Redemption: Savage Duet: Part One

by Nicolina Martin

  I let her down with a sigh of relief. She immediately sits down, leaning dangerously to the left, and I have to lift her again and place her on one of the chairs on the porch. I don’t want her to catch a cold. I stretch my aching back and flex my shoulders. Before we go inside, I pile up the sticks I’ve collected on the logs by the side of the house. I always try to think ahead. Last winter was tough and there were a few days when no one could come or leave. It was only thanks to my storages we didn’t freeze or starve. There’s no telling what this winter will be like, but it kind of thrills me. It’s back to basics. It gives me real things to focus on instead of the unreal, the surrealistic patterns that have been my life these past couple of years.

  I have only got a few twigs left to pile when I hear the low distant murmur of an engine. I snap my head to the left, listening, then I react on instinct. I drop everything and swing Cece up in my arms faster than she can blink. I’m inside in no time. I look around me in desperation, then I decide to place her in the tub in case there’d be any shots fired. Rushing to the bathroom, I grab a blanket on the way and carefully set her down on it, still fully dressed. I pray she’ll be protected there. She grunts a little. Please be quiet.

  I dash back out into the main room, grab the shotgun and hide between the door and the window, barely breathing, tensed, dead frightened.

  It is a car!

  It stops right outside. The engine dies and I hear a door open and then quietly shut. The little hairs on my nape stand straight up. Who bothers to close the door so carefully? Someone who has something to hide? The need to glance out the window almost kills me, but I press my back tightly against the wall and remain still. I hear steps on the gravel. Oh God! Cocking the gun I pray silently Cecilia has fallen asleep in the tub and won’t make a noise. Who’s here? Who’s sneaking up on us? The fear nearly chokes me. Deep down I know who. I know I’ll have to use my gun. And it scares me so much.

  “Miss Kerry? Hello! Are ya there?”

  Ray! It’s Ray! Trembling violently, I have to use both hands to secure the shotgun again and hang it back up on the wall. Oh, stupid, silly Ray. I open the door and lean against the doorframe, somewhat casually I hope.

  “Hey, Ray. Ehm… is there a problem?” I strain a smile and have to fake a cough to wipe the tears away from my eyes. I don’t want to show him how much he scared me.

  “Hi, Kerry!” he shouts, blissfully unaware of the commotion he caused. “I’ve got—”

  “Hang on a sec.” I go and fetch Cece, needing a moment to calm my nerves. She sleeps on her back, her legs sticking up, looking like a turned over frog. Stopping in my tracks I decide to let her have her nap until I have had time to fix us lunch.

  Christ!

  I’m gonna have to have a serious talk with Ray.

  He stands with his head bent, and at first I think he’s ashamed over showing up despite my ‘no-show’ rule, but then he raises his head and kicks away a little stone as he approaches me, grinning and carefree. I feel evil, knowing that in a minute I’m going to have to wipe that smile off his face. He is such an honest, and almost childlike, human being. I’m sure he meant no harm. But our safety comes first. His ginger, fleshy grin becomes hesitant and then it vanishes as I walk down the steps to meet him. I realize I must be a frightening sight as I fight the urge to hit him.

  Poor man.

  Chapter 19

  Christian

  Erica Davenport’s butler has the night off. I can drive all the way up to her residence. No guards. She’s so fucking clueless, but the easier for me. The doorbell chimes cheerily and it doesn’t take long before I hear a shuffle of feet.

  “Who is it?” she calls through the door.

  “Name’s Christian, Miss. I’m here on behalf of a Vincent Mendell.” She’s ridiculously hung up on her young lover. I have no doubt she’ll open.

  The safety chain rattles as Mrs. Davenport unhooks it and then she swings the door open, hand on hip, leaning casually against the doorframe, her eyes widening as she takes in my friendly smile. As her gaze wanders along my body I almost feel dirty.

  “What can I do for you?” she purrs huskily. “Did Vin… ehm, Mr. Mendell send me something?”

  I cock my head, as I hold her blue gaze. “What do you think?”

