Stolen_Saving Setora_Book One_Dark Dystopian Reverse Harem MC Romance

  Stolen

  Saving Setora Book One

  Raven Dark

  Petra J. Knox

  Stolen (Saving Setora: Book One)

  Copyright © 2018 Raven Dark and Petra J. Knox, all rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Please purchase only authorized editions of this book, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrightable materials.

  Cover by Raven Dark

  Cover images courtesy of DepositPhotos

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Note to Readers

  Prologue: The Edge of Darkness

  1. Changes

  2. Crossing the Line

  3. Heartless

  4. Hawk

  5. Bitter

  6. A Whole Other World

  7. No Place For Nice Men

  8. The Way Real Men Say Goodbye

  9. Conversations and Binacca

  10. Both Sides of a Blade

  11. Hawk’s Game

  12. Under My Skin

  13. Against Orders

  14. Selfless

  15. Someone Else’s Penance

  Epilogue: The Girl With No Name

  Connect with Raven Dark

  Connect with Petra J. Knox

  Recommended Reads from the Authors

  Dedication and Acknowledgements

  From Raven And Petra

  A huge thank you to our amazing beta readers: Susy, Marsha, Amy, and Deanna. Your feedback for this book was awesome!

  Thank you to the ARC readers and the Reverse Harem groups on Facebook. Your enthusiasm for this book was off the charts.

  And for anyone who walks on the wild side,

  and seeks refuge in darkness, this book goes out to you.

  Note to Readers

  This book has dark elements and scenes that may be triggering for some readers. The world, and the characters about whom you read herein, are not sweet, friendly people. The hell in which they live is a dark, desolate place, lawless and without mercy. It will either build them up or kill them.

  Welcome to Setora’s world.

  Enter at your own risk.

  Prologue: The Edge of Darkness

  I was found on the side of the road by a group of road warriors when I was six.

  Less than a mile down the road from the looming cement wall that barricaded the rest of the world from Hell’s Burning, the biggest territory within Zone 4, I was apparently wandering, sunburned, dehydrated and alone, with a threadbare doll in my blistered grip and wearing a tattered nightgown.

  When I’d seen the gate to The Compound in the distance, I thought I’d been saved from hell, headed for an oasis of safety and hope.

  I was wrong.

  It turned out, when I’d come to the gate, I’d walked up to the edge of darkness, and caught the eye of evil. Because the warden who lorded over what lay beyond the wall was the devil, and this place, this hell, was his domain.

  The warden, who I’d soon learn was named Damien, had a rule about this place. Anything that went beyond the gate was his to do with as he pleased. It didn’t matter if it ended up there by accident or was dragged in; it belonged to him, and no one ever said no to Damien.

  When I’d been brought into The Compound beyond the Wall, I’d claimed I didn’t remember my mother, or the rest of my family for that matter.

  I had lied. I remembered. I would always remember.

  Why I believed the Wall represented safety, I can’t recall. Maybe it was because it looked so solid, so unbreakable and strong. Like my mother had been. Whatever the case, within minutes of approaching its gate, my mistake became clear.

  The men who found me, eight road warriors in all, came riding out of a cloud of dust like demons, their motorbikes growling like unholy, hungry beasts. Even then, I’d hated the roar of those bikes, but it would be years before I told anyone why.

  As soon as I saw the shadows of the riders coming, I ducked behind the rotted-out carcass of a transport pod that lay half-buried in hard-baked sand. The roar of the bikes grew louder, and I opened the console compartment and scrambled inside, but it was too late. The roar became a deafening throb before eight engines cut off, right beside the pod’s hood.

  They’d seen me.

  From inside my steel shelter, I saw one of the bikes lean to the side and someone—a man in dusty leather boots—swung off. Something jingled as he walked around the pod to the side. Every muscle in my body tensed, and I tried to will him not to see me, as if doing so would somehow make me invisible.

  He bent down, peering into the compartment. “Well, hello there.”

  Whoever he was, his voice was friendly enough, polite, but when he held out his scarred hand, something made my stomach clench. I crawled further into the shadows, toward the back of the compartment.

  The man smiled, his steely blue eyes crinkling at the edges, the lines deepening on his pockmarked cheeks. The smile was as fake as could be, without real warmth.

  “You might as well come out of there now. I rather not drag you out.”

  And there it was. My choice. I could sit here inhaling the stench of rusted steel and the oil that powered the bikes while these men waited me out like the wolves outside the fox’s hole, or the alpha of the pack would reach in and drag me out himself.

  I crawled out from the pod’s console compartment and took his hand.

  “There now, was that so hard?” He stayed squatting for a moment longer and pushed my dirty, windblown nest of blond hair out of my dirt-streaked face. His eyes looked me over the way a farmer looks over a new cow at market. “What’s your name, honey?”

  The way he called me honey was probably meant to comfort me. It made me shudder, too fatherly for someone who appraised me like that.

