Cat in Chains

Cat in Chains

She was the hunter—until she became the hunted.

The sequel to Captive Cat, Cat in Chains continues the story of cat burglar Kat Weaver. After breaking into the wrong house in California, Kat is forced to become a sex slave and is transported to a high-class brothel in Saudi Arabia operated by Sheikh Samir Khan.

Some of the women help Kat adapt to the painful demands of her new role in the brothel, but others will fight to get rid of her.

DSS agent Ray Cooper continues to search for her, but Kat knows that survival might depend on finding a way to save herself using her own special abilities. As Kat plots her escape, she discovers that survival requires more than her cat burglar skills—it demands she confront her own darkest desires and the powerful forces that seek to own her body and soul.

Cat in Chains is a dark, erotic journey through the underworld of sexual slavery, where every pleasure hides a razor's edge of danger.

Sample below!

Cat in Chains

Olivia Bond

(For Adults Only)

CHAPTER ONE

The grip tightened on Kat's arm as they marched her through the ornate entrance of Samir Khan's Mediterranean-style villa in Riyadh. She was barefoot and wore only a dirty blanket. Her captors flanked her on either side, their fingers digging into her flesh with unnecessary force, a physical reminder of how thoroughly her escape attempt had failed. Ahmed Bakir was on her left, two hundred pounds and over six feet tall, the capable bodyguard and chief of staff for Samir Khan. On her right was the imposing figure of Ali Hadid, who was bigger, heavier, and rougher than Ahmed, his suit and dress shirt spotted with blood from the men he had killed an hour earlier. The cool air inside the marble foyer hit her skin, raising goosebumps along her arms despite the Saudi heat outside, still intense despite it being the middle of the night. Every step forward felt like another step away from freedom, another nail in the coffin of the life she'd once known.

"Move," Ali growled, shoving her forward when she hesitated at the threshold of the inner courtyard.

Kat stumbled, catching herself before she fell. She'd been a professional cat burglar for years and her balance was impeccable, but days of rough handling, minimal food, and sporadic sleep had taken their toll. Her legs trembled beneath her, betraying a weakness she couldn't afford to show.

The courtyard opened before her like a mirage, a desert oasis of impossible beauty. Polished stone fountains burbled softly, their water catching the moonlight and fracturing it into countless sparkling fragments. Date palms and meticulously trimmed ornamental trees dotted the courtyard, surrounded by intricate mosaic tiles. The air smelled of jasmine and water—clean, refreshing scents that seemed to mock her current state. The splashing of the water echoed from high white walls that surrounded the courtyard. On the far side, the front entry to the house beckoned.

In another life, Kat might have admired the craftsmanship, might have calculated what it would take to scale those walls, to slip through those high windows. Now, she merely noted potential escape routes out of habit, knowing they were unlikely to bear fruit any time soon. Her gaze swept the perimeter, noting security cameras nestled discreetly among the landscaping. The courtyard was a gilded cage, every bit as secure as a prison cell despite its beauty.

A memory flashed unbidden—the raid on Rafiq's residence. The four men had caught her on the street as she tried to escape from Ahmed and Ali, then taken her to Rafiq’s place and used her for hours. She remembered the thunderous crash of the door being kicked in and Rafiq's shocked expression as the bullet tore through his skull.

The heavy weight of failure pressed down on her. There would be no escape from Samir Khan or the life he had chosen for her in this foreign land.

"Sheikh Khan is waiting for you," Ahmed said. "You have displeased him."

Kat suppressed a shudder. She'd heard rumors about what happened to women who displeased Samir Khan.

"And you disappointed the prince," Ali said. "Very bad. He paid much for your company. He was to be your first here."

The implication was clear—her punishment would be severe. Not just for attempting to escape, but for costing Samir money, the one thing he valued above all else.

They guided her across the courtyard toward a set of glass doors that led deeper into the villa. Kat tried to slow her breathing, to center herself. Panic would serve no purpose now. She needed to be clear-headed to watch for opportunities, no matter how slim.

The doors slid open silently, revealing a spacious sitting room decorated in creams and golds with couches and chairs arranged into seating islands. A fountain gurgled in one corner. The opulence was overwhelming—crystal chandeliers, hand-woven rugs, artwork that belonged in museums rather than private residences. And there, seated in a high-backed leather chair like a king on his throne, was Samir Khan wearing a tailored white dress shirt and slacks.

He didn't look up when they entered, his attention fixed on a tablet computer in his hands. The deliberate indifference was calculated, another power play in a game where he held all the cards. Kat was made to stand before him, her arms still restrained by the guards, while he continued to scroll through whatever held his interest.

