by Jami Alden
Even now it was hard to control himself. But he wanted to savor it, for this would end soon. His plan was well into motion now, his dreams of the future so close to becoming reality he could nearly taste it. There would be no need for this at the next stage.
Like an alcoholic about to enter rehab, he wanted to take his time, enjoy this last bender, appreciate the sights, the sounds, the sensations this night would offer.
He reached for the pack of cigarettes he’d placed next to the bed. He lit one and took several long drags, trying to slow his heartbeat, trying to cool the lust sizzling in his veins, urging him on.
Such a delicate balance. Every time he had to work harder to keep control, to force himself to savor every second of the pain, every molecule of their fear.
This one’s fear was like a palpable force in the room, her mewls behind the gag high and hoarse. Acrid sweat bloomed on the surface of her smooth, flawless skin, displayed so beautifully by the scrap of silk she wore. So smooth, so perfect, so beautiful.
He yanked a thin strap down her shoulder, exposing her breast, exposing more flesh the texture and color of warm cream. He took another deep drag of his cigarette, then pressed the tip against the underside of her breast.
Her scream was muffled by the gag and the roaring in his ears. He breathed deep through his nose and mouth, sucking in the scent of burning flesh, the flavor of her terror. He yanked the dress down her chest, rending it in half when he was stopped by her bound hands. She kicked and thrashed, but she was no match for his far greater strength. His laugh turned into a groan as he ground his erection against her, her bucking and gyrating threatening his control.
He put the cigarette against her stomach, her chest, her nipple, left a trail of burns down the tender skin of her inner thigh. Soon her muffled screams had faded to hoarse moans behind the gag. Her thrashing weakened and her eyes closed, as though she could block out any of what was about to happen to her.
Not a fucking chance.
He stubbed out the cigarette and quickly stripped out of his clothes.
He stroked himself, looking at the bed as he did so. She’d opened her eyes and was staring at his cock, tears streaming from her eyes.
That’s right, baby. The thought made his dick throb, and he knew he better cover up. Rip, snap, and a condom was in place to catch any stray bits of precome that might leak out and contaminate the scene.
He flipped her onto her stomach so her head was at the foot of the bed. He knelt behind her and yanked her up on her knees so her perfect ass pointed in the air, her cleanly shaved cunt exposed to his view. He reached over beside the bed, his gloved hand curling around the handle of his blade. A warrior’s blade. Custom made, honed to an edge so keen he could shave his beard with it.
He slashed the knife across her back in the same instant he drove into her. He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth as he struggled for restraint. Her body squeezed his dick like a vise as she convulsed from the pain seizing her from inside and out. He looked at the TV screen, watching himself as he pounded her from behind.
Her head was down, hanging in defeat, his body jarring hers like a rag doll.
That wouldn’t do.
He smiled at himself as he reached out and grabbed her hair, forcing her head up until her face was visible on-screen. His other hand reached out. The blade rested against her neck, its glare casting a glow around face like a twisted halo.
“Open your eyes,” he ordered. They snapped open at the first bite of the blade. She tried in vain to shrink away. “You watch,” he said, over and over as he pumped into her. With each stroke, the blade sliced at her neck until bloody rivulets ran down her chest and neck.
He watched his face tighten with ecstasy, saw his lips peel back to bare his teeth, saw his muscles cord in sharp relief under his skin as his climax came thundering down.
Watched himself deliver the killing blow.
“So do you think you’ll still live here after your mom gets out?”
Devany Sinclair looked up from picking at a chip of blue polish on her right thumbnail. Sixteen-year-old Amber, who lived three trailers down and whose mother worked the same whacked schedule as Devany’s aunt Kathy, was buried shoulder-deep in their ancient Frigidaire like she was digging for treasure. Kathy’s hyperactive terrier mix, Skeeter, danced a hopeful circle around Amber’s feet.
“I don’t know.” Devany shrugged. “It all depends on what my mom wants to do.”
“Sorry, dog, no treats for you,” Amber said, brushing Skeeter aside with her foot. She emerged with a couple of silver aluminum cans and presented one to Devany.
“We can’t,” Devany protested. “My aunt will totally notice.”
