Taken Torn & Twisted Big Book

I let my gaze come to rest on the spectacle before me. 

Four girls. 

Four beauties, because the Willow’s only breed beauties. 

Three dolls, perfect with their golden hair and enormous blue eyes. One…well…I cock my head to the side at the sight of her. This one is bound, her arms stretched behind her. A gag covers her mouth. 

And on the belly of her shift, there’s a streak of red. 

Pig’s blood. 

I decide to save her for last.

I move to the first, let my gaze slide over her. She drops hers to the floor, where it should have been all along. I sweep her from head to toe and back. The sheath doesn’t offer much cover, but that’s the point. They are to be laid out for my perusal. For me to take my pick. 

Because I am fortunate enough to be born a Scafoni and they unfortunate enough to be born a Willow. 

This one is pretty enough. Perfect, actually. But I move on to her sister. 

Another doll-like girl. 

She doesn’t drop her gaze to her feet but keeps it just beyond me. It’s high time the Willows were reminded of their place. 

This one has something different in her eyes. She’s coquettish, almost. And she’s making eyes at my brother. From the look of her, I’m surprised she’s not the one with the blood marking on her sheath. 

With her, I’ll be bored. And she won’t survive a single month, much less three years. 

Sadly, there are no trade-ins. Once the choice is made, it is made, and if the girl dies before her time is completed, well, our loss, I guess. 

It’s unfair, really.

I step to my left, to the next block, the next girl. 

Just like her sisters. 

I’m too anxious to reach the last one to spend any time on this one because perfection like this, it doesn’t interest me. I need more than physical beauty. 

Where is the fun in breaking a girl when she doesn’t have a spine to break? Where is the game in walking a meek little lamb to the slaughter? 

I’d prefer a cat, wild and feral, with sharp teeth and a sharper tongue.

With this thought in mind, I step to the last Willow Girl. 

She isn’t a doll. Not like her sisters, at least. Beautiful, still, but this one, there’s something about her, a darkness to her. Rebellion burning inside her. 

Or maybe it’s just arrogance. 

It makes one corner of my mouth curve upward. 

This one is no lamb. I see it in the icy midnight eyes that greet me, and I realize why she’s bound and gagged. She’d lunge at me if she could, and the thought makes my dick hard.

I walk a circle around her and confirm that her wrists are bound in leather restraints at her lower back. Not only that, but she’s shackled to the block. I guess they weren’t taking any chances. 

When I face her again, she doesn’t shy away, this girl, but holds my gaze. And right now, I want nothing more than to punish her for it…

*Excerpt edited for website.