Mark of Cain

by Marcus Hünnebeck

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2014 Marcus Hünnebeck

  Translation copyright © 2014 Steve Anderson

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Previously published as Kainsmal by Amazon Publishing in Munich in 2014. Translated from German by Steve Anderson.

  Published by AmazonCrossing, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and AmazonCrossing are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781477820407

  ISBN-10: 147782040X

  Cover design by bürosüdo München, www.buerosued.de

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2014913347

  Contents

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  About the Translator

  1

  Matthias Blum pulled his belt from his jeans and folded it over twice. When he looked out of his bedroom window, he saw the sun going down, which made his lawn look even browner; its withered condition testified both to the hot summer and to his complete lack of interest in yard work.

  Lost in thought, Blum smacked the black leather against the palm of his hand. The sound served as his warning for what would soon play out in the room.

  He pressed a button to activate the rolling blinds, which whirred softly as they lowered all the way down. His shield of privacy was set—there was no danger some nosy neighbor might witness his actions.

  He went over to the floor lamp and turned it on. His girl was taking an eternity in the bathroom, again. “You know you can’t stay in there forever,” he shouted, emphasizing his words with another smack of the leather belt. “You do and you’ll be sorry.”

  He could hear Michaela hurrying in response to his warning. When she opened the door, Blum became instantly aroused at the sight of her. Michaela was fairly tall, with long dark hair and impressive breasts—which clearly looked as though they’d been augmented by a plastic surgeon. A unicorn tattoo adorned her upper right arm. His eyes wandered farther down, resting a moment on her shaved pubic area. Seeing her slender legs only heightened his anticipation, since he knew how she reacted when he struck her sensitive inner thigh with his belt. There was a high risk of his losing control completely this evening. He could not let himself forget, however, that her johns paid plenty to spend the night—or even an hour—with her. He had to make sure the injuries he inflicted were not too severe.

  “Come here,” he ordered, but kept his tone tame, like a wolf hiding its fangs. “Come to your master.”

  Michaela hesitated, which he could understand. But she apparently lacked the courage. Or maybe she hoped his cravings would vanish as suddenly as they’d appeared.

  She came closer. Her bare feet made no sound on the fluffy carpet. He unbuttoned his olive-colored shirt and carelessly let it fall to the floor as she stood in front of him, her head lowered. But he wanted to see that frightened look on her face, so he placed his free hand under her chin and pulled it upward. The panic in her eyes amused him.

  “What are you scared of?” he asked, as though genuinely puzzled.

  As he let go, she avoided his fixed stare and looked down again.

  “The last time, it hurt awful,” she replied in a whisper.

  He waited a few seconds, just to give her some hope that the worst of her torment was behind her. “Don’t worry, it’ll get a little better every time,” he told her. Then he grabbed her, turned her around, and raised the belt. The leather struck her right butt cheek with a loud crack, making her cry out in pain. Blum, ruthless now, shoved her toward the bed.

  Sandra drummed her fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. She kept her eyes on the window. She had seen the rolling blinds lower to the sill, and she knew exactly what was going on behind them. Blum had recently discovered he had a sadistic streak, and he satisfied his new urges with both her and Michaela.

  Agitated, Sandra grabbed for her pack of cigarettes, which she’d almost gone through in only two hours. She pressed the cigarette lighter into its socket and imagined herself pressing Blum’s skin with the lighter’s burning-hot end.

  An expensive sports car slowly drove by her parked junker. The driver, a woman in her midforties, not a hair out of place, eyed her skeptically. Sandra fought the urge to give her the finger. Because of Sandra’s decrepit car, the driver probably took her for a female burglar casing the neighborhood. She was only sitting here because Michaela had asked her to stay parked outside several houses down—just in case. She had honored Michaela’s request without hesitating, if for no other reason than that Blum would be playing out his fantasies on her within a few days.

  Why couldn’t the man be content with the life they had helped make for him? His house stood out even in this upscale part of Cologne. He’d bought the two-story home for a considerable six-figure sum and had acquired a safe haven that way, one that Sandra could have enjoyed under other circumstances. Her evenings there with Blum went smoothly enough at first, especially when they sat out on the patio in the evening twilight, drinking a glass of wine. He was never a very considerate lover, but he didn’t start out abusing her either, not like his predecessor had. But everything changed when he hit her that first time and found out how much he liked it.

  If they didn’t stop Blum, he would set upon her like a lunatic—and soon. The last time he’d made her come see him, she was scared she wouldn’t live through the night.

  That was another reason she was waiting here for Michaela. If he went too far with her, Sandra would make sure he didn’t go unpunished. Sandra was also hoping she could use Michaela’s torture for her own ends. Once the poor beaten girl made it outside, Sandra might finally persuade her to go along with her plan.