  I opened my mouth to speak, but he put up his big hand, a palm that looked almost as large as my head.

  “If you’re going to lie, I’d reconsider. Dishonesty is a bad way to start a friendship. You wouldn’t want to start us off on the wrong foot, and I will know you’re lying anyway.”

  I did consider his words carefully. Everything about this man told me there was nothing different about him from any other guy that lived in any other territory in Zone 4. And yet, there was something undeniably threatening about him.

  Friendship? No way.

  “My name is Setora,” I said, after a moment too long.

  His smile was slow. “Setora. That’s a pretty name for a pretty girl.” He stood and nodded behind him. I turned to look at the men sitting astride their bikes, waiting. They’d been so quiet, I’d almost forgotten they were even there. “These are my crew, see? Come say hello.”

  What choice did I have? They’d be on me in seconds if I ran.

  “Mama’s going to like her, Blade,” a man with a snake tattoo on his shoulder said. “She has that look.”

  I knew what look he meant. Light hair that would one day turn lilac and moon-kissed, and eyes like crystal-clear purple gems, as people had said about my mother. Mine was the look that sold the most at auction when a girl came of age, the kind that ended up in the Clanhead’s household, at the wealthiest Zone Captain’s side. My mother had explained it to me once before she’d been taken, something about good genes and strong breeding.

  “I’ll bet a week’s worth of dinner Mama’ll get a good price out of her,” another rider with a thick black beard said.

  Blade nodded and brought me over to his bike
. He grabbed my doll from my hand before I knew what was happening and tossed her to the one with the snake on his arm, on the bike next to his. I reached for Dolly without thinking. Blade tilted his head at me.

  “Don’t worry, Snake’ll take good care of your doll, won’t you, Snake?” He winked at Snake. Snake smirked and tucked Dolly into his leather cut.

  “Up you get.” Blade lifted me onto his bike. The black leather seat seared my rump through my night dress and I hissed, trying to find a comfortable position. Blade ignored it and swung on. “Hold on, honey, or you won’t last long back there.”

  Again, there was no other choice, so I grabbed onto his big waist, pressing my cheek to the burning heat of his cut.

  The riders started their motorbikes, and the air filled with that horrendous thundering roar. I folded in on myself, pressing as hard as I could to Blade’s back.

  Blade started toward the gate, and his crew followed, flanking him left and right. When they turned their bikes around to head for the Wall, I caught a glimpse of the patches on the backs of their cuts—a mean looking bull dog with criss-crossed blades, above their gang name, Road Dogs Crew. I looked behind me at the transport pod, wishing I had stayed better hidden. A shape on the dusty ground caught my eye.

  Dolly lay in the dirt, a tattered mass of stuffing and yellowed cloth turned the color of rotted squash. I swallowed the lump that formed in my throat. My mother had given me that doll. I sniffed and turned away. Away from the memories, away from Dolly, the only thing I had to remind me of the mother I’d lost.

  I looked over at Snake to ask him why, but the words died in my throat. It wouldn’t have mattered. The bike engines would have drowned me out.

  Those engines drowned out a lot of things.

  In that moment, as I pressed my cheek to Blade’s back and blinked back those first tears, I knew I was in trouble. What I didn’t know was that my troubles hadn’t even started yet.

  After riding for who knew how long, we pulled up to a small single-story brick house. Even with Blade’s back to shield me, the wind had sent the desert sand blowing into my face until my skin felt raw. The wind was hot, doing nothing to cool the baking heat of the sun.

  Mama’s house looked nice enough, like Grandma’s place; cozy and safe, nothing Blade or his crew would live in. Some of the tension left me until I saw what was in the front window.

  A white curtain twitched, and a woman glanced out. The look she gave me made my heart speed up, but I couldn’t have said why.

  I tugged on Blade’s grip, everything in me screaming not to let myself be taken into that house. Blade’s grip tightened, painful. He clomped up the steps and thumped his big fist on the front door.

  Someone yanked the door open. “You want to break my door down, Blade?”

  It was the woman from the window. She looked nothing like Blade. She had a cloud of red hair and had a boney frame. Her gaze dropped to me, and her painted-on brows shot up as she noticed the color of my eyes.

  “Well, look at you.” Her smile was huge, glossy, and the rows of studded bangles on her wrists clinked when she put her hands on her hips. “Shit. She’s a Violet. Probably even a true Violet, with that rag of white hair. Where’d you steal her from, Blade?”

  He held up his hands. “No stealing, I swear. Found her wandering at the gate.”

  “There was nothing on her, no markings? If she’s stolen goods, I need to know so I can wipe—”

  “Pipe down, woman, you see any marks on her?” Blade growled.

  Mama clucked and waved him in. “Well, get in here then, let’s see her.”

  I swallowed. Once the standard inspection happened, there was no way to avoid Mama seeing the one mark I did have.

  Blade stepped into a narrow, neatly kept hallway and thumped the door closed. I jumped, looking back at the entrance as if doing so would magically open the door and allow me to walk back out. He turned the lock, and I felt a stab of panic.

