his voice that makes me hate him even more. “I can see the way your body trembled. It’s not only fear that’s causing that, is it? It’s also…” he brushes his fingers across my folds, “…arousal.”

  I want to open my eyes and scream at him that I will never feel the least bit aroused when I’m tied up and taken advantage of like a gutted pig, that I will never succumb to the feelings of pleasure and forget my overwhelming hatred for him, and, most of all, that he will never, ever have possession of my mind…

  But all I can do is give pathetic protests that are made unintelligible by the rag he has jammed between my teeth.

  “Yes,” Stonehart continues. His hands trail along both of my legs, up from my knees to my core and back down.

  Damn my skin for exploding into goosebumps at the light touch!

  “Yes, Lilly. I can see how you quiver for me. God, you don’t know how beautiful you are like this. Tied up. Vulnerable. Exposed. And—” his voice becomes an octave lower, “—all mine.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut and scream into the rag.

  “Now, now,” he tsks, ignoring my cry. “What are we going to do with you now? I still have this, you know.” I feel the flat side of the cold knife press into my inner thigh. “But it doesn’t seem much use when you’re already bound. Now, what I could do…” he starts to slide the knife up and down along my skin, “…is cut you loose, and hold you down myself… but where would the fun be in letting you go? The problem is, darling, I’ve come over-prepared.”

  The bed shifts again as Stonehart leans over my body. The smooth fabric of his dress pants brushes against my legs. I can feel his erection just beneath my belly button.

  “Of course, there are those wonderful breasts of yours,” he says. “Those beautiful, magnificent breasts.” He slides the knife around one
and then uses the tip to flick my nipple. “It would be a real shame if the blade slipped right now, wouldn’t it?”

  The icy indifference in his voice grips me with a new wave of fear. He wouldn’t… would he?

  Suddenly, the precariousness of my situation becomes all the more horrifying. As I feel the blade flick my nipple back and forth, all I can think of is how easy it would be for him to slip… and how much pain would consume me if he did.

  On the spot, I start to cry.

  You don’t know how humiliating it is to start crying when your eyes and mouth are both covered. How absolutely mortifying it is to hear the pathetic, muffled sounds reach your own ears. It is as good as admitting defeat. It is you—or your body—acknowledging the true hopelessness of a situation.

  It is finally giving up.

  Stonehart tsks. “Sweet Lilly,” he says, brushing a thumb across my cheek. “Sweet, sweet Lilly. Shh, shh. There, there. Don’t cry. I promise, I’m not going to hurt you.”

  His cheek brushes against mine and he concludes in a horrible, raspy voice by my ear, “…much.”

  The next sound I hear is the swoosh of his belt coming off. The rest of the night is drowned out by the muted, feeble sound of my sobs.

  Chapter Two

  I wake up the next morning from a terrible, restless, choppy sleep.

  Stonehart did not just fuck me last night. He did it in a way that removed all traces of humanity from the act. It wiped away any semblance of kindness or compassion I remembered from the night spent in his bed just a day or two ago.

  It was humiliating. In the end, I was glad for the blindfold. I do not know how I would have survived if I had to look in his eyes.

  The entire sequence of events seemed like something from a nightmare. I couldn’t move. I was entirely at his mercy. Hell, I could have been a corpse and he wouldn’t have noticed a difference.

  What frightened me most was the way Stonehart made use of my body as if it were an empty vessel. The presence of the knife made everything worse. I was never sure if he intended to use it or not. I was never sure, if, at the end, he wouldn’t just slit my throat and be done with it.

  But the only time the knife made its appearance was after Stonehart spewed his load all over my bare stomach.

  “I’ve marked you as my own,” he rasped, “but sometimes, I think I’d enjoy something a little more permanent. How about it, Lilly? What if I carve my initials for you, right about… here?” He pressed the knife under my left breast. “Wouldn’t that be nice? A permanent scar that reads J.S. Can you picture that?” He increased the pressure of the knife. “Should I do it, Lilly-flower? What do you think?”

  Thankfully, the frantic shaking of my head dissuaded him from the notion.

  “A shame,” he said, as he removed it from my skin. “But I promised I wouldn’t hurt you if you complied. As you know,” he said, standing up, “I am a man of my word.”

  Then he left, but not before twisting his fingers through my hair and jerking my head up to kiss me roughly.

  Of course, he also cut the bonds holding my arms and legs.

  I waited until I was sure he was gone to push myself up. Trembling, I took the blindfold off and the rag out. Then, too weak to do anything else, I curled up on my side, wrapped a blanket around myself, and tried to sleep.

  ***

  This morning, the sun is shining bright against the gleaming tiles of my room. I look up at the beautiful, huge, wooden beams of the ceiling and think of all the cameras there.

  They saw everything that went on last night.

  All I want to do is crawl into a hole and die.

  For a long time, I just lie there, contemplating what’s become of my life. Everything I’ve worked so hard for has been ripped away at the whim of a madman. Autonomy. Self-sufficiency. My education.

  All gone.

  Eventually, hunger drives me to my feet.

  I discover that moving is uncomfortable. Stonehart fucked me hard. What’s more, all my leg muscles are cramping up after being tied in the same position for so long last night.

  I stagger into the shower, more limping than walking, and turn the water on as hot as it will go. It starts to scald my skin. I force myself to stand under the stream.

