Hope Restrained

  HOPE RESTRAINED

  (Estate Series — Book 2)

  By M.S. Willis

  This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place, events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Hope Restrained: Copyright © 2014 by M.S. Willis

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced, scanned, distributed in any printed or electronic form or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  ISBN: 978-0-9894479-9-7

  [email protected]

  http://www.facebook.com/mswillisbooks

  OTHER BOOKS BY M.S. WILLIS

  Control Series

  Book One — Control

  Book Two — Conflict

  Book Three — Conquer

  Novella - David

  Estate Series

  Book One — Madeleine Abducted

  Book 0.5 (Prequel) — Joseph Fallen

  Coming in 2014

  Honor Bound (Estate #4)

  Grace Restored (Estate #5)

  Captured (Control #4)

  Changed (Control #5)

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Epilogue

  Hope Restrained is dedicated to the first fan characters of the series, Erica and Crystal. Good luck to you.

  Prologue

  Evil. It’s a concept you believe you understand — a thing that you can declare, without hesitation, as bad. Within evil, there is no light, there is no hope, and there is no redemption. That is the steadfast rule most people regard as truth. This is a story, however, that will make you question the basic tenets of what you believe. It is an introduction to gray areas. It is a place where decisions must be made. It is a place where evil is a unit of measure.

  There are situations where a person is given a choice; where the only available options lie between atrocity and the unthinkable; where one must decide between honor and betrayal; and where the chances of survival are slim to none.

  She is an assassin: a strong woman who was raised to be a weapon. She has a brilliant mind and a beautiful soul, but she was tarnished at birth. Brought up within a criminal network, her life was overshadowed by a rival network called, The Estate. She was taught early on that The Estate was a place to be avoided, a path never to be crossed.

  Fate is never kind. Even when a woman walks carefully to elude the dark forces surrounding her, circumstances force her path, however, and she finds herself facing a beast. The confrontation brings with it a binary dynamic — kill or be killed — and her existence suddenly grows into a mission of life or death.

  Her name is Hope Delacroix, and when she entered the walls of The Estate stronghold, she was not — like most women — going in as a slave …

  She was going in as a warrior.

  Chapter One

  Honor sat still against the corner of the wall. Her vision diluted and hazed; her thoughts only making sense when the fog lifted for brief terror-filled moments. Huddled over herself, tears dripped down her face. The screams, blood-gurgled and agonizing, echoed through her skull while recycled images stalked her thoughts, never leaving her, never allowing her escape. Battering and relentless, they tore at her soul while the hands of men tore at her body. She could leave her body behind. She could escape the flesh. If only the bits and pieces hadn’t shattered her mind — flashes of crimson stains accompanying sparks of burning pain. Terror knew nothing of this Hell; no word is strong enough to describe the waking nightmare, the never-ending cruelty, of this place.

  A door opened and light flooded in attempting to touch her skin before callously being denied the chance as the door was once again closed.

  He walked towards her, his features liquid and unsettled as she attempted to see beyond the way light played along his skin.

  “My angel …” Her words were slurred, her voice so fragile, it barely cut through the silence in the room.

  He covered her mouth, the warmth of his hand seeping into her cold, chapped lips. The salt of his skin met the broken areas on her face, but she savored his touch, despite the reminder of the violence committed against her. She knew better than to talk — he always wanted her silent.

  “I’ve come to take you away my pet — but only if you are ready for me this time.” His voice rolled across her senses, the words trapped within a tunnel, the meaning lost to her understanding. She just wanted him to keep talking, to stay with her, to never go away. He was her angel, he’d told her so. He’d said he’d take her away if she were good, if she learned to behave. Every time she failed he had no choice but to leave her alone with the monsters. She hadn’t been ready before, the pain too much to keep quiet. She prayed that she could behave, could be good so he would take her as he’d promised.

  His hand brushed down her cheek, his mouth covering hers as the warmth of his hand moved lower to cover her breast. She moaned into his mouth, welcoming his touch. Lifting her from the floor by her arms, he held her when she stood on shaky legs, her body cold from the lack of clothes and the sudden touch of air across her skin. She was putty, each muscle refusing to cooperate because of the poisons running through her blood.

  He walked her to a table in the center of the room and she pulled back to remember the things she’d seen done to women on its surface, the things that had been done to her.

  “Do you resist me?” Dark and cold, his words were terrifying despite the beauty of his voice.

  She cringed. “No angel.”

  Lifting her, he bent her over the icy metal surface, immediately securing her hands to the shackles on top and her feet in the short chains connected to the legs of the table. Her legs spread wide, she was bared to him, unable to move or resist his demands. Her head rested perfectly on the other end, a small indented piece trapping her chin in place at the edge.