  I was led into a large living room where Blade pushed me lightly toward Mama. “Go on, honey, let her get a look at you.”

  For an instant, I froze, my arms folded around myself. Trying to make myself small. I hadn’t eaten in days, not since my mother was lost. Maybe if I was too little, too starved and dirty looking, the woman would toss me out, unwanted.

  But if she did, what would happen then?

  Throat dry, I stepped slowly forward to where Mama waited in the glaring bright ray of sunlight from the living room window. In this light, streaks of dull grey stood out in her ginger hair along with the wrinkles that marred her face. Seeing her now, she suddenly aged twenty years.

  “Turn around,” she said, rubbing her hands slowly. Those bangles on her wrists clinked softly with the movement, like rattling chains.

  I turned in a circle. Every move I made, her eyes took it in, branding my skin in a way that made me want to hide or disappear into the floor. When I looked at her again, she lifted my face, spindly fingers under my chin, long nails brushing my skin like the talons of some large mother bird.

  “Show me your teeth.”

  I peeled my lips back. She lifted my top lip, looking over my teeth. Years later, I’d remember the way she did that; it would stick out in my mind like a bad smell, but it would be a long time before I realized why.

  “This is amazing.” She was speaking to Blade, who stood behind me. “This is just a cursory exam, but she looks to be in pristine condition. She’s filthy, and she needs a few good meals before I’ll bring her anywhere near Damien, but otherwise she’s a perfect product, even without the look of a Violet.”

  “Good to hear. My boys and I will live well for a good long while.”

  “What’s your secret, Blade? This is the second Violet you’ve brought me this month.”

  “Just lucky, I guess.”

  “Riiiight.”

  “Are you accusing me of something?”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.” She looked at me. “What’s your story, kid? You got parents? Someone out there missing you?”

  No way was I telling her that. All my life, my mother—and when he was alive, my father—told me that if I was ever captured, never, ever tell whoever was holding me anything about my family. If I did, it would be minutes before those who had me would send their people out looking for anyone related to me, ready to sell them to the highest bidder as well. My family would find a way to rescue me. Only they wouldn’t. Not now. Not ever.

  I shook my head.

  “You sure about that?”

  Nod.

  She exchanged a silent look with Blade. “Well. Let’s get started on you, shall we?”

  I looked past her, into the rest of the place. Other women moved about the house, some dressed in the sheer, gossamer garb that slaves of age wore. They gave Mama a wide berth.

  “Come,” she said, holding out a hand to me. “Time for the inspection.”

  Inspection. The word, or maybe something in the way she said it, sent a chill through me. I shook my head quickly.

  Mama bent down enough to put her heavily made-up face in mine, hands on her knees.

  “Rule one in Mama’s house. Mama tells you to do something, you’re not being given a choice. Let’s try that again.” She put her hand out and wiggled her long fingers for me to come. Her smile was ice.

  I put a trembling hand in hers. Her fingers closed around mine, a steely trap. She and Blade exchanged a few words and he left.

  “Are you hungry?” Mama asked without looking at me as she led me down a shadowy hallway. The lights were kept too low to make out anything more than iron cots in rooms no bigger than prison cells.

  “Yes. And thirsty, too.”

  “I’ll bet you are.” Her lips turned up at the corners. “Good girls get to eat and drink, Setora. Are you a good girl?”

  I didn’t know how to answer that, but the terror of real hunger, the kind that seems to have no end, dragged the answer out of me. “Yes.”

  “We’ll see. Cooperate with the
inspection, and you can eat all you like.”

  I was too young and stupid to realize what she was doing, so I nodded, prepared to be the best good girl I could be.

  The first real bite of panic hit me when one of the maids pulled my night dress off and had me turn in a circle for another look-over like the one Mama had already given me. When I turned to face the maid again, she bent down, staring at something on my inner thigh.

  “Wait.” She dropped to her knees and peered close, pulling the skin on my inner thigh aside for a better look. My pulse thudded in my ears.

  She shouted for one of the other maids. The two women stared at the same spot on my thigh. At the dark shape of a perfect star on my skin, as if it had been inked there by the Maker himself.

  “Go,” the first maid snapped at the younger one. “Tell Mama.”

  The other nodded and scurried off.

  Mama didn’t appear, thank the Light, but I had a feeling something had changed. They rushed through the rest of the inspection and kept staring at me as if they were seeing me in a new light.

  A man dressed in fine black breeches with a symbol shaped like a sunburst on the breast of his billowy red tunic came into the tiny bedroom they assigned to me and asked questions I was terrified to answer, and even more scared not to. Some were about my family. My mother. A lot about my mother. What color was her hair? Did she have the same purple eyes? Any markings? Did she have the star on her thigh like me, and did I know what it meant? He asked about the star marking at least six times. I told him the truth, I had no idea what it meant. I didn’t tell him my mother had one too.