Shattered Sapphire Read online

  Shattered Sapphire

  A Dark Romance Novel

  D.W. Marshall

  Wicked Moon Penning

  Copyright © 2020 by D.W. Marshall

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Shattered Sapphire is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN: 978-0-9968729-2-8

  Cover design by Heidi Dorey

  Edited & Interior Layout by authorsassistant.com

  To all the other writers out there who get up too early and go to bed too late just get another chapter written. Don’t ever stop.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Epilogue

  Poisoned Ivy Sample

  Also by D.W. Marshall

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Prologue

  I can’t believe these girls. Not one of them can appreciate how good we have it here. Why would anyone want to leave this place? The Chamber is perfect. Sex is just sex. I mean, I have told them all this fact at least a million times. They need to seize this moment because we will not have these bodies forever. Not one of them thinks like me, but one day they will.

  I have treated each day here like an answered prayer—like I hit the lottery. And because I’m too much of a chickenshit to tell Mason that I want to stay, I’m being shipped home this morning with the rest of my weak sisters. Don’t get me wrong, after a year of being in their presence, they have all grown on me to the point where I can really call them “sisters.” Still, to say we have much in common would be a lie.

  I am an island.

  The only person I’ve ever met who I have anything in common with is Mason.

  It’s my own fault. There is no one else to blame but me. It’s not like I have any excuses. During the past year I had nothing but time and

  opportunity to tell Mason that I wanted to stay, especially when he sent for me so many times during my year of welcomed captivity. In my defense, I thought we were getting serious enough that he would want to keep me. I believed that what we shared was the start of something. My pride got in the way because I obviously got it in my head that what was developing between us also meant something to him. I wanted Mason to want me to stay—I wanted him to want me. My desire was for him to show me that he felt the time we shared together was special.

  Guess what? Now I’m heading home.

  The other reason I think I held back is the fact that he’s married to Ivory. Married. How can I mean anything to him when he already has a wife? My first night here, he commented that I could be his next wife. But what does that mean, really? Men talk, right? I mean, his cock was down my throat when he said it. The thing is, if I was only special enough to him to be an addition to his harem, then what we shared wasn’t as important to him as I thought. Damn. Out of all of the men on the planet to fall in love with, I pick the most damaged—someone incapable of love.

  A man like Mason lives by one code: life is about fucking.

  Sure, that’s my code, too, but no one can live like that forever. Even I expect I’ll settle down at some point.

  I will never forget the night I was taken and brought here. My sister, Gabriella, and I were visiting relatives in Sao Paulo, Brazil. We went as often as we could in order to stay connected to our roots. Summers there were amazing. Some of the world’s sexiest people gather there, and it is a nonstop party.

  Gabriella and I were at what had to be the world’s tiniest nightclub, right on the beach. It was so small, that if I counted, I’m sure no more than fifty people were squeezed inside, and that was including staff.

  This sexy guy asked me to dance. Of course, I said yes. He was fucking fine as hell—tall, muscular, and sweaty, with the kind of humid sheen that coats your body in a cramped beach club. We dirty-danced for an hour straight. He could move, too. He did that slow grind that turns me on. When a man moves like that, you know the sex is going to be mind-blowing. I knew we were going to fuck, and I couldn’t wait. When he asked me to step outside with him and take a walk on the beach, I didn’t hesitate. I was going to get what I wanted.

  I’m not a fan of beach sex. The idea of it is hot—the moonlight, the sand, the waves, and the beach air. But no amount of illusion is worth a week of removing sand from all the crevices of your body. I mean all of them. I was hoping that he had something less romantic in mind, like the back of a pickup truck. Hell, I’d even take the backseat of a car. I’m not picky.

  It was on my way out with the sexy guy that everything changed. It started out innocent enough. He was holding my hand, and I was fake giggling to a joke that I only half understood because my Portuguese is rusty. All I was thinking about was him burying his cock deep inside me. I knew he was endowed, because I could feel him against me when we were dancing, and I couldn’t wait. I had no idea that the seconds that followed would change a lot for me.

  Some would call it the moment that life as they knew it ended, and at the time I thought the exact same thing. Suddenly, the beauty of the moonlit ocean and the multicolored lights strung along the entrance of the club no longer held the same effect of hope and promise, but were now the last images of my life. Or, so I thought.

