Stabled (The Stables Trilogy #1) Read online

  This trespass was not forgiven.

  “I’ve got to get you back to the house.” He scooped her into his arms.

  Maple pressed her cheek to his chest, and he stiffened. Her fingers sought the velvet soft of his flannel shirt, twisting and clenching it. His smell infused her with calm. Leather and sweat and man. “Are you sending me home still?”

  “Not tonight. Are you going to call anyone?”

  “Not tonight,” she whispered. J.B. carried her from the stable, shutting the door behind him. As they neared the house, Raúl came dashing out.

  “Is she okay? Did something happen?” The warm worry and affection in his voice made Maple prickle with shame. She’d acted horribly, betrayed J.B. All because of her little-girl hurt feelings and Reece’s provocation.

  “She overexerted herself. Raúl, and the other stable needs a new lock.” J.B. kept walking, but from the corner of her eye she saw Raúl stop and stare.

  In that moment, she knew he knew. He’d known all along what was out there.

  Too tired to wade through muffled thoughts, she filed it away to analyze later. For now, she was content to snuggle deeply into J.B.’s chest. Absorb as much of his smell as she could in the secure strength of his arms.

  She needed to remember every detail of this moment; the stars beginning to twinkle above. The soft echo of his boots in his home as he carried her to her room and laid her on the bed. The cool press of the back of his hand to her forehead. Her neck. Small shivers spun through her from his touch.

  All of this, written into memory.

  It felt like she was writing a eulogy. In a way, she was, because Maple understood that when she woke, J.B. would still be angry.

  She’d still have betrayed his trust.

  And, if he was lying about the consent of the women in the stable, she’d be betraying them. Just like she’d betrayed herself, time and time again, at Tony’s merciless hands.

  Maple had come to this job to escape herself. To hide from the monster she was. She wanted big skies. Few people. Just the horses and her. Nothing to remind her of her treasonous body and murderous hands.

  Instead, she’d found a boss who stirred every dark demon she had inside. And he had a secret almost as large as hers. The stable had turned from a mystery into a large, dark hole.

  Now she was teetering on the edge, and the ground was crumbling beneath her.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Get dressed.”

  Maple jerked so hard she almost fell off of the bed. J.B. was standing in her room, arms crossed and a severe frown dominating his face. Her body wavered, woozy from being yanked out of sleep before it was ready. She looked at the clock. It was five in the morning.

  Expectantly, she waited for J.B. to leave so she could get dressed.

  He didn’t.

  “Come on, Maple. It’s time to talk, and I’ve got work to do.”

  Her feet hit the freezing floor, toes curling in protest, as she stumbled out of bed. She clutched her arms across her chest. Only yesterday her nipples had been deep in J.B.’s mouth, his teeth searing them with stabs of pleasure. But in the chilled, dark room, it felt wretched to dress in front of him.

  It’s not like you’ve got something he hasn’t seen.

  Hell, he had a stable full of bared breasts. Worse than her spiteful thoughts was the fact that knowing it made her shake with envy. She was despicable. She hadn’t helped those women, just like she’d sat by and watched the girl in the club get pulled away by her master. Maple could stomach her own terrible decisions, but she hated herself for being weak when it came to helping others.

  Button-down shirt, her fingers shaking so badly it took her minutes to fasten each button. J.B.’s posture never changed, but she felt his irritation grow as time ticked by. Shimmying into jeans and pulling on boots that were still caked with hay and manure and she was dressed.

  That didn’t mean she was ready.

  “Let’s go,” J.B. ordered, turning and walking without looking to see if she’d follow. He didn’t have to-- he knew she would.

  They grabbed apples in the kitchen. J.B. was saying nothing except an occasionally barked order. “Coffee.” “Apples.” “Hurry up.” Mariela was at the stove, up before everyone to make sure they got fed. She wouldn’t meet Maple’s plaintive looks.

  Oh God, she knows, too.

  A sliver of anger wedged itself among Maple’s fear and confusion. Did the whole ranch know what J.B. did in that locked-up stable? Were they all complicit in the torture of those women?

  Why did everyone, including J.B., leave her out of the loop?

  Maple shocked herself when she realized that was what she was most upset over-- being left in the dark. The whole ranch was filled with monsters, and she was the worst of the bunch.

  When they had their food, J.B. stormed to the stable. He didn’t tell her to follow this time. He didn’t need to. She scrambled after him, arms filled with a basket of apples and carrying a cup of coffee.

  Her heart pounded with trepidation as he unlocked a new lock. This one was larger and a combination lock; no rock would slam it open easily this time.

  They went inside.

  Immediately the smell hit her again, familiar yet different. The smells of hay, of a large, open space, of leather-- these were familiars. But the acrid smell of human sweat and-- Maple wrinkled her nose-- human waste were strange. Scary.

  “Set your food down on the desk.”