  She felt his large body over hers, his hand gripping into her hair and tears traveling down her cheeks at the pain his grip caused.

  When he forced himself inside, she screamed out, her body too abused to handle the contact, her sobs so thick, she choked on them as they poured from her mouth. He stood behind her sucking on his teeth, unmoving, until there was an audible “tsk” sound, and then he slowly pulled out. Her heart sank into her stomach, hating herself for having failed.

  Moving around the table, her eyes followed him once he came within her peripheral view. He moved in front of her, placing his hand on her head. She cried louder, her disgrace wearing heavily upon her body and soul.

  “I’m disappointed with you, pet. I gave you another opportunity and you faile
d.” He paused, letting it sink in that she wouldn’t be saved. “Open your mouth so you can clean off your shame.”

  He grasped the hair at the top of her head and pulled up, opening her impossibly wide before cleaning himself within the wet heat of her mouth. “Maybe if you are good the next time, I won’t have to leave you to be punished again.”

  When he’d released, she swallowed down the taste of her failure before he removed himself from her mouth and left the room while her tears ran in rivulets towards the table to which he’d left her strapped.

  Chapter Two

  The wind howled as Hope Delacroix stood surveying the perimeter of the shadowed house. While tearing at the base of her black leather trench, the angry wind also beat against the branches above her, unrelenting as the wood creaked and groaned. Slowly, methodically, she willed the rate of her breath, calming her body. Her head tilted slightly as she listened for other noises outside of the wind rushing past her ear. Sweat prickled along her skin despite the cold.

  Maybe, it had been an accident.

  It was a thought that only served to render false comfort.

  She’d gone missing three weeks prior. Three long, aggravating weeks during which Hope had paced the streets, desperately seeking out any clue that could be found in the dank and dirty alleyways that acted like a maze within the city.

  She knew her sister had been taken, some instinct within her telling her that darkness was creeping along the edges of her life; small tendrils of which reached out, wrapping around her despite her efforts to avoid its gaze. She wasn’t surprised to receive a call from a man claiming to be the abductor, but what did surprise her was the identity of that man. It was not his name. No, she didn’t believe he was honest when he identified himself. It was the network to which he belonged that had been the terrifying shock to her system.

  The Estate. It was a dark power, created by evil and demented so thoroughly that it lorded over other criminal networks, imparting fear of a wrong word or wrong move. There were rumors that Joseph Carmichael had sold his soul to the devil to gain the wealth and power he had over so short a period of time. But those who’d been in The Estate — the few who’d survived and made it out with their tongues and minds intact — they laughed at the rumor. From what they’d seen inside those large foreboding walls of the compound, Joseph Carmichael hadn’t “sold his soul”; he was the devil himself.

  She remembered a rumor two years prior that Joseph had been killed. At first, she didn’t believe it — but, when those rumors persisted, when a year had passed and the dealings of The Estate had lessened, she grew nervous. Trepidation crept along her bones as she wondered: what was so powerful it could destroy Joseph?

  Now, standing outside a two-story mansion within The Estate compound, she flicked a knife in her right hand and rested her left on the butt of a gun she had tucked into the waistband of her pants. There was no movement outside except for the stirring of leaves in the violent wind at her feet. The windows of the house were blacked out, preventing her from seeing inside. She’d wished for an easy solution; break in, find her sister, and get out. But she knew the likelihood of success was low.

  Jumping the walls hadn’t been difficult. She chuckled to think that she was probably the first person to attempt entering The Estate uninvited. The compound had a reputation for swallowing bodies — once a person entered those gates, very rarely were they seen again. What was the use of keeping people out, when it was almost guaranteed they’d never leave?

  But she’d had no choice, her sister was too precious, too good to be left victim to the beast. And now, Hope had to enter that house.

  Creeping forward slowly, she stepped softly across the dried leaves that blanketed the ground — a silent stalker covered in the blanket of night. The wind continued tearing at her hair and her coat slapped the backs of her calves — the sound, reminiscent of skin against skin. Her boots felt heavy on her feet and she forced her heart to beat slowly, methodically, when she breached the shadows around the building.

  Fear trickled along her spine. She knew it could never be this easy, that there were eyes watching her, silently laughing, thinking she believed she was alone. She knew better than to be so ignorant to believe they hadn’t already noticed her; they were too well-organized to be surprised by an ambush. Despite that knowledge, she had to try. Fighting had been ingrained in the life she led as an assassin.

  She’d begun her training when she was still in braids. While her sister played with dolls and paint, Hope was given blades and sticks. She was different than her twin, darker somehow, and the adults had simultaneously admired her and feared her. They’d noticed her differences early on, and after the discovery, they’d fed and fostered her odd proclivities.