  Blum’s brutality had left its marks all over Michaela’s body. If she got out of the house fast enough, she could escape this hell right now. Her vision blurred by tears, she snatched up her clothes out of the bathroom, holding them in front of her stomach like a shield, then paused in front of the door. What if she had only imagined the sight of Blum lying on the bed all relaxed and spent? Maybe he was actually lurking downstairs, waiting to tear her to shreds?

  She fled from the bedroom without dressing and stumbled down the white wood spiral staircase, using the wall to support her. She didn’t get dressed downstairs either. A frightened inner voice impelled her to the front door. She frantically grabbed at the gilt handle, but her damp, sweaty fingers slipped and couldn’t get it open. She fought back a scream, fearing he’d locked the door to prevent her from leaving. On the second try, the door opened easily. Once she had made it outside, she rushed to pull on her clothes.

  Sandra was stubbing
out a cigarette in her overflowing ashtray when the front door flung open. At first she felt relieved seeing Michaela, that her worst fears weren’t confirmed. The feeling vanished, though, as she watched her friend hurriedly get dressed within the glow of the porch light. Even from this distance, Sandra could tell that sadistic cop had beaten her even more viciously than before, but she resisted the impulse to get out and go help Michaela; Blum might be looking out the window.

  Once Sandra’s fellow prey got dressed, she hobbled off. Sandra turned on her headlights to guide her. As Michaela got closer to the car, the true extent of her injuries was evident, and her friend gasped in horror. Sandra wouldn’t be able to satisfy the man’s brutal desires next time.

  Michaela pulled open the passenger door and climbed into the car, sobbing. Sandra bent over her and hugged her.

  “There, there. Shh. You got through it,” Sandra whispered, comforting her. “It’s over. It’s all over.” She stroked the back of Michaela’s head, trying to reassure her.

  After a while, Michaela began to calm down. She sank into the seat, wiping away tears with the back of her hand.

  “It’s never going to be over,” she muttered.

  Sandra said nothing and started up the car. “He doesn’t own us,” she replied once she reached the nearest main street.

  Michaela snorted in contempt. “Oh, sure he doesn’t. Who’s going to believe the two of us? The word of two hookers against a respected police detective. Great idea!”

  “I’m not suggesting we go to the cops—not at all! They don’t give a shit about us. But there is one person, someone who really likes you and who really hates this bastard. We talked about it.” Sandra slowed for a red light and looked at Michaela’s eyes, which were swollen partly from crying but mainly from the blows. “Klaus. Blum humiliated him back then,” she continued. “Klaus was hot for you, so he despises that prick! He sees you like this, he’ll go apeshit. He’ll forget Blum’s a cop altogether. He’s the one who can make our problem go away.”

  A driver honked, startling Sandra. She hadn’t seen that the light had turned. She drove on and took a right.

  “We can’t do that, can we?” Michaela replied, unsure.

  “Why not? The way you look now, you can’t be turning tricks for at least five days, maybe a whole week. Don’t you want payback for that much at least? How bad will it have to get?” Instead of concentrating on the traffic, Sandra watched her friend out of the corner of her eye. “Before too long, he’s going to mess one of us up real bad,” she added.

  Michaela burst into tears again. “He told me,” she cried, “that it was going to get a little ‘better’ every time.”

  The prospect hit Sandra like a punch in the gut. That was it. “Klaus can help us. All he has to do is get a look at your face. Tonight.”

  As Michaela nodded, almost imperceptibly, Sandra felt something like hope.

  2

  Ten minutes before Klaus Matisek shoved his massive shoulder against the door of her apartment building, he had been on the phone with Michaela. She was all worked up, unable to speak in full sentences without breaking into sobs. Even so, he did understand that that bastard Blum was responsible for her current state. He had headed out right away.

  He hit the hallway light switch and rushed up the two floors to her apartment, where, to his surprise, Sandra opened the door.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Michaela needed my help,” Sandra told him firmly, yet stepping aside.

  He squeezed by her, frantic now. “What does that mean? Where is she?”

  Sandra shut the door behind him. “Promise me you won’t totally freak out.”

  “Where is Michaela?” he repeated, his tone threatening. “How does that scumbag fit into all this?”

  She pointed, hesitantly, toward the bedroom. “Blum did it to her. He’s making us show up at his place, and not just to bring him his cut either. Recently, he’s developed a certain kink.”

  Matisek bounded into the room. Even with just the dim bedside light on, it only took him a second to see how bad off Michaela was. Michaela lay on her side, a yellow blanket up to her hips. The red welts and cuts on her upper body were clear to see. She tried to manage a brave smile but could not pull it off.