  She did. J.B. sat in the chair and swung it to face her. Maple felt vulnerable and awkward. Her hands fidgeted. More than once she reached for her grandmother’s necklace. It still wasn’t there. After the rattlesnake incident, she’d never been able to find it. That thought bruised, knowing her mother didn’t hand over heirlooms easily.

  J.B.’s eyes followed the movement. “Missing something?”

  Her heart fluttered. “Oh, um… a necklace?” His eyes squeezed shut, pained. “A necklace,” she said more firmly. “My grandmother’s. It’s been missing.”

  “Did it mean a lot to you?”

  She thought about it. It did and didn’t. It wasn’t something she’d grown up with; her mom had only given it to her this second time of leaving the home. A very final ‘goodbye’ gift. A nudge to go find adventure, maybe.

  Maple didn’t want its adventure; she wanted the security of its history. Something to hold onto before she got swallowed by this ranch and its owner. “It did.”

  “You should take better care of your things.” Wincing, Maple forced her hands to drop to her side. He wasn’t just talking about the necklace, she was sure.

  J.B. pulled out files. Manilla and ordinary. He handed her one.

  “Look in it.”

  Opening it, she saw a headshot. One of those gorgeous, professional photos. The woman had dark brown hair and straight, white teeth. She had the kind of high cheekbones that most women would kill for. Behind the photo was paperwork.

  An application and a cover letter. A contract.

  “Leslie, come here.” He didn’t look as he called out, his grizzled voice bouncing off the high, wooden ceiling of the barn. When none of the women moved, he said it again. This time, it was less gentle. “That’s a command, Leslie. Walk your tailed ass over here.”

  From one of the stalls came a woman. She was naked. Maple saw the smooth slopes of her breasts and ass, the curls at the apex of her thighs. Built like a hollywood starlet, the woman stumbled awkwardly toward them. The movements of her legs were jerky. It was as if the woman wasn’t sure how to walk on her own.

  Swinging between her legs was a tail. Its dark hair matched the rich chocolate locks on her head. Maple knew from the swish of the tail as the woman walked that it was like the others--plugged into her ass.

  As the woman got closer, Maple tasted bile; it was the same woman from the photograph.

  “Good, Leslie,” J.B. murmured. “Whoa, girl. Whoa.”

  Leslie stopped in front of Maple. She stared at the ground. Her elegant back
was straight, her arms crossed behind her. This pressed her round breasts out, her collarbones cutting sharply. Maple gawked.

  Everything about the woman was disorienting. The way she carried herself and the stamp of her feet. As the tail swished back and forth and Leslie snorted, Maple realized that J.B. didn’t just treat the women like animals-- they were like animals. Leslie was acting just like a show horse, erect and proud.

  “Read, Maple.” J.B. commanded.

  The papers fluttered in her quaking hands.

  Dear Mr. Deyton,

  I am writing in regards to your training and placement business. My good friend, Emily Campton, recommended you with high esteem.

  She’s told me about the rigors of your program. I understand it will be difficult, that it is permanent, and that I will suffer for its duration. Please understand that I’ve put much thought into this and know what is at stake. It is very much worth it to me.

  Enclosed with my application is the $100,000 application fee and a headshot. I hope you will consider me as a potential candidate for your training program.

  Sincerely, and with no small amount of hope,

  Leslie Warden

  While she read, J.B. was in motion. He went into the woman’s stall and came out carrying an armful of tack. Working with the smooth, efficient ease of practice, he dressed the woman. Rubber bit in mouth. A harness that strapped across her face and under her chin, cinching in the back.

  Maple looked at the woman again. “Training program? You wanted this?”

  The woman said nothing. She did not look at Maple. J.B. took Leslie’s arms behind her, hooking and chaining the elbows to a bar. This exaggerated the arch in her back and forced her breasts to jut out.

  “She’s in it now, Maple. She won’t answer to you. My trainees don’t speak for their duration in my stable. Now, read the contract.”

  Her mind buzzing, Maple tried to read the contract as best she could.

  “The client agrees to submitting to the trainer. This includes forfeiting the rights to, but not limited to: Privacy, clothing, speech…”

  “...wherein the client shall obey the trainer’s every command. Insufficient obedience shall result in punishment, both verbal and physical, until the issue is resolved…”

  “Client accepts that the following tools may be implemented in training: riding crops, whips, bridles, bits, electrostimulation units, shock collars, cold/hot water…”

  “At the end of the training, should the client be deemed worthy of sale, trainer promises to show and sell client to the highest bidder. Trainer will retain eighty five percent of the proceeds. Fifteen percent shall be set aside for client in a safe account, should she need it. Bidders will be subject to background checks and periodic audits to ensure that client is satisfied with their placement and safe/in good health.”

  Her face was numb. Her eyes read and re-read the passages. Maple looked at Leslie again, then to J.B. He was attaching reins to the bridle. When he finished, she was set to be… what? Ridden? Steered? Maple didn’t understand.

  “Who do you sell them to?”

  “Whoever bids highest.”

