Tamed: A Prison Planet Romance (The Condemned Series Book 4) Read online

  TAMED

  The Condemned Series

  Alison Aimes

  Orchid Publishing

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from Stolen

  Excerpt from Trapped, Book One in the Condemned Series

  Acknowledgments

  About Alison Aimes

  Books by Alison Aimes

  Thank you

  Tamed

  “Talk or suffer the consequences.”

  Ruthless warrior Grif McIntyre is known for his brutal interrogation techniques, his expertise with ropes, restraints, and unbearable pleasure unrivaled. Tasked with breaking a critical target, he assumes the mission will be no different from any other.

  But the female he captures is not what he expects. His fascination with her unlike anything he has experienced before.

  Captured and chained by a terrifying beast, Nayla knows her survival depends on her silence. But the way her captor handles her leaves her desperate to trust him with her body and her secrets. Maybe even her heart. Except he wants the one piece of information she cannot afford to give.

  Soon, it’s only a question of who will break first.

  TAMED, Book 4 in The Condemned Series, is an action-packed, smoking-hot standalone SciFi romance about two people from different worlds who are more alike in their desires than they could ever imagine. While the hero and heroine deal with unequal power dynamics and rope play, pleasure is always the name of the game. This is a HOT read and a wild ride for those who like an edgier adventure.

  The book does have references to rape and violence. If these are triggers, please do not buy. Dragath25 prison planet is a brutal place.

  Prologue

  The animalistic cries on the other side of the door stopped.

  The darkness closed in, suffocating Grif in inky blackness and despair.

  Or maybe it was the rough fibers at his thin throat, the noose cinching tighter with every jerk of his wrists and ankles.

  His father’s knots were like that, digging deeper into his skin and his soul the more he fought.

  But this was the worst it had ever been.

  “Raina? Can you hear me?” At nine planetary rotations old, his voice usually sounded like an awkward croak, but even that wasn’t possible now. It emerged only as a faint hiss of stolen air, his throat bruised by the rope, his lungs nearly empty.

  No response.

  “Raina!” Desperate, he knocked the back of his head into the flimsy closet door, his boney knees smashing together as he twisted and hurled, his weight not nearly enough.

  Except everything about this latest filthy New Earth dwelling was broken or falling apart. Shouldn’t the doors be, too? He rammed his skull back again.

  The leash at his neck tightened, his wrists and ankles rising upward. Black dots danced in front of his eyes. A match to the ones on his heart.

  He didn’t stop.

  The heavy, menacing tread that usually echoed through the walls was absent. He had no idea when his father would return.

  “Raina!” He hissed out his sister’s name again.

  “Grif?” The voice was faint, but it pierced the blackness like a ray of sunlight. “H-help me.”

  Frenzied, gasping, he wriggled harder.

  Help me. But he couldn’t.

  For the millionth time, he wished he was stronger. Fiercer. More brutal and ruthless.

  Strong enough to block his father’s blows. Fierce enough to have held tight to his mother’s hand the rotation she shrugged off his hold and ran. Brutal enough to put down the monster who made their lives a living hell.

  Except wishing didn’t make it happen.

  He threw his spine against the door. The trickle of blood at his throat coated the coils, giving him just enough slack to keep from breaking his neck. He did it again. And again.

  The door splintered. The rope immobilizing his neck and wrists snapped. Precious air filled his lungs as he tumbled through the hole and landed on his back, the ropes still coiled around his throat, wrists, and ankles.

  “Grif.”

  The sudden brightness was jarring. He blinked hard, shoving to his palms. It took a moment to process what he was seeing. His sister, her dark hair and green eyes so similar to his own, was half on, half off the dirty couch. Her dress torn and pulled above her thighs.

  The blackness returned, a thin film of horror and knowing that settled over his skin and crawled below the flesh.

  This was new. This was something worse than the usual beatings that dotted their ribs and jaws. This was something too ugly to come back from.

  “Grif,” her thin arm stretched toward him, her upper body rising off the couch before she sank back down, her gaze going flat. “H-he hurt me.”

  Her words shook him from his daze. He shoved to his feet, not even bothering to shake off the ropes as he wobbled toward her. “We need to go.”

  “No!” The sharp agony in her voice froze him in place, his arm halfway extended to pull her up. “Don’t touch me.”

  He dropped his hand. She was his big sister. She was the one in charge. The one who’d always done all she could to protect him. But she wasn’t moving now.

  “Raina,” he cast a fearful glance over his shoulder at the door. “You need to get up. Now.”