  “My God,” he whispered, stunned. He had once felt so much for this woman. “He’s gonna pay for this! I’m gonna slaughter this fucker!” he shouted. It made Michaela wince and burst into tears. Next to her lay a tissue, which she pressed to her eyes.

  Matisek sat down with her, to comfort her. Holding her only seemed to make her hurt more, and she winced in pain.

  “Everything’s gonna be okay,” he whispered to her, stroking her hair now. “He will never hurt you again, I promise you that. I’ll protect you. You can count on me.”

  “How? How can you make that happen?” she asked, sobbing.

  Before Matisek could say anything, he noticed Sandra still standing in the doorway.

  “Leave us alone,” he said, his voice low. “Go home. I’ll take care of her.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Why not?” he asked, surprised.

  Sandra motioned with her head, letting him know she needed to talk outside the room. She went on ahead without waiting for him to respond. Irritated, he watched her go, then carefully pulled himself away from Michaela.

  “I’ll be right back,” he promised her, and followed Sandra into the living room. She’d opened a window and was smoking a cigarette.

  “So?” he asked.

  She turned to him, taking a long drag. “I want to know if you grasp how serious this is. The thing is, I have to make a decision.”

  “What’s not to grasp? I’m not blind, you know.”

  “We both need your help. He’s been abusing us for weeks now, and getting worse and worse. Could you get the guy off our backs? Because I am not setting a foot in his house again. Well? There a problem?”

  Matisek still hesitated, so she flicked her butt out into the cool night, shut the window, and went up to him.

  “Fine. I’ll just grab my stuff and get out of here. But you should look out for Michaela, at the very least. She won’t survive otherwise.”

  As Sandra brushed past Matisek, he grabbed her arm. “You can count on me.”

  “You mean it?”

  He nodded, but she still needed assurance.

  “I won’t blame you if you get cold feet,” she said. “He’s a cop. I get it.”

  “Go home,” he said, his voice low again.

  “Then what? Do I pack a bag?”

  “Don’t complicate things. Now you belong to me again. Once the problem is taken care of, I’ll call.”

  She looked into his eyes. The resolve she saw there seemed enough for her this time.

  “I’ll drive home and wait. But if I don’t hear from you by tomorrow morning—I’m gone.”

  Matisek lay beside Michaela on the bed. The bedside lamp was off, so only the streetlights illuminated their bodies. Her head was resting on his chest while he stroked her neck tenderly. The steady motion helped him arrange his confused thoughts. Like a chess player, he tried to imagine how various moves might play out and anticipate Blum’s reactions.

  Suddenly he got an idea. After mulling it over and questioning it, the plan still seemed promising. He raised Michaela’s chin gently.

  “That felt nice,” she whispered. “Don’t quit.”

  “I have to go,” he replied.

  “Go where?” she asked warily.

  He ran his fingertip along the back of her neck. “I won’t be gone long. Promise.”

  “Are you going over there?”

  “From now on, I’m taking care of you two again.”

  “Stay here,” she begged.

  He stared at her, astonished. Did she doubt he was stronger th
an that brute? “Why shouldn’t I go? You think I can’t handle him?” He could take this Blum, this man who had latched on to him like a tick, draining his lifeblood. It was time to tear him off and squash him for good.

  “I know you can handle him,” she said, placating him. “But what happens after that? The cops would never stop hunting you down.”

  “Not if I set it up just right,” he countered.

  “Let’s just sleep on it tonight, at least,” she suggested, and patted the bed for him to lie down beside her again.

  But Matisek shook his head.

  3

  Blum’s gaze lingered on the ceiling where a little spider sat in the corner in wait for its prey. His thoughts returned to Michaela. She had left the house about two hours ago; he had given her his tacit permission by remaining silent. After she left he had slept awhile, which had helped subdue his arousal. Now he felt capable of thinking about his sexual needs rationally and addressing his fear of losing control. This new obsession had all started with a few harmless smacks on his girl’s rear end. Even as he was getting off on it and striking harder, there was no reason to worry—at first. But now? Each time before he met one of the girls, a dark lust awoke within him, and it exploded as soon as the hookers were at his mercy. There was no doubt: it was getting harder and harder to control his urges when in the throes of arousal.

  Blum scooted to the end of the bed, swishing the linen aside as he planted his feet on the floor. He kept seeing the image of Michaela all messed up, and it made him worry even more. Unfortunately, though, his guilty conscience didn’t work to check his actions. It only tormented him after he’d staunched his sadistic lust.

  He ran fingers through his hair. He had a lot at stake here. As long as they left his house alive, nothing would happen to him. But what if he struck too hard at some point? He would be risking everything.