“Don’t worry,” Amber said, rolling her eyes as she popped the top on the beer. “I have more stashed. Jesse hooked me up earlier.” Jesse was Amber’s too-old-for-her boyfriend. He had a beater car and a fake ID, which made him the closest thing to Prince Charming that Redwood Acres Mobile Home Park had to offer.
“Then why didn’t you bring it?”
“Well, duh, it’s warm,” Amber said, rolling her dark eyes again as she took a swig from her can.
Devany popped the top and slurped at the foam, grimacing at the bitter taste. “Next time tell Jesse to get a bottle of Popov, okay? I can barely drink this shit.” She took three quick chugs and shuddered. “You got the exact same brand, right? Last time I almost got busted. And we need to get it in the fridge in time to get cold.”
“Stop worrying,” Amber said, flipping her thick black hair down her back as she plopped on the faded rust-colored couch.
“You’re not the one who will land her ass back in a group home if we’re busted.”
Amber shrugged. “So do you want to stay here, or what?”
Devany flopped down next to her. Skeeter followed, curling next to Devany, his chin resting on her denim-clad knee.
“This is the longest I’ve lived anywhere, and my aunt’s not so bad.” Really, she didn’t want to think about what ld happen when her mom was released from her latest stint in court-mandated rehab.
She drained her beer and started on another. A mellow glow spread through her limbs and loosened her tongue. “Doesn’t matter. I know my mom will try to get me back, which wouldn’t be so bad if she could just stay clean.” The first time her mom had gone to jail for meth possession, Devany had been eight. At the time, she’d believed her mom’s vows that she loved her and would get clean for her sake. Devany would be in foster care for only a little while, Janna Sinclair promised. Once I get out, we’ll be a family again.
That had been six years, four arrests, and ten moves ago.
“I’ll probably have to go live with her, until she fucks up again.” Which was a given. For all the turmoil in Devany’s life, her mother’s talent for fucking up was pretty much the only thing she could count on.
“But if your aunt decides to fight it…” Amber let the rest trail off.
Devany shrugged. Truthfully, she didn’t expect Aunt Kathy to put up much of a fight. She suspected her aunt’s generosity had more to do with the county’s subsidy check than anything. She didn’t expect Kathy Davis to go to the trouble of taking the matter to family court, that was for sure. “Maybe they’ll remember that last time I went to live with Mom, she moved us in with a registered sex offender.” Devany had been twelve and had taken off after the guy had cornered her in the bathroom and tried to shove his hands down her pants. She’d hit him with a faceful of Aqua Net and a knee to the balls, but she knew not to press her luck and had headed for the streets. She’d managed a month before she got picked up for shoplifting and sent to another group home.
Maybe Megan will help me, she thought. Ha! Like there’s really anything she can do. Megan was a volunteer advocate, not a miracle worker. Not even a judge or a social worker. Still, Devany felt a tiny pinch of guilt as she took another swig of her beer.
Just stay straight and keep yourself out of trouble. That’s the best thing yo
u can do to make sure you get to stay with your aunt.
Right. Like a drafty double-wide in a crappy part of town was such paradise. And no matter how good she was, she knew her aunt would off-load her the first chance she got.
Still, she declined when Amber offered her a couple Oxys she’d taken from her mom’s medicine cabinet. “Why are we talking about all this shit anyway? It’s stupid. Whatever. I don’t want to talk about my stupid mom anymore.”
She grabbed the remote off the coffee table and cranked up the TV. She and Amber spent the next two hours working their way through a six-pack.
Devany wandered back to the kitchenette for a snack and swore as she caught the display on the microwave. “Shit, Amber, it’s ten-fifteen already. Aunt Kathy will be home by eleven.” She didn’t need to spell out what would happen.
Amber scrambled up from the couch. “I’ll be right back—I just have to go out to my car.” She yanked on her fleece-lined boots and flung open the trailer’s screeer r.
“Watch out for—” Devany called, but it was too late. Skeeter had seen an opportunity and seized it, his little body nothing but a brown and white streak as he hurled himself through the crack in the door.
“He’ll come back, won’t he?” Amber asked. “He always does.”
“Yeah, but last time he got into Dreesen’s rabbit hutch and almost killed one of them. He said if he catches Skeeter again, he’s going to snap his neck.”