  She raises an eyebrow and purses her lips. “Why don’t you tell me?”

  Her flirting makes me want to laugh out loud. I step inside, forcing her to take a step back, then I close and lock the door.

  “I’m not really here because of Vincent.”

  Her smile still lingers, but a hint of insecurity ghosts across her features. Finally, a tad of self-preservation.

  Too late, though.

  “I’m here for you.”

  I strike out, grab her hair and shove her back, slamming her into the wall. She screams, a shrill noise that could wake the dead.

  “Shut up,” I snarl in her ear, pulling her hair so hard her eyes water. “This doesn’t have to be very complicated. You will hurt a lot more if you make my ears bleed. Are we clear?”

  Tears stream across her cheeks as she snaps her mouth shut and all that escapes her lips are small whimpers as I pull her up the stairs.

  She’s stopped crying.

  Only random sobs wrack her battered body. Her face is bruised, her lower lip and right eyebrow are split, and a few of her ribs are most likely broken. There are reddish-brown streaks of drying blood in her almost ethereally pale hair, along with glistening fresh red. A new look of terror crosses her face as I pull out the knife. I’ve done what was asked of me, well, parts of it, and a clean cut across her throat will put her out of her misery. Then I’ll arrange for it to look like a break-in, and a random murder.

  “Please, no, please. You don’t have to do this!” she whimpers.

  I close my ears to her whining. They all beg. They all use the same words. Nothing new. It’s only natural. People cling to life, even though their lives are worthless; a mere waste of air. Straddling her chest, I sadistically flick the blade before her face before I lower it to her neck.

  “Don’t!” she squeals, too weak to struggle more than a tiny wriggling that’s easily subdued.

  “Mommy?”

  A faint voice right in front of me makes me flinch hard. Only a few feet away, in the doorway between the library and the bedroom stands a little pale girl in a pink nightgown with purple bears on it. She’s carrying a giant stuffed panda and stares at me with huge questioning brown eyes.

  “Mommy?”

  I can’t fucking breathe. She has a kid? A kid? Here? Neither in the preps nor during my surveillance have I seen anything that indicates a child. Inside me something screams sloppy! But I’m too stunned to take much notice.

  Erica Davenport’s eyes, or the one eye she can still open, fills with tears. “Casey,” she rasps with a shattered voice as she keeps her gaze trained on me as if daring me to move. “Casey, go back to your room. Now!”

  I struggle to regain control, swallowing hard to get rid of the choking feeling that’s overcome me. “No, Casey. Stay.” I pin her with my gaze, demanding her to obey me. If she doesn’t, if she runs, and possibly warns someone, this might turn very messy.

  The kid, the girl, takes a hesitant step toward us, drops her panda and picks it up again while her eyes flicker between me and the beaten woman on the floor.

  Between my knees, the woman bends her head back and strains to try to see the girl. “Casey, go! Get out of here! Listen to Mommy!” There’s panic in her voice and it breaks several times. Then she fixates on me, her single eye frightened and yet suddenly fiery. “Do what you need to do, but you leave my daughter alone, do you hear me? Leave her alone!”

  I still can’t believe there’s suddenly a kid. It wouldn’t have changed a thing. I’ve done lots of people who are mothers or fathers, hell, everybody can breed, there’s no great gift in that, but I’ve never, ever been in this situation. And I’ve never killed a child. And I will never…

  Fuck
!

  There are tears on her cheeks now—the kid’s, and under me I feel the other female in the room heave her chest erratically, sobbing silently. Around my neck it feels as if something is wiring a snare tighter and tighter. I regard the girl. Tear rimmed brown eyes meet mine. With a growl I sheath the knife and stand. Pulling the woman with me by her hair, I slam her against a wall. “You didn’t tell me you had a kid!” I snarl.

  “Don’t hurt her, please, she’s too young to remember anything, she can’t be a witness, she’s only three years old, pleasedon’thurther!” she wails.

  I shake her to shut her up. “You didn’t tell me you had a fucking kid!” I roar in her face as I keep one eye on the little one who stands as if frozen in the same position.