The silence stretched thin, tension building with each passing second. Kat refused to fidget, refused to show discomfort despite the ache in her shoulders and the cramping in her legs. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, Samir set aside the tablet and looked up.

His eyes were black as night, cold and flat as a shark's. They swept over her, taking inventory of her appearance—the dirty blanket, the bruises on her arms, the defiance in her stance. His expression revealed nothing, but something in those eyes made her pulse quicken, made her throat go dry with instinctive fear.

"Katherine," he said. "You disturb me. You are an inconvenience."

His voice was soft, cultured, with just the faintest hint of an accent. It was the voice of a man educated in the finest Western schools, a man comfortable in boardrooms and palaces alike. It was also the voice of someone who ordered executions with the same casual ease as ordering dinner.

“I thought the Jensens had trained you better, but I can see that you have much more to learn. That’s something we can fix. You’ll just need to be drugged more than the other girls. The bigger problem is your tendency to think you can escape from me. This is foolish on your part.”

Kat met his gaze, refusing to look away despite every instinct screaming at her to submit, to lower her eyes, to do anything to appease this man who held her life in his hands. "If you're expecting an apology from me, you'll be waiting a long time."

Ali tensed, his hand tightening on her arm in warning, but Samir merely smiled—a small, tight expression that never reached his eyes.

"No, Katherine, I don't expect apologies from property." He rose from his chair with fluid grace. "I expect obedience. When that fails, I employ correction."

He stepped closer, close enough that she could smell his expensive cologne and feel the heat radiating from his body. Every muscle in her body coiled tight, ready to strike despite the futility of such an action. Samir noticed, his smile widening a bit.

"Still so spirited," he murmured, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her face. Kat jerked away from his touch, and his hand froze in midair. Something dark flashed across his features before his expression smoothed once more into practiced neutrality. "This is good. Some clients prefer fire to submission, at least at first."

Images flashed behind Kat's eyes—memories of her capture and brutal training by Magnus and Julia Jensen in California, an ordeal that had lasted over a month. Then the local men who had used her after her escape attempt in Riyadh. The remembered sensations of strange hands on her body, of powerlessness and violation, threatened to overwhelm her. She pushed them away, locking them behind a mental door. Not now. She couldn't afford to break now.

Samir was already turning away, dismissing her as though she were of no more consequence than a piece of furniture. "Ali, you will get her ready. Make sure she’s clean, drugged, and restrained. Ahmed, come with me.”

Ali pulled her toward another doorway, and Kat went without resistance, saving her strength for battles she might actually win. He led her deeper into the villa, each step taking her farther from freedom. Kat pushed away the echoes of violence and fear, focusing instead on survival. She'd escaped once. She would do so again. She had to.

The alternative was unthinkable.

***

The halogen lights of the bathroom hit Kat like a physical blow, their harsh glare reflecting off the flowing patterns of the polished granite walls and floor and the gold fixtures at the sinks. Ali's grip remained bruising on her upper arm as he shoved her inside, the door clicking shut behind them with the finality of a prison cell. The space was opulent to the point of absurdity—it might as well be papered with money. Along the far wall, a sunken tub large enough for four people sat beside a walk-in shower—all of it spotless, sterile, and utterly threatening in its perfection.

"Strip," Ali ordered, his voice echoing against the hard surfaces.

Kat stood motionless, her eyes meeting his in the massive mirror that covered one wall. In the harsh lighting, every bruise on her arms and legs stood out in stark relief, purple and yellow markers of her failed escape and subsequent capture.

Ali's patience lasted exactly three seconds before he reached for her, thick fingers ripping the blanket from her grasp. "You think I haven't seen everything already?" he sneered, reaching over to turn the water on in the tub. "You think there's anything to hide?"

The words hit harder than they should have. Kat had been naked before men like this before, had endured their touches and violations. Yet, somehow, this felt different—more personal, more deliberately humiliating. This wasn't business any more. This was punishment.

She remained passive as Ali turned her around to face the tub. He stood close behind her, his hands lingering on her breasts and her hips. His breath came faster, hot against her neck as he pressed himself against her back, letting her feel his erection through his pants.

"Sheikh Khan said to clean you," he whispered, his lips brushing her ear. "He didn't say how."

He guided her toward the tub, which was already filled with clear steaming water. The heat rose in translucent waves, carrying the scent of some expensive oil that couldn't quite mask the clinical undertone of antiseptic. Kat's muscles tensed as Ali's hand pressed between her shoulder blades, forcing her to bend over the edge of the tub.

"In," he commanded, releasing her only to deliver a sharp slap to her exposed backside.