Neither girl questioned that their half-crazed Vietnam vet neighbor was serious.
“Shit. I’ll get the beer—you get the dog. Meet you back here.”
Devany nodded, pulling on her sneakers and following Amber outside. Amber went right, down two trailers to her car, and Devany cut left and over two rows. She called Skeeter’s name in a soft voice, punctuating her calls with an occasional whistle. Cold, damp air haloed the weak outdoor lights spaced regularly on poles throughout the park. Devany could see the silvery clouds of her breath, but her fleece hoodie and fast jog staved off the chill of late fall.
She slowed to a walk in front of Dreesen’s double-wide. “Skeeter,” she said in a high whisper, “come on, boy.” Nothing. She called his name again, a little louder this time, casting a wary look around to make sure she hadn’t attracted anyone’s attention. Devany had lived in worse neighborhoods, but Redwood Acres had more than its share of scumbags and lowlifes. It was not a place Devany wanted to be wandering alone after dark.
She heard a sharp bark in the distance and cocked her head, closing her eyes to make sure her beer-addled brain wasn’t playing tricks. Another high-pitched yip, followed by a series of barks that said Skeeter had found something interesting and wasn’t shutting up soon. And dammit, it sounded like it was coming from the woods all the way on the other side of the park.
Devany took off at a sprint, wincing as every dog in the neighborhood joined Skeeter in a chorus of yelps and howls. Woozy from three beers, she could still hone in on Skeeter’s bark. By the time she got to him, she was panting hard, nausea churning in her stomach.
One of the streetlights in this row of mostly vacant trailers had been smashed, and the remaining light did little to illuminate the trailers or the neighboring woods. She made out the white patches in Skeeter’s coat as he poised on his haunches in front of the last trailer, barking his head off. There was probably a raccoon on the roof or something, she thought as she walked slowly toward Skeeter.
“Skeeter, come here,” she said in her softest, most beseeching tone. She crouched low to the ground and made kissing noises.
Skeeter paused his barking for a second and whipped his head around to look at her. Then he charged up the stairs of the trailer. Devany yelled, “No,” and sprinted after him, but she wasn’t nearly fast enough to keep him from slipping through the front screen door, which hung partially ajar.
She looked around to make sure no one was watching—not that anyone around ’t kely to get their panties in a wad over her trespassing—and followed the dog through the door. “Skeeter,” she whispered as she came through the dark kitchenette. The trailer smelled like mold and dust, and underneath that was a heavy, metallic scent Devany couldn’t place.
She heard a scuffling sound from the back bedroom and picked her way through the dark living room and down the short hallway. Light spilled through the open bedroom door.
Devany’s stomach clenched with nerves. “Is someone here? Hello?”
She tried again when no one answered. “Sorry to bother you. I’m just here for my dog.” Skeeter let out a funny, warbling whimper.
She crept down the hall and pushed open the door. Her view of the bed was blocked by the door, but she could see the dog standing on the floor in front of the TV. “Skeeter, get over here,” she whispered through clenched teeth.
She snapped her fingers and called again, and her gaze skidded across the image on the TV screen and froze.
A woman, naked and facedown, her head turned to the side so Devany could see her sightless eyes staring out from the screen. For a split second she thought it was a horror film, one with really realistic-looking effects. But why would someone break into an abandoned trailer to watch a movie?
Then she stepped into the room. And she saw the blood.
Striping the naked back of the woman on the TV screen. Pooling under the gash in her throat.
Flowing like a river down the bedspread and staining the carpet two inches from Skeeter’s front paws.
Her scream caught in her throat as her horrified gaze took in every detail of the bloodbath in the room and on the screen. Instinct took over and she ran over, snatched Skeeter in her arms, and ran like hell into the dark night.
Megan jerked awake, discombobulated and surprised to find herself facedown on a couch cushion. She sat up, eyes sticky from having fallen asleep with her contact lenses in. The TV was still on, and her half-eaten turkey sandwich was drying out on the coffee table.
After three nights in a row spent staring into the darkness—her acid-soaked stomach clenched in a knot as she thought about Sean and the execution that had been scheduled to take place only a week and a half from today—her exhaustion had caught up with her.