  “You haven’t asked!” she hollers back.

  She’s right about that.

  “I’ll do anything, just don’t hurt my baby.”

  “Your baby,” I sneer. “I haven’t seen you with her, not once in the four days I’ve been tailing you. You’re one fine mother, aren’t you? When does she get to see you? Do you book her in your agenda once a week or fucking what? Your security guy takes her out to play?”

  From the look on her face I can see several things I said hit home at once. “You followed me?”

  “Not once!” I hiss and shake her again. “Give me one good reason I should even think of you as a mother at all. All I ask. Just one fucking reason.”

  I feel her sharp intake of air against my arm over her throat. Accuse people of being bad parents and they’re sure to forget even a death threat in their indignation.

  “You don’t know anything about us,” she spits. “Nothing! I love my baby and I’ll do anything for her. If you’re here to kill me, then do it, but leave her alone!”

  Her courage kind of impresses me, and she’s clearly got some motherly instincts in some of the right places. And I’m far out on the edge now. “Anything?” I ask, straining to keep my voice steady.

  She nods.

  I let her go and shove her toward the girl, Casey. She falls to her knees and embraces the little one who’s still too stunned to even cry out loud, just the silent wetness on her cheeks. She just stands there, easy prey, too innocent to even try to defend herself, her panda bear tightly held.

  “You two.” I point with the knife to her and the child. “You leave tonight. Without a trace. I don’t care how you do it, but you’ll have to vanish off the face of the earth. I’d strongly recommend you leave the continent all together. Get me?”

  “W—what?”

  “You heard me,” I say in a low voice.

  “You’ll let me live?”

  There’s hope in that voice and I can’t stand to hear it. I don’t do hope. I turn to leave but stop in the doorway and regard them. “If you’re still in the fucking country tomorrow morning, I’ll come back for you both. And if I don’t, there’ll be others. There’s a very large sum on your head, Erica.”

  “W—why? Who?”

  I’ve had enough of this, but I decide to drive the nail in further. And maybe save my own fucking ass. I shrug as I lean against the doorframe. “Someone close. I’d say you can’t trust anyone.”

  My hand trembles so much when I try to put the key in the ignition, I have to steady it with the other. The gravel squirts behind the car as I speed off into the night. I can’t believe I did that. I’ll have to make up a story as to why her body is missing. If she’s not gone tomorrow I’m in serious shit.

  What the fuck’s wrong with me?

  Kerry

  I sigh and try to collect my thoughts as I wrap a thick wool blanket around my shivering body.

  Cecilia is sleeping. We brushed her teeth tonight. Today was a good day. Nothing particular happened. I read a book and she played on the floor. We made pancakes. Yesterday was horrible. I almost killed a man.

  ‘I was too upset yesterday to even write about it. I’m still trembling just thinking about what happened.

  We’ve been completely alone here for about a year now. Nobody ever comes here. That is what I’ve chosen, the safety and predictability I need. Only the first few weeks, when I had to have help with some plumbing, and with the repairing of the porch was when I allowed people here. Mr. and Mrs. Anderson were so kind, and they have respected my wishes ever since.

  But now there’s the problem with Ray.

  Poor, kind, stupid Ray.

  He came here UNINVITED. And I almost shot him!

  God, I don’t know what to do.

  If I’d have shot him… then I’d have been sent to jail… and Cece would be ALONE! Or maybe not alone. She’d probably have to go live with Mom, and then she’d be out in the open. Visible to all the predators out there.

  To HIM.

  That cannot happen. I have to take precautions. I might have to move. WE might have to move.

  Because next time, next time someone might be following Ray here. And that someone… will be Christian.’

  My hands shake so much when I write the last sentence I have to stop and breathe. My chest feels too tight and the sensation of something crawling under my skin makes me gag with revulsion. I remember him so clearly, I don’t even have to try very hard to feel his hands around my throat, choking me, or his lips on mine, his taste, his scent, the intrusion of both body and soul.