The water enveloped her as she stepped in, too hot against her skin, but she refused to show discomfort. She sank down slowly, the liquid rising to just above her breasts. Ali took off his suit coat and rolled up his sleeves methodically, his eyes never leaving her body, a predatory anticipation in his gaze that made her stomach clench.

"Hands on the sides," he instructed, kneeling beside the tub. When she complied, he reached for a washcloth and a bar of soap, working up a lather with deliberate slowness.

The first touch of the cloth against her shoulder was almost gentle, a deceptive prelude to what followed. Ali worked his way down her body, the rough fabric scraping across her skin as he applied unnecessary pressure. He lingered over her breasts, soap-slick hands replacing the cloth as he kneaded and pinched, his breathing growing heavier.

"Need to make sure you're clean for Sheikh Khan," he said, voice thick with arousal.

Kat fixed her gaze on a pattern in the stone of the far wall, attempting to disconnect from what was happening to her body. It was a skill she'd developed during her weeks in captivity—the ability to retreat into her mind, to separate herself from the physical violations. But Ali seemed determined to keep her present, delivering sharp pinches to her nipples whenever her attention appeared to wander.

"You're enjoying this," he taunted, one hand sliding beneath the water to push her legs apart. "All you Western whores do."

His fingers probed between her legs, rough and invasive, scrubbing with punishing strokes that were clearly meant to hurt as much as clean. Kat bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood, refusing to give him the satisfaction of her pain. The violation continued as he pushed two thick fingers inside her, ostensibly to clean her there as well, his movements becoming increasingly sexual rather than functional as they slid in and out.

"Maybe the sheikh will let me have you when he's done," Ali said, his free hand squeezing her breast painfully. "After you've learned your lesson."

Kat remained silent, her mind retreating to a place where Ali's invasive touches couldn't reach. She thought of her apartment back in Los Angeles, of her books lined up neatly on shelves, of the security system she'd installed herself. She thought of Ray, the man she'd met in captivity, the man who wanted to rescue her, whose gentle touch had been so different from the men who'd handled her since.

The bath continued, Ali's hands violating every part of her body under the guise of cleanliness. He made her stand, water streaming down her skin, as he washed her back, her buttocks, between her legs from behind, and fingering her ass with deep strokes that made her yelp. His breathing grew increasingly labored, and she could feel him pressing against her as he pulled her close, using the excuse of the bath to gratify himself through his clothes.

Finally, he pulled her from the tub, water splashing across the granite floor. He didn't bother with gentleness as he toweled her dry, her breasts bobbing, the plush fabric rough in his aggressive hands. Kat swayed a little, exhaustion threatening to overtake her, but she remained upright through sheer force of will.

"Now this," Ali said, reaching for something on the counter. The syringe glinted under the bright lights, the liquid inside clear and innocent-looking.

Kat's eyes fixed on the needle, calculation replacing fear. She knew what it probably was—the same drug the Jensens had used when she was their captive. It dulled pain, increased sensitivity in certain areas, made her crave sex, and most importantly, made resistance nearly impossible as muscles weakened and coordination failed. Under normal circumstances, she would have fought against it with everything she had. But these weren't normal circumstances. Pain awaited her—she had no illusions about that. Samir Khan's reputation for cruelty to those who defied him was legendary. If the drug would help her endure what was coming, perhaps it was better to accept it.

So, when Ali approached with the syringe, Kat extended her arm without prompting, surprising him. His eyes narrowed with suspicion before a smirk spread across his face.

"Smart girl," he said, sliding the needle into her vein with practiced ease. "This to make you enjoy what's coming."

The effect wasn't immediate, but Kat could feel it beginning to work as Ali guided her from the bathroom, his hand firm on her upper arm. The edges of her vision softened, colors becoming more vibrant even as her limbs grew heavy. By the time they reached Samir's bedroom, walking was becoming difficult, her steps uneven and uncertain.

The bedroom was exactly what she would have expected from a man like Samir Khan—massive and imposing, dominated by a super-king-sized bed with black silk sheets. The walls were dark, the lighting low and intimate, creating pools of shadow in the corners. The highly polished black granite floor made Kat feel like she was walking on darkness until she reached the island of white carpet where the bed was located. A large window overlooked the courtyard, though heavy curtains were drawn across it.

Ali positioned Kat beside the bed, forcing her down to her knees with a heavy hand on her shoulder. The plush carpet cushioned her knees, but the position itself was deliberately degrading. He produced a length of nylon rope, binding her wrists together before securing them to one of the ornate bedposts.

"Sheikh Khan will be here soon," Ali told her, giving her bound wrists a final tug to ensure they were secure. "Obey and it may not hurt so much." His hand stroked her damp hair almost affectionately before he stepped away. "But I hope you don’t."