  The pain of being burned seems welcome, somehow. It’s purer than the discomfort I felt last night. If I stand there long enough, the steam and condensation helps me forget, for a few precious moments, where I am.

  After what seems like an hour or more, I step out and dry myself off. My skin is tender and raw.

  I like the feeling. It’s something that I did to myself. Stonehart played no part.

  As I walk, zombie-like, to the closet, a faraway thought bubbles to the surface near the back of my mind: this type of behavior is alarmingly similar to the early stages of clinical self-harm.

  I choose to pretend not to heed the warning.

  After I’m dressed, I go into the powder room and look in the mirror. My face and neck are blistering red.

  Shit. For a moment, I’m afraid I’ve done permanent damage. Not because of the lasting effects on me, but because I remember Stonehart’s stipulation about body size and appearance. One of his verbal rules was a restriction on me ruining my body in any way.

  What if he does it? I think bitterly. That’s just fine.

  My stomach rumbles again, reminding me of why I got out of bed in the first place. For half a second, I consider going on a hunger strike, just to regain some degree of control over my life.

  I dismiss the notion as quickly as I have it. One, it would piss Stonehart off. Two, I would be the only one suffering.

  I walk down the hallway to the main house. I am in a foul mood. I don’t know where all my motivation has gone.

  Maybe Stonehart fucked it all out of me.

  That thought feels like it should carry a trace of dry humor. It does not. It is an apathetic assessment of my situation.

  Avoid alliteration! I remember my freshman seminar professor screaming at me, tongue-in-cheek. And—finally—the memory makes me smile. She would have had a fit if I had written “apathetic assessment” on any of my creative writing papers.

  I enter the larger-than-life entrance hall. Sunlight streams in from all the windows, making the chandelier glimmer from high overhead.

  For a second, I just stand there, admiring the beauty of the home.

  I guess the saying about beauty being skin deep applies here more than ever. If I had seen the inside of Stonehart’s mansion before I was taken captive, I would never have guessed that it was the lair of a veritable monster.

  Two male voices drift from down the hall, making my body release a quick, nervous burst of adrenaline. I jump, my heart racing… and realize how stupid my reaction is.

  Jesus, Lilly, I chide myself. They’re just voices! When did you become so skittish?

  I placate myself a little bit by arguing that it’s lack of sleep that has me feeling so off today, and nothing that Stonehart did.

  Of course, I know that’s a lie.

  I debate going back to the sunroom to avoid seeing anybody. Then, immediately appalled by my lack of courage, square my shoulders and walk directly toward the voices.

  I am the same woman I always was, I repeat to myself. Don’t let circumstance change you. Don’t let Stonehart win.

  I come to one of the sitting rooms and find Stonehart leaning on a black leather couch, arms wide over the back in a position of utter comfort. He is speaking to a man I’ve never seen before.

  The man is younger than Stonehart. He’s probably less than a decade older than I am. He looks… well, overwhelmed would be an understatement. Whereas Stonehart is entirely at ease, the other man is as nervous as a baby bird that’s caught sight of a snake along the branches. He’s sitting with his spine as straight as a skyscraper, and keeps dry washing his hands in an obsequious gesture.

  I’m also surprised by Stonehart’s appearance. For the first time since I’ve known him, he is wearing
something other than a perfect, pressed suit. He has jeans on, of all things, complemented by a tight black polo that tapers in to show his trim waist and strong chest. The sleeves hug his arms nicely. As he taps one hand against the sofa’s back, I see the muscles of his forearm dance.

  In short, he looks more relaxed and human than I’ve ever seen him.

  I’m about to turn away, not wanting to interrupt something important, when his eyes come up and catch sight of me. And then—damn the man—such an honest, genuine smile spreads on his face that my knees actually go a little bit weak.

  “Lilly,” he says warmly, standing up and cutting his companion off mid-sentence. “Finally, you’re up.”

  He walks toward me. I’m stunned when he leans down to kiss my forehead in the sweetest display of affection he’s ever shown. He slips his arm around my waist and turns back to his friend, who has stood up and started to fuss with his hair, no doubt to try to make a good first impression.

  “Lilly, this is Esteban,” Stonehart explains, guiding me forward. “Esteban, this is Lilly Ryder. My…” his pause is so short that it’s nearly imperceptible, “…girlfriend.”

  Esteban smiles at me and extends his hand. “How do you do?”

  “Fine, thank you,” I respond, entirely on auto-pilot, and reeling from shock.

  His girlfriend?

  Stonehart leads us back to the couch. He sits down and crosses his long legs, then puts an arm around my shoulders and pulls me close. Esteban sits and waits.

  “Mmm.” Stonehart turns his head toward me and dips his nose in my hair to breathe deep. “You smell wonderful today, Lilly,” he says under his breath. The words are so low that I am sure they are meant to reach only my ears.

  Esteban clears his throat. Stonehart turns his attention back to him. “Continue.” He nods.

  Esteban takes a breath. He looks as nervous as ever. “So,” he starts, directing a quick glance at me. He exhales, changes what he was going to say, and rubs his cheeks. “I’m sorry, but should we really be having this conversation with…” he trails off, his eyes darting between me and Stonehart, “… another party present?”