  “C-can’t.” She didn’t even shake her head. “I-I thought you could save me, but you can’t. It’s too late. Y-you go.”

  Fury and shock slammed through him. “I’m not going without you.”

  No answer.

  Panic seized him. Her chest rose and fell, but her lips were slack, her gaze focused on the ceiling.

  “Raina? You need to get up. I-I can’t help you if you don’t get up.” Again, for the millionth time, he wished he was strong enough to just sweep her into his arms and carry her away.

  But he wasn’t.

  All he could do was wrap his hand around her wrist and tug at her arm, his eyes blurry as he begged. “Come on, Raina. Please.”

  She slid further off the couch, her body jerking in time with each desperate yank, but it wasn’t enough. It never would be.

  She didn’t respond. Or even acknowledge him.

  Still, he kept trying. Pleading. Shouting.

  Until the faint scuff of a boot hitting the rotted porch signaled it really wa
s too late.

  He’d failed to save her.

  For Raina, he would never be enough.

  1

  “Talk or die.” Grif slammed his opponent’s back against the alley wall.

  Red dust settled on their bare skin like splashes of blood. He cinched the hangman’s knot tighter against the male’s trachea and stepped back to scan the area.

  His teammate Ryker should have been back with the weapon by now.

  “Tell me what I need to know and there’ll be no unnecessary suffering. Otherwise,” Grif gripped the rope at the giant’s neck and continued with his usual script, “you won’t like what happens next.”

  He’d laid out the threat so many times, he didn’t need to think about it anymore. After two planetary rotations in Dragath25’s prison mines, his skills as an interrogator and a killer were honed to brutal perfection.

  This particular mission was supposed to have been a quick, uncomplicated grab and go. Enter 223’s gang territory without detection, steal the weapon, and depart without a trace. But, of course, it wasn’t working out like that. An all too familiar outcome on Dragath25.

  With a flick of his wrist, Grif loosened the knot at the male’s throat. Not much. Just enough to allow for a small sip of air. “You get one chance. Where’s my crewmate?”

  “Stop right there.” An unfamiliar voice sounded from behind.

  Grif swiveled, his ax already raised—only to find empty air.

  Not magic. Just the burned-out patchwork of twisted steel that served as the gang’s shelter distorting the sound, making it appear the speaker was close by, even though no one was in sight.

  He scanned the perimeter. Had to be coming from one alley over on the other side of the building.

  His captive bucked, attempting to call for help.

  “Not happening.” Grif slammed his fist into the giant’s chin. The male’s eyes rolled back. Lights out.

  Grif retrieved his rope.

  No way was he leaving without it. It was probably his one and only favorite thing about this damn planet. The commander’s female, Ava, had discovered a plant that was shit for eating, but had silklike fibers ideal for making blankets, clothes, shoes, and—when weaved together—the strongest and softest rope he’d ever held. Braided and plaited it worked well as a lash. Twisted together it formed a nearly unbreakable cord.

  Feeling the weight of it in his palms had been like coming home.

  When he’d been a boy, rope had been a form of pain and torture, a means of stealing his control. He’d reclaimed it as he grew into a man, taking the instrument that had been used against him and turning it into his greatest strength.

  His favorite strand was coiled at his hip before his unconscious captive even hit the ground.

  Using his stealth training, he pushed his size thirteen boot off the fucker’s shoulder and sprang from one side of the narrow alley wall to the other until he’d leapt onto the roof.

  For a big guy himself, he could be amazingly quiet. A neat trick he’d also learned too young.

  Dropping to his belly, Grif slithered forward. The pitiful encampment, an impromptu-looking mess of slapped-together hovels, spread out before him. It appeared like a small blemish on an otherwise endless spread of undulating red sand and lifeless desert, cooked every rotation by the two bloodred suns perched high in the sky.

  Most of the campsite was empty. He and Ryker had waited to make their move until the majority of inhabitants headed out to rampage, but they’d known there would be stragglers left behind to cause problems.

  If you waited until there was no chance of a threat on Dragath25, you’d be waiting until you were dead.

  He made it to the far side of the roof.

  About ten lengths down the alley, two burly men stood with their backs angled toward him. They shouted at something, their arms gesturing wildly.

  The hulking men wore twisted rags around their waists. One of the shouters was bald. The other rocked a wild, tangled mess of braids. Both were covered in dirt and bruises and weighed down by the same low-tech weapons common to Dragath25: primitive homemade shovels, daggers, and axes.

  Nothing he couldn’t handle if it came to that.

  Then the bald guy shifted and Grif saw the reason for the shouting.

