Tortured Soul by Kirsty Dallas, Ami Johnson Read Free Book Online

Hope had always been a notion that I tried hard to ignore. Now it threatened to spill from my heart and flood my senses. I didn’t want to hope; it was an illusion that would only lead to disappointment.
    As I took a small tentative step through the doorway, I heard Shakhta talking to someone. Another small step forward revealed a man standing in the kitchen next to him. Their voices were lowered in deep conversation, but when the stranger noticed me he fell silent. Shakhta turned, and his eyes took a quick perusal of my body. The way he looked over me didn’t make my skin crawl with distaste though. Where Master Jonas and his men looked at me with assessing eyes—judging my figure, my breasts, my skin—Shakhta’s evaluation seemed to be one of genuine concern. I found myself comfortable with the weight of his gaze.
    “Em, this is Larz, the Captain of ‘Utonut' Moi Grekhi.”
    I had no idea what that meant. It was obviously a foreign language, but I wasn’t about to speak out of place and ask questions. I gave Larz a polite nod. He was a big man, not as big as Shakhta and quite obviously older than him. His skin was tanned from spending too much time in the sun, and his hair was filled with a healthy dose of gray. He had gentle eyes that didn’t linger on me for too long. The mention of ‘Captain’ reminded me that we were on the water, and I cast my eyes to the windows. On my right was sparkling blue water as far as the eye could see, and to my left was an island but not exactly what I would call close. And I couldn’t swim. My eyes widened slightly in panic, and my fists clenched.
    “You don’t like yachts?” Shakhta asked, his voice holding a trace of humor as I turned back to face him. Larz had left the room so it was just the two of us now. I shook my head but didn’t elaborate. I hadn’t been granted permission to speak.
    “May I ask what you don’t like about them?”
    And there was the permission I was seeking. “I have nothing against boats, Shakhta, I just don’t like the water.” Shakhta laughed and the sound stopped me in my tracks. It was a loud, carefree sound and I got the impression that it wasn’t a sound he made often. Of the few times I had been with Shakhta, he had remained unerringly still and passive, his lips forming neither smiles nor frowns, his eyes always watching with a quiet intensity. He didn’t seem like a man who indulged in moments of lightheartedness. I could appreciate that though, since I could barely remember a time when I smiled, let alone laughed. So long ago in my foggy mind that I wondered if I had made it up. Back in the days when Claymont was my home and I was safe.
    “The two kind of go hand in hand, Em.” Shakhta signaled me forward, and I moved without hesitation.
    I didn’t trust him, but I could obey a command without fault. It was one of the many lessons I had learned with Master Jonas. I moved forward not sure what to do. Many masters required their slaves to get down on their knees, but Shakhta had made the comment that he didn’t like it.
    Noticing my hesitation, he pulled back the chair beside him. “Please sit.”
    I hesitated. I had never been allowed to sit at a table with my Master. My position was on the floor at his feet, always.
    Shakhta sighed. “It would please me very much if you would sit beside me,” he murmured, his voice not unkind, but it still held an edge of command. I climbed onto the tall chair and glanced over the food laid out before us: toast, cereal, fresh fruit, and juice.
    “Breakfast, even though it’s three in the afternoon. Dinner is a little ways off, so I thought we should just go ahead and start the day late.”
    I nodded, still hesitant. In Master Jonas’ home I was fed. I sat on my knees to his side, and as long as I wasn’t disobedient, he would feed me. I never fed myself.
    “Is there anything you don’t like?” Shakhta asked, nodding towards the food.
    I shook my head; I didn’t really care. Food was