  A van pulled up in front of us, and just like a scene from a movie where the stupid girl follows a stranger out of the crowded club and into the dark night, I was shoved inside it. The only difference is, I do this shit all the time. What can I say? I’m sex-positive. I guess my number was finally up. I attempted to protest, but one of the three large guys inside yanked me into the van. I landed on my side and when I opened my eyes, my sister was running toward us. Another thought ran through my mind. What if they take her, too? I still remember my sister’s horrified eyes, her mouth locked in a scream, “Em!” The sexy guy climbed into the van, slammed the door shut, and pulled out a white cloth, which he pressed up to my face. It was something straight out of a horror movie. The whole thing took minutes but felt like hours.

  When I woke up, I was bound and a heavy hood covered my head. My immediate reaction was to fight. Fight for my life. Fight for my freedom. Then, the hood was removed and another emotion took over—fear.

  Six other bound girls stood there. We were all scared shitless.

  Then a platform rose from beneath the floor in front of us.

  Mason rose up in a flood of godly light and he truly answered all of my prayers.

  1

  Sapphire

  All of my life I have never fit in. I was born into a strong Brazilian Catholic family, and I’ve always felt like a sinner. My sexual appetite started years before the average girl
. I can’t explain why. I went to church. I went through all of the steps needed to become the good little Catholic girl—my first communion, then confirmation. By confirmation, I knew that, according to the church, God didn’t approve of me. But then, isn’t he the one who made me the way I am?

  No amount of preaching or church services helped. None of it mattered, because the feeling that goes along with being a “good” Catholic never even came close to the feeling I have when a dick is deep inside of me. Perhaps I suffer from an addiction to sex. There is such a thing. Well, if I am a nymphomaniac, I’m not ashamed. On the contrary, I’d be proud to say it to anyone.

  That first night, when Mason rose from the floor and welcomed us to The Chamber, he basically told us that we would spend the next year as sex slaves. When I heard that, all the fear inside of me vanished immediately. As long as no harm came to me, I knew I would be at home in The Chamber.

  My birth name is Emmanuella Maria Alves. Mason renamed me “Sapphire” that first night. Truth be told, I loved my new name. I was born to be Sapphire. Now I am bound for East Brunswick, New Jersey, and I will be stripped of my name. How can I be Emmanuella again, when being Sapphire has felt so right? Mason introduced me to a life befitting me, and I can’t imagine going back.

  My sisters, Gabriella and Marianna, are different. They are my mother’s ideal daughters. Both of them are virgins. And me, the middle child, I’m the family slut. I wear my scarlet letter “S” with honor and shame—shame that I could never play the part of the good little Catholic girl because I love the feeling of power and euphoria that fucking gives me.

  Moving from our native Brazil when I was in primary school helped, because not everyone in New Jersey is Catholic, and we were far away from our immediate family, who would only have added to the “let’s judge Emmanuella” crew.

  Growing up, I had friends who were also sexually mature, so hanging out with them made me feel less alone. But that was at school. Nastasia and Beth were my sidekicks, proud to be school sluts. I could share my sexual interests with others who understood me. Kids tried to label and even tease us. But we loved who we were, so we didn’t give a fuck what people thought.

  Home was a different story. Family is supposed to love and accept you. All of you—the good, the bad, and the ugly. I guess my parents never got that memo, because my mother always gazed upon me with disdain, and my father rarely looked at me at all.

  They knew early on that I was different, and they did very little to mask how that knowledge made them feel about me. I am surprised I didn’t become really screwed up. But I did have the love of my sisters, and somehow that was enough. Don’t get me wrong—I know my parents love me. They just had a really fucked up, judgmental way of showing it.

  I remember my first night at The Chamber. Once we found out what was intended for us, the other girls fell apart. I guess if I was more like my sisters, I would have done the same. But I’m not. As Mason went down the line renaming us, and having us perform small sexual acts, I was excited for my turn—really excited. I wanted to jump up and down. I could not wait.

  When it was finally my turn, Mason must have seen the devil in my eyes, because my act was significantly more sexual than the rest. I took his cock into my mouth with honor. I worshipped it with my tongue. I made my desire for him and this lifestyle that he was bringing me into known.

  2

  Sapphire, The Chamber

  This is ridiculous. Mason has managed to summon every single girl to his chamber except me. The other girls hate it here, and if given the chance to leave, they would trample each other running for the door. They still see it as a prison, but I hope to one day call it “home.” Yet, even though I’ve made it perfectly clear that I want to be here, I’ve been completely ignored.

  Today is one of our days off and I’m bored. I plop down on the sofa in our common living room, annoyed.

  “What’s wrong, Sapphire?” Raven asks me as she sits down on the opposite end. This fierce, dark-haired Asian beauty would surely slash Mason’s throat if given the opportunity.