  Definitely not Ryker. The target of their aggression was a furry lump that barely reached the men’s shoulders.

  Not an animal he’d seen before, but he was far from an expert on Dragath25 fauna. A lot above ground was still unfamiliar—and disturbing as hells.

  Still, dwarfed between the muscled men, the furball appeared pretty harmless.

  The good news for Grif: this was not his problem. The bad news: he still had no clue where Ryker was. Time to return to the giant and get some answers. A few minutes in kuri bondage and the gang member should be more than ready to talk.

  Losing his teammate was no way for Grif to prove to the commander he was worthy of greater responsibility.

  It had surprised Grif to hear their leader was considering ceding control. He didn’t understand why someone in charge would want to give it up, especially to spend more time with his female. Still, Grif was happy for the guy. The commander had risked everything to help them escape the prison mines, he deserved to do what he wanted.

  Making it to the surface had changed everything. Sure, the shell of the prison planet was still a harsh, brutal place, rife with massive animal predators and gangs of roving rapists and murderers. Sure, the threat of the Council and its desire to eradicate their entire crew still loomed large.

  But they’d claimed a solid patch of land to serve as the settlement and begun to not just survive, but live. They’d reinforced the perimeter, begun to build shelters of stone and red clay, dug trenches to carry water from the springs to the homes, and filled the caves with scavenged supplies. They were scraping and clawing to turn Dragath25’s wasteland into a thriving community.

  Grif intended to do whatever it took to protect it.

  He shoved back on his elbows, taking one last glance at the scene below.

  Baldy raised his shovel higher, as if about to take a swing.

  The creature jerked back, the fur parted and…a hand snaked out, palm up and out as if warding off an attack.

  A delicate, small hand. With five long, thin fingers and short, ragged nails.

  Grif’s understanding shifted. Along with his priorities.

  Not an animal, after all. A human. A female. Covered from head to toe in a thick animal pelt that hid every inch of her.

  That camouflage wouldn’t save her here.

  Gripping the roof edge, he flipped over and, legs dangling, lowered himself until he dropped to the dirt without a sound. He slid into a low crouch.

  Ryker always gave him shit about having a White Knight complex, but the judgmental bastard wasn’t here now.

  Even if he were, it wouldn’t change things for Grif. There were two kinds of people in the world. Those he needed to rescue and those they needed rescuing from. The categories were simple, uncomplicated, and immutable.

  He slunk closer.

  “Look, cunt. We told you—”

  Rising like a cresting wave, Grif slammed his ax into the back of the man’s head. The bully with the braids folded without another sound.

  “What the fuck?” Whirling, the other guard swung his weapon.

  Not fast enough. Grif’s rope lashed out, striking the bald man’s wrist. The shovel flew from his hands. Grif took advantage, connecting the flat of his ax with the male’s jaw. The gang-mate crumpled.

  Grif’s attention snapped to the covered female.

  She stumbled back, that small, delicate hand still up and out. Ragged nails, but clean. Small cuts on her fingers. The skin on the back of her hand appeared more golden that any he’d seen before. He chalked it up to a strange trick of the light.

  “It’s okay.” He was close enough now to see narrow eye slits and, beneath them the hint of long, dark lashes and a sliver of blue eyes a
s bright as an iridescent solar flare. Pretty.

  Her palm slapped the air to ward him off.

  An optimistic effort. She was so tiny, the top of her head barely reached his chest.

  “Don’t be afraid.” He stepped over the downed gang-mate. “You’re safe. But we can’t stay here.”

  There wasn’t a lot of time for planning or questions. Those would have to come later. Once he’d located Ryker and they’d completed their mission. Plus, his expertise with females leaned more toward the initial, lighthearted banter that reeled them in and the hard, rough fucking that kept them beneath him through the night. Anything more had been ground out of him long ago.

  He took another step closer. “I’m one of the good guys.”

  No answer. No movement. Definitely no swoon of relief.

  He offered up his best smile, replete with gleaming white teeth, square jaw, and bright green eyes that crinkled at the corners, care of his family’s Irish Old Earth ancestors. The whole package reminded him far too much of a face he despised, but females tended to have a different reaction. “Think of me as your friendly neighborhood rescue team of one.”

  Still nothing.

  He shifted his expression to sympathetic. “You’re scared. I get it, but this isn’t the time for hand-holding. You need to head to the largest cliff.” He gestured toward the highest set of towering jagged rocks. If she’d been resourceful enough to cover herself, he was confident she could make her way to the hideout while he searched for Ryker. “There’s a cave at the bottom. Hide there. My teammate and I will come for you.”