  If he comes here… if we meet again. Then I’m going to have to kill him. It’d be him or me. I shiver at the thought and clutch my hands hard in my lap. I hate him! And that’s not even entirely true. I glance across the room at Cecilia’s peacefully sleeping form. The blanket rises and falls with her slow calm breathing. How can I truly hate someone who has given me such a blessing?

  How can I kill her father?

  My cheeks are hot and wet and I realize I’m crying. We have to move. That’s the only solution. We’re not safe here anymore.

  ‘They say there’s a storm coming in a few days. If it’s anything like last year, then nobody can come here and nobody can leave. That means a few days, or maybe even weeks, of peace.’

  I close the journal and drop it on the table. He’s always on my mind, and yet I can’t see his face any longer. It’s been so long. I wonder if I’d even recognize him.

  I hope to God I’ll never find out.

  Christian

  I’m restless and infuriated. I’ve got all this pent-up energy that hasn’t gotten its release. My self-loathing has reached a new high and it’s as if I itch inside. You let her go! You fuckin’ fuckin’ moron!

  The twenty-minute drive along the highway hasn’t done anything to calm my nerves and I need something I can’t properly articulate. I aim to take a left turn toward my hotel in the east part of the center of Winnipeg, but then I change my mind and continue straight forward instead, to the vibrant core of the city, to where the bars and the clubs are.

  At one in the morning, the night life is buzzing on one of the main streets. I cruise slowly, still unsure what I’m looking for. Finally, I decide to park in a poorly lit alley. Outside the air is chilly and it smells of approaching snow. I sharpen my senses and listen to the night, standing absolutely still for a few moments. The car chirps twice as I lock it and then I start walking, a bit more at ease. I’m the biggest predator out here. No one’s above me.

  And I’m not below anything.

  Black heavy doors. Giant bouncers on the outside, five bars and three dance floors on the inside. I don’t know what made me pick the place. Inside it’s foggy, multi-colored laser beams sweep through the mist, across sweaty bodies of people too drunk, or too stoned to walk straight. They seem to want to steer into me constantly. I don’t really fit in, and yet I do if I work my magic, if I allow myself to transform and become one with the heat, with the mood, with the pulse. With the beat of the dance music, hard, raw, nagging and ruthless, the whiskey and the lonely girl by the bar, I suddenly know what made me pick the place, what it is I’m looking for.

  People could get lost here, not to be found until the next
morning. People could get killed here. I’m sure it has happened. It’s that kind of place.

  I feel a little less frustrated. Something’s bound to happen, something that’ll give me my release. I steer languid steps toward her, she has her back to me and is completely unaware I have her pinned. I almost laugh at the irony. It’s the little bitch from the boutique my hit was at yesterday. She has long straight hair, charcoal black, all the way to her ass.

  The sight makes my gut clench, remembering a similar sight of a red-headed woman who turned out to be my downfall.

  She’s wearing leather pants and a very small white top that shows a piece of her hard, trim belly.

  Alluring.

  I shake off the memory of Kerry and sneak up behind her, grab her hips and pull her toward me as I bend my head and bite her where the neck meets the shoulder. Hard, but not hard enough to break the skin. It’s a daring move. I know it’ll work. A girl like her, playing tough and hard to get, is begging for a master, for someone to just take her.

  She yelps and tries to push away, her whole body screaming of indignation. I let her turn so she can see me and feel her soften already. Using the new position I press her tighter against me, letting her feel my hard cock. I already know I’ve won. Her eyes widen with appreciation, flirting back already.

  “What’s your name, baby?”

  “Cherry,” she gasps.

  She’s not Kerry, but there are enough similarities. My heart makes an unhealthy leap in my chest. Too fucking close. “Come.”

  “Where’re we going?” She giggles a little too loud, too drunk to be apprehensive of the situation, and squirms in my grip, rubbing against my cock. She molds into my rough embrace, already fitting like a glove, and I know how I’m gonna pull this off.

  “My place.”

  This is what women always do. Fucking throw themselves at my feet. It’s utterly boring. It’s the opposite of what Kerry Jackson did.