  But her sister, Honor … she was always the light, almost as if they’d split apart when their mother had carried them; the light and dark sides of one soul, so opposite of one another that they couldn’t be contained in a single body. Hope was the older twin, always protective of the innocence of Honor. She adored her, and at times grew jealous of Honor’s talent in art, music and writing — all the things that were beautiful and pure in the world around them. And whereas Honor was skilled in things of beauty, Hope was skilled in death and pain.

  When she’d learned that Honor had disappeared, she’d lost her mind, sleeping only two fitful hours a day so that she’d have more time to search every square inch of the city. Hope felt lost without Honor — darker, somehow. Without her, there was nothing to pull Hope back from the darkness that consumed her.

  Rounding the corner of the house, Hope’s eyes looked up into the face of a camera that clicked quietly, following her movements, a hidden eye watching her and tracking her path. When she heard a branch break beneath the foot of another person, she gripped her blade tighter against her palm. Turning slowly, her gaze fell on five men, all armed, guns drawn with her body in their sights. Flicking the knife in her hand, she smiled. Despite her hesitancy, it was time.

  “Hello boys.” She kept her voice calm, genial, in an attempt to hide the terror and determination coursing through her veins. She knew she appeared an easy target — a beautiful woman, tall –yet slim. It was too much for their testosterone driven egos to believe that she could hold her own against them. But that was exactly why Hope was so good at what she did.

  The men sneered, confident in their belief that they had her cornered. The tallest of the group spoke first.

  “Hope Delacroix. We’ve been waiting for your arrival.”

  She noticed how the man’s hand shook slightly as he spoke. The corner of her lip curled up to discover his anxiety. “Nervous?”

  Stepping forward she flipped the side of her trench to expose the skin of her abdomen. Her typical uniform of black leather pants connected to straps that wrapped her body to conceal her breasts. The design was not only intended to prevent her clothes from becoming a hindrance when she fought, but also to distract her opponent.

  “There’s nothing to fear with me.” The knife flicked again, turning slowly, effortlessly in her hand. “I’ve just come to join the party.”

  His hand raised and her eyes shot to see the recorder that he held. A dimple appeared on his shadowed cheek when he grinned and pressed the button on the recorder.

  “Hope.” It was her sister’s choked word and Hope’s body tensed in reaction to the sound. “Please.” She groaned, pain evident in her voice. “Help me, please.” Rage bloomed within Hope’s chest to hear it, but she had to breathe steady, had to remain calm in the face of the only thing in the world that could destroy her.

  He released the button. “Did you want to cooperate Ms. Delacroix, or shall I tell my boss that you declined his invitation?”

  Her eyes narrowed, but she kept her expression open, malleable. She’d been trained to never reveal weakness.

  Holding out her arm, she indicated towards the front of the house. “Shall we?”

  The men didn’t move, keeping their guns trained on he
r face and body, their expressions filled with uncertainty and caution.

  The tall man stepped forward, lowering his gun, and reached out to indicate as well. “Ladies first.”

  Hope eyed him, a sweet smile still adorning her face. She turned her head away from the man and stepped towards the house. She listened to the rest of his group lower their weapons, relaxing now that she’d complied. When they’d neared the front entrance, the man behind her stepped faster, quickly grabbing her left arm to force her up the steps.

  His scream was loud — but lasted only a second.

  Spinning rapidly, Hope had caught his throat with the serrated edge of her blade, had pushed the tip inside, using the motion of her spinning body to rip it outwards, severing the tissue and the bone — the blood spraying out across her golden skin. His body dropped quickly and silently to the ground, just as four guns cocked in unison at her back.

  Reaching up, she wiped the blood from her face and turned to look at the men.

  They tensed when she held up her hand to show them the blood smeared across her skin. “Are you upset about this?” She laughed. “Don’t worry. As long as you don’t make the same mistake, you will be allowed to continue breathing.” Her brow arched. “We can be friends as long as you remember to never touch me.”

  Spinning on her heel, she took a deep and calming breath before stepping up the large staircase and entering the dark and shadowed mansion.

  ~ ~ ~

  “You’re insane. That’s nothing more than a suicide mission. Not even I am capable of pulling something like that off.” Her eyes locked on the man who stood before her. At his feet, knelt her sister, a mirror image of herself, now marked and bruised from her captivity over the previous three weeks. Honor didn’t look up and Hope assumed it was because her sister understood the importance of remaining as emotionless as possible.

  His voice was slow and assured when he smiled and responded, “You, my beautiful girl, are the only person who can succeed. Everybody is well aware of your status within the smaller networks. If any person can compete against Aaron Carmichael — it’s you.”