  I shrug my shoulders and shake my head in exasperation as an image of her and Mason going to town in a bed or on some sexual apparatus flashes before my eyes. “Nothing.”

  She leans forward, grabs the remote off of the small coffee table and flicks on the television. “Doesn’t look like ‘nothing’ to me. But you don’t have to tell me.” Her attention is on the television as she says it.

  I clear my throat. “How many times has Mason asked you to meet him, privately?”

  She turns her head to regard me with skeptical eyes. “Once, and it was once too many if you ask me. I’m happy to report that I’m not one of his favored. You?”

  I sigh with the thought that I, too, might not be favored. “He hasn’t asked for me at all.”

  Her eyebrow hitches up. “Really? But you’re so…” she lets the words fall.

  “So, what?” I fix my face with a lip twist and an eyebrow furrow.

  She shrugs. “Eager to be here.”

  “That’s…true. I love it here. It feels more like home than mine ever did. I’m surprised you haven’t plotted an elaborate escape. You’re always watching and analyzing. I see you, girl.”

  She cracks a rare smile.

  “Don’t know where I’d go if I did. This place is an island. Water surrounds us on most sides.”

  I hitch my eyebrow up at her. “How can you possibly know that?”

  She scoffs. “I’m an islander. I can smell the sea in the air, even through all this stone. I can feel it in my body, and when its quiet, I can hear the waves.” She turns her attention back to the television. “Besides running would be a fool's mission. This guy is organized. Best to wait it out. I have little sisters at home to keep safe.”

  “The accommodations ain’t too shabby either. You feel me?” I say.

  She nods slowly. “It could be worse.”

  “Sorry to interrupt, ladies.”

  We turn to find my groomer, Levi behind us.

  “Hey, Levi,” Raven and I say at the same time. Levi is sweet. He has a handsome face, with soft brown eyes and dark blond hair. He is good at his job—keeping me primped and chamber-ready. He steps closer to us, but remains quiet. What does he want? Because it’s always something.

  “I’ll leave you,” Raven says in a rush as she hops up and walks away.

  Levi takes her spot on the sofa and stares at me with a quizzical smile on his face.

  “What?” I ask. I can feel my eyes squint in confusion.

  He remains silent.

  I roll my eyes at him. “I don’t play guessing games. If you have words, kindly slide them onto the tip of your tongue and spit them out.”

  “His grace would like to see you now.”

  Inwardly my stomach turns with excitement. My heart kicks up a beat, thrumming inside my chest. Outwardly, I turn away from him and say, “Tell your grace I have plans.”

  He scoffs, causing me to turn to him. “What?” I ask and stare at him under furrowed brows. “I’m serious. I’ve been here for six months without a word from him and he wants to see me now? Well, he can just wait.”

  “It’s funny, you say that like you actually have a choice,” he says.

  I shrug. “I do.”

  He tilts his head to study me. “So, you’re telling me that you’re not Mason’s captive until he decides otherwise?”

  “Yup.”

  He purses his lips in disbelief. “Let me get this straight, you believe that you can walk out any time you wish?”

  I deadpan. “That is not what I said or meant.”

  He rolls his eyes and lets out a heavy breath.

  I continue. “It’s a matter of distinction. The other girls don’t want to be here. You know they would bolt if they could. But I wouldn’t, if given the chance I would beg to stay. I’m hardly a captive. But, if he wants to ignore me for months and then summon me out of the blue then he can come and get me his damn self.”

/>   He stares at me with admiration in his eyes. “Or, I could drag you there.”

  I nod slowly. “You could. But you won’t.” I smile.

  His face changes and the sweetness returns. “No, I won’t.” He smiles at me and plants a kiss on my cheek. “You, my dear, are a pain in my ass.”

  He rises from the couch.

  “Where are you headed?” I ask hiding the smile of victory between tight lips.

  “To tell Mason of your treachery.”

  He makes a face at me and mumbles on his way out of the room, something about dull moments never happening around me.

  The second he is out of sight I allow the smile on my face to take over. Mason is finally calling for me. I know there has to be a reason, but if I am going to remain here after the other girls leave, I have to make him want me to stay.

  3

  Sapphire, The Chamber

  It takes thirty minutes before Mason is standing in the family room of our Chambermaid suite, with his dark eyes and chiseled features, sucking all of the oxygen out of the room. He’s always in a suit, but in my imagination, I rip it off to unlock the secret treasures hidden underneath. “Bristling” is the best way I can describe his energy as it bounces around the room. His lips are in a tight line, but his eyes dance with amusement.