Author's Note: Still having a hard time updating regularly, and as with
like all of my stories, I take forever to update, and never does it come
within a certain boundary of time. I was going to try and remedy this, but
I failed, obviously. Oh well. I hope this satisfies you for the time being!
And thanks so much for all your reviews! They mean so much and I hope they keep coming.
Don't Rightly Know
R For Violence, Language, Nudity, Sexual Content, and Adult Themes
The West has been settled and formed by a wealthy young family and now their only daughter has run off from the confines of her world, off to see the outside and escape the civilized town, into the true Wild West. Bands of outlaws and wild Indians won't be her only concern as a dangerous entrepreneur with an illegal alternate lifestyle sets his eyes on her.
Chapter Four
Bulma awoke, her vision still spinning slightly, objects literally swimming before her eyes, and a dull pain throbbing in the back of her head. She wondered briefly why it was exactly that it hurt, and then it came back to her.
Yes, that was right. She was taken by a psychotic maniac who had dared to raise his hand against her. She cursed silently to herself, while rubbing the back of her head, searching for a lump or something. Although the flesh was still tender, and probably sporting a lovely little bruise, there was nothing else wrong. She was fine. Unless, of course, you count the maniac.
She rose from the bed she had been laid in, noting subconsciously how soft the covers were, and that they had to have been made of some fine material, and stood beside the grand four-poster.
Her toes bent into the lush carpet, squeezing it between the tiny digits, and then she began on her way across the room, towards the big wooden door that blocked her path to the outside world, or at least to the rest of the building.
It was larger than it had seemed, she thought to herself when she reached it, and marveled at the intricately designed patterns adorning the solid surface. It almost looked like a scene from her children's bible that she had so cherished when she was little and her father had enough time to read with her at night, beside her little bed.
Those times were lost to her now, though.
She wrapped her slender fingers around the large brass knob and braced herself to push hard against the door, figuring that such a monstrosity would be difficult to open.
She unceremoniously fell on her face, her hands just barely catching her, as the door was opened before her. Her face flushed crimson, hoping that whoever it was who'd opened the door, hadn't been the man who'd hit her the night before. Two shows of weakness wouldn't do her any good.
There was no laugh though, only silence, and when Bulma turned her face ever so slightly to glance up at the person above her, she saw yet again the pristine white collared shirt, the olive skin, tanned from hours underneath the hot desert sun, and above all, the hauntingly dark eyes, filled with a black void.
His gaze sent shivers down her spine, chilling her soul with the fear that smoldered behind it, yet, she couldn't seem to tear herself away from his chiseled features. It was like looking at the devil, so perfect, and yet you know you'll die soon.
"Get up." His cold voice echoed in the hall, as if it were trying to reinforce his already undisputable power. She complied wordlessly, her eyes still locked with his in abject fear and awe. "Come."
Bulma walked soundlessly behind him, afraid to say a word for fear he would turn around and hit her again, or worse –kill her. But she was dying to ask him what his name was, scolding herself silently for even caring.
"You're new quarters are here," he said tonelessly, "across from mine. You will be under my watch at all times. Don't try anything stupid. You will regret it, if you live that long."
She just nodded.
"You will find a wardrobe in the room at your convenience. You will choose a dress and meet me for dinner. A maid will be waiting to escort you. No excuses."
Her reply was the same.
And then, the door slammed shut behind her, and Bulma was left to her own misery.
.............................................................................................
Vegeta made his way down the hall, thoroughly pleased with himself. She would be perfect for his deeds. Just perfect.
So flawless in skin and mind and defiant in nature, but meek when shown power. It was perfect.
He'd have the world in his hand in no time, especially with such a powerful tool to use at his slightest whim.
And thanks so much for all your reviews! They mean so much and I hope they keep coming.
Don't Rightly Know
R For Violence, Language, Nudity, Sexual Content, and Adult Themes
The West has been settled and formed by a wealthy young family and now their only daughter has run off from the confines of her world, off to see the outside and escape the civilized town, into the true Wild West. Bands of outlaws and wild Indians won't be her only concern as a dangerous entrepreneur with an illegal alternate lifestyle sets his eyes on her.
Chapter Four
Bulma awoke, her vision still spinning slightly, objects literally swimming before her eyes, and a dull pain throbbing in the back of her head. She wondered briefly why it was exactly that it hurt, and then it came back to her.
Yes, that was right. She was taken by a psychotic maniac who had dared to raise his hand against her. She cursed silently to herself, while rubbing the back of her head, searching for a lump or something. Although the flesh was still tender, and probably sporting a lovely little bruise, there was nothing else wrong. She was fine. Unless, of course, you count the maniac.
She rose from the bed she had been laid in, noting subconsciously how soft the covers were, and that they had to have been made of some fine material, and stood beside the grand four-poster.
Her toes bent into the lush carpet, squeezing it between the tiny digits, and then she began on her way across the room, towards the big wooden door that blocked her path to the outside world, or at least to the rest of the building.
It was larger than it had seemed, she thought to herself when she reached it, and marveled at the intricately designed patterns adorning the solid surface. It almost looked like a scene from her children's bible that she had so cherished when she was little and her father had enough time to read with her at night, beside her little bed.
Those times were lost to her now, though.
She wrapped her slender fingers around the large brass knob and braced herself to push hard against the door, figuring that such a monstrosity would be difficult to open.
She unceremoniously fell on her face, her hands just barely catching her, as the door was opened before her. Her face flushed crimson, hoping that whoever it was who'd opened the door, hadn't been the man who'd hit her the night before. Two shows of weakness wouldn't do her any good.
There was no laugh though, only silence, and when Bulma turned her face ever so slightly to glance up at the person above her, she saw yet again the pristine white collared shirt, the olive skin, tanned from hours underneath the hot desert sun, and above all, the hauntingly dark eyes, filled with a black void.
His gaze sent shivers down her spine, chilling her soul with the fear that smoldered behind it, yet, she couldn't seem to tear herself away from his chiseled features. It was like looking at the devil, so perfect, and yet you know you'll die soon.
"Get up." His cold voice echoed in the hall, as if it were trying to reinforce his already undisputable power. She complied wordlessly, her eyes still locked with his in abject fear and awe. "Come."
Bulma walked soundlessly behind him, afraid to say a word for fear he would turn around and hit her again, or worse –kill her. But she was dying to ask him what his name was, scolding herself silently for even caring.
"You're new quarters are here," he said tonelessly, "across from mine. You will be under my watch at all times. Don't try anything stupid. You will regret it, if you live that long."
She just nodded.
"You will find a wardrobe in the room at your convenience. You will choose a dress and meet me for dinner. A maid will be waiting to escort you. No excuses."
Her reply was the same.
And then, the door slammed shut behind her, and Bulma was left to her own misery.
.............................................................................................
Vegeta made his way down the hall, thoroughly pleased with himself. She would be perfect for his deeds. Just perfect.
So flawless in skin and mind and defiant in nature, but meek when shown power. It was perfect.
He'd have the world in his hand in no time, especially with such a powerful tool to use at his slightest whim.