Page 1 of Wanted
Prologue
Anna/Pony
Pony lay on her side in the narrow hospital bed and stared unblinking at the wall. Master Ethen was dead. He’d shot her in the head. The Menagerie he’d wanted so much was disbanded. Even Puppy had abandoned her, and now he was dead.
If only she were dead too.
For four years, she’d given herself to Master in every way a good slave could. His every whim had been her gospel. She’d dressed in the clothes he’d selected, worked the jobs he’d chosen, driven the car he’d allowed her to buy, cooked and eaten only his most favorite things. She’d given him everything—from every scrap of property she’d owned since before she met him, to her paychecks. She’d thought what he’d wanted her to think. Spoken the opinions he’d wanted her to have. Shared her body with him, whenever, wherever, and however he’d desired it.
Not once had she ever said no. Not when he was in a mood to hurt and debase her.
Not even when he was in a mood to watch her with other men.
She had been his. Heart, mind, body, and soul. She had never wanted anyone else. Only him.
Always him.
And he’d shot her in the head.
Pony closed her eyes, telling herself that the tears that kept burning her eyes were because her head hurt so badly. It wasn’t.
He hadn’t wanted her. She’d been his, the first slave he’d taken in as part of his Menagerie, gifted with the title of lead submissive and tasked with keeping the others in line. She’d tried. Oh, how she’d tried. Even after Piggy and Kitty ran away and he’d been sent to jail, she’d stayed and done her best to keep the rebelling Puppy obedient to his wishes. But it hadn’t mattered. He’d wanted Puppy, Piggy, Kitty… everyone—anyone. He just hadn’t wanted her.
Curling in around herself, Pony made herself as small as the hospital bed would allow. The IV in her arm was pumping fluids into her system. She had bruises from the back of both hands to her elbows where the IV had blown out her veins. If it happened again, they said, they’d have no choice but to try the veins in her feet. She was too malnourished, they said, and she knew she was thin. She could see the proof of it every time she looked in the mirror and in the heavy loss of long blonde strands caught in the drain when she showered. There wasn’t a lot she could do about it, though. When Master Ethen said no food, she didn’t eat. It was just that simple and just that hard, especially since most of her punishments these days were because of Puppy.
Disobedient, traitorous Puppy, whose mother had shot Master after he’d shot Pony. In the head. While she’d been running to pack her things so she could at last, now that he’d finally been released from prison, go back home with him.
Things were supposed to be back to normal now, but they would never be normal again. So, what did it matter how thin she was or how many meals she’d missed? In the last year, she’d missed a lot of meals, but not once had she ever cheated on him. Lately, she’d even come to kind of like the hollow-feeling pinch in her stomach. Regardless of what Puppy was doing—running around with that man who wasn’t their Master—at least she was being obedient.
She was being good.
She was being worth his time and attention.
And he’d shot her at just the right distance, with just the right caliber of bullet, that it had skimmed the back of her skull rather than penetrating the bone. She’d felt the impact like a sledgehammer. It hadn’t just knocked her down, it had knocked her out cold. She didn’t remember hitting the floor. She only remembered coming to in the ambulance with her face stiff and sticky with blood and the mother of all headaches pounding at her temples and behind her eyes.
“You should buy a lottery ticket,” said the doctor who’d examined her once she reached the hospital. “This is a one-in-a-million outcome for a headshot. I don’t know why it didn’t kill you.”
She’d sat there, numb while the doctor stapled the gash in the back of her scalp back together and the detective handling her ‘case’ filled in the massive blank where her memory showed her only blackness instead of what had actually happened. Reassuring her yet again that she was safe now that her attacker was dead, the detective had then asked her questions.
She hadn’t answered them. She’d barely heard them. Her Master was dead.
The man she had loved with all the diligence and obedience that her too-thin body possessed had been killed.
Murdered.
After he’d shot her. In the head. Because he’d wanted to kill her more than he’d wanted to keep her with him.
She stared at the wall directly in front of her, not moving, only blinking even when she heard the door to her room open. Unlike the nurses with their squeaky shoes, the footsteps that entered behind her were slow and almost silent as they approached the bed. After a moment, a chair was drawn up to her beside. It creaked under the weight of whoever sat.
“Hello, Anna,” said the voice of a man she didn’t recognize.
Unmoving, Pony kept her gaze fixed on the wall. She didn’t greet him back.
“My name is Marcus Hawke. I’m a friend of Spencer’s. I’ve been asked to help you.”
It took her a moment to process who he meant. She only knew one Spencer, and he was the manager of the east coast branch of Black Light, one of the best BDSM-oriented clubs in the States. Master had hated the man, a sentiment Spencer had returned in spades. He’d been nothing but cold toward them for almost as long as they’d been going to Black Light, right up until he’d banned them from coming back. Because he was jealous of him, Master had said. Master was the better Dom and the pathetic club manager couldn’t stop lusting after Master’s menagerie girls.
If he were alive, Master would tell her neither Spencer, nor his friends, were worth their time.