  “How can this be legal?” Maple thrust the folder back into his hands. “How can selling a human possibly be okay?”

  He rubbed the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “Maple, nine times out of ten, the people who buy these women marry them. Or set them up for life. That’s what the client, the pony, is purchasing. A chance for a life that is an upgrade from their own. Wealth and security.”

  “But they’re slaves!”

  J.B.’s face was stormy. He was done placating her. “They aren’t slaves. They are consenting adults who are choosing to let me train them and make them a match. The ponies I sell are well cared for. The women you see here? I’m training them for a show in a few weeks. Most likely they’ll be bought by CEO’s. Trust fund snobs. Princes. You have no idea how many rich, powerful men want a pony like her.”

  Maple gestured to Leslie. “This isn’t a horse, J.B.! It’s a woman!”

  “For fuck’s sake, Maple! I know she’s a woman! But that isn’t how this works! She can be a woman, she can be funny, smart, or a fucking imbecile for all I care when she isn’t being trained. But my customers want ponies, and these women want security, and I provide each!” He went to his desk and yanked out a drawer so hard the lamp on the desk threatened to tip and fall. J.B. pulled out a checkbook and pen.

  Maple stood, helpless. It was as if she was in a fish tank, drowning. She could see out of it. The world around her was clear. It made sense. Except that she couldn’t breathe water, and she didn’t know how to escape.

  The darkness in her was clawing now. It wasn’t an itch. It was a vicious, lacerating desire.

  “What if they change their mind?” She hated speaking about the women as if they weren’t there, but it had become obvious none would be willing, vocal participants in this fight.

  J.B. was still writing furiously in the checkbook. “Then they say the word, and we end our contract. Read article forty two.”

  She had to grab the file from the chair and search the contract again.

  “Article 42: Should, at any time, the client decide to forfeit her contract, she need only say the word “red.” Once uttered, the contract is considered null and void. It may not be undone or renegotiated. Trainer retains the application fee and requires another payment of $50,000 in reparations.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Jesus, it’s a damn safeword. It’s for their protection. I don’t fucking torture them! This is a mutual agreement!”

  Safeword. It was a slap in the face. She sank to her knees, unable to stave off the memory.

  Tony. The first time he fucked her. The time he took her virginity.

  “What if I want you to stop? I read on the internet about a ‘safeword,’ and I was thinking--”

  “Don’t believe that bullshit,” Tony said sternly. “Safewords are for women who don’t understand true submission. You said you wanted to know what it is to let go completely. To let me shape you. To feed all those hungers you’ve felt all your life and didn’t know how to feed. I can’t do that if I’m constantly worried you’re going to pussy out over a little pain or some hurt feelings, Maple.”

  She’d been so young. So very, very naive. Tony had offered her what felt like the answers to her prayers. She’d thought she was alone, and he’d told her she wasn’t. She’d wanted pain, humiliation. He’d had that in spades. He’d been everything she thought she’d wanted; dominant, sadistic, and fearless. She hadn’t known then that he was also a sociopath. A liar.

  An abuser.

  The damp on her hands brought her back. She was kneeling, crying in the middle of J.B.’s secret, fucked up stable.

  This felt like that first time. Important. Pivotal. A moment that would change her life forever. J.B. was standing in front of her, staring down. His eyes were cold. His face a mask.

  “What’s it going to cost, Maple?”

  Her lip started to bleed--she hadn’t realized she’d been chewing it so hard. Maple shook her head.

  “Stand up,” he barked. She stood, hardly able to feel her hands and legs. “Tell me how much money I need to pay you to keep quiet about this. You can go to the police, and they’ll come here and see what you’ve seen. Including those contracts, which are notarized and legit. You can call the press, and they’ll speculate, maybe hound me a bit, but they’ll never get enough to print. Not before my lawyers fuck them so hard they turn on you. You’ll become the target. Do you understand that?”

  Maple couldn’t stop looking at Leslie. The shock was still there, but the cloudiness in her mind was beginning to fade. Before, all she’d seen was women. Women in bondage. Women in captivity.

  Now, though, she saw more. Leslie was standing erect. The curve of her spine and ass were gorgeous, like the curve of a cello. Her eyes were large, soft as they looked at J.B., then shifting to alarm when they met Maple’s gaze. She
was slim, but muscular. Her thighs and abs were toned, not frail and fragile.

  Her stance was relaxed and confident. If anything, she seemed proud of her situation. Her breasts pressed out, on display. As she stood, she’d stamp. Snort.

  Her form might be human, but Leslie was the embodiment of a pony.

  She was beautiful, and for a moment, Maple hated her. Maple couldn’t begin to understand what method of training created this kind of confidence in a submissive. Tony had taught her that a submissive was weak. A lesser human. Made for punishment and abuse.

  Leslie didn’t act weak. She didn’t look meek, like Maple often felt. Leslie looked strong and sure of herself. J.B. had done that to her, for her, and he was going to fire Maple and kick her out. The brutal unfairness of it stung.