A guitar lick blared through the room, and Megan’s fogged brain registered that it must have been her cell that woke her. She staggered off the couch, squinting to see through her gummed-up contact lenses, and snatched the phone off her kitchen table.
Even as she thumbed the button to look at the call log, the phone started ringing again. Dev, the display read. Megan’s stomach sank a little as she wondered what reason the girl would have for calling her at—she squinted at her watch—ten twenty-two on a Tuesday night.
“Hey, Dev, what’s up—” she started to say around a jaw-cracking yawn, but she couldn’t get a word out before Dev’s voice cut her off.
“Oh, thank God you answered. I don’t know what to do. You have to get over here.”
The pure terror in Dev’s voice sent a shot of adrenaline through Megan’s veins and banished the last cobwebs from her brain. “Whoa, Dev, calm down and tell me what’s going on.” Megan took a deep breath, trying to calm herself as her mind raced with infinite ways a fourteen-year-old girl could get herself into deep trouble.
She’d barely managed the thought before Dev’s next words froze her in the act of walking to the bathroom. “I think she’s dead, Megan. And there was so much blood.”
“Where are you, Devany? Who’s dead?” Panic rippled through her limbs as she struggled to make out Dev’s explanation through her sobbing. She quickly removed her contacts and put on her glasses. “Dev, I can’t understand you. You need to talk more slowly.” She put the girl on speaker-phone to yank on warmer clothes and finally deciphered that Dev was home, that her aunt’s dog had gotten out and made a gruesome discovery in an abandoned trailer.
“Did you call the police?”
“No,” Dev said. “I didn’t know what to do—there’s no one here, and I’m so scared.”
&
nbsp; “You must call the police,” Megan said firmly.
“But I don’t—”
“You won’t get in trouble, Dev.” She knew why Dev was hesitating. In her short life, the cops at her house meant only bad news—her mom getting busted, Dev being taken away and moved to yet another new home. Megan couldn’t blame Dev for being reluctant. “I want you to hang up and call nine-one-one, and tell them exactly what you saw. Stay in your house with the door locked, and don’t open the door for anyone except me or the police.”
Megan yanked on rubber rain boots, slid a waterproof shell over her shirt, and raced out to her car. She made it to Redwood Acres in a record seven minutes, figuring that if a cop tried to stop her, she’d just lead him straight to the murder scene.
Because she wasn’t under any illusions that Devany had stumbled across anything else.
She skidded to a stop in front of Dev’s trailer. There was no sign of the police, and both trailers on either side of Dev’s were completely dark. Megan jogged down the path to Dev’s trailer and banged on the door. “Dev, it’s Megan. Did you call the police?”
She saw one of Dev’s brown eyes peek around the edge of the curtain that covered the door’s square window. With Megan’s identity verified, she opened the door for her to enter. Dev was trembling, mascara smeared under her eyes. The dusting of freckles across her nose stood out in stark relief against her ashen face, and she scrubbed her pierced nose with the sleeve of her flannel shirt. Gone was the tough-talking fourteen-year-old Megan knew. Dev’s usual attitude had disappeared, leaving behind a wide-eyed, gangly girl who was scared out of her mind. Dev cradled Skeeter in her arms as if he were a baby. Megan pulled Dev in for a quick hug, then quickly released her. “You called the police, right?”
Dev nodded, her eyes wet and haunted-looking. “I thought they’d be here by now,” she sniffed. “What if they think I was joking?” She tried to tuck her dark bangs behind her ear, only to have them fall back across her eyes.
Devany was almost as tall as Megan, but Megan guided the girl to the shabby couch as if she were a small child and sat down next to her. She covered Devany’s hand with her own and tried to calm the girl’s shaking. Megan wanted to pull her close, but the courts had strict physical contact guidelines for advocates like herself. Megan understood that such rules were necessary to avoid lawsuits and misunderstandings, but constantly having to rein in her natural tendency toward physical affection got old. Especially at times like this, when Devany could really use a big hug. “They’ll be here,” she assured. “Sometimes it takes them a while.” Especially in a part of town like this, where all the patrols were likely tied up with the steady level of criminal activity that plagued this part of Seattle. As she gave Devany a quick squeeze around her shoulders, she caught a whiff of Dev’s shampoo, which smelled faintly of bubblegum, and something else that made her mouth tighten in disappointment.