Taboo Unchained

by C. M. Stunich

  I've been living in a pseudo fantasyland ever since I got that kiss on the porch. It's not like me, and it has to stop. Tonight, I reclaim Lucas Carter, and I move on. I always thought that, perhaps, if I found a woman whose darkness rivaled my own that I could stop taking clients and blood to sate my demons, that I could wallow in her and she in me.

  It's only just occurred to me that Audra could be that person.

  “You're being awfully nice to me tonight. Any particular reason?”

  I lean in close, my heart thumping strangely inside my chest, my dick straining against my pants. Audra Holiday. Could Audra do what Isadora couldn't? Could she handle me full time? Could I handle her?

  “When presented with other, less appetizing options, you suddenly become a lot less frustrating.”

  “How romantic,” Audra drawls, letting that slight blip of a Southern accent enter into her speech. She reaches up and trails her fingers down my cheap, silk tie, the one I purposely tossed into the sink and allowed to dry wrinkled. All part of the costume. Slum works best in places like these. If I were to show up here wearing Mr. Braxton's suit, I'd become a target, a stand out. “You always know exactly what to say, don't you?”

  “Hello.” Mrs. Braxton moves up next to Audra and eyes her engagement ring with one part disdain, two parts jealousy. “I don't believe you were attached the last night we met?”

  Audra smiles brightly and I lean back, slipping my hands into my pockets with a smirk. The cheap polyester lining makes my hands itch, but I take great pleasure in the exchange happening before me. I decide not to intervene and let Audra do her thing.

  After tonight, Mrs. Braxton shouldn't be a problem anymore.

  “Oh? Didn't you hear, Lucas and I,” Audra leans over and wraps her arm through mine with a smile, “are getting married!” A visible shudder slides over Clarice's orange tinted skin. When she looks over at me, it's with a pall of darkness that I don't like directed at my face. Clarice might be an airhead bimbo, but she's a dangerous airhead bimbo. I have to remember that.

  “Personal issues aside,” I begin, watching the stream of men saunter past me with leers attached to their grimy, shadowy faces, “we're here to assuage the taboo and lap the blood from the heels of angels.”

  “Well put,” Audra agrees, leaning into me. I wrap my arm around her waist, one around Clarice's – just for show – and guide the women into the door. If I said I didn't enjoy the looks of jealousy on the faces around me, well, I would be lying.

  “I still don't know why we're here,” Clarice gurgles in her nasally little voice. I squeeze her waist harder and pull her ear to my mouth.

  “If I gave a shit about that, I would've explained things to you. Shut your mouth, you whiny little cunt and follow along. Try not to fuck this up.” I lean back and find us a table in the fray, one close enough to the stage that I can get a real good look at the prime quarter of assholes, far enough away that we won't be accosted by strippers looking to up their game to hooker.

  The inside of the Wild Tuna is a strange mixture of high-end grocery store and cheap, seedy bar. There are the usual accoutrements: small round tables that are dented and covered in water rings, neon signs advertising cheap beer and girls, and a center stage, done up in black and plastered with the stickers of local bands that nobody's heard of. And the unusual: a check-out counter complete with register, the deli section filled in with pillows and used as a grimy, questionably stained seating area, and a poorly painted linoleum floor.

  My mouth twitches as I beckon the girls to take a seat on the – thankfully – wooden chairs around the table. There is no way in fucking hell that I'd sit on anything with fabric in this particular 'gentlemen's' joint.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” I ask Audra, peering closely at her wicked smile, the flashing green of her eyes. Her engagement ring. Now that the thought's gone through my mind, I can't seem to banish the idea. Or perhaps I'm simply trying to erase Robbie from my small list of possibilities.

  “Whatever's on tap,” Audra says, waving her hand like she couldn't care less about her choice of beverage. Her attention is entirely focused on selecting a target. The problem is, even in a place like this, there are right choices and there are wrong choices. I won't kill someone who doesn't deserve it. Of course, this is a subjective and entirely controversial method, but I have to feel as if I'm eliminating a monster who's worse than I am. If I don't at least go into it with that thought in mind, I won't survive the encounter intact. My demons already number in the infinite; I can't afford to be haunted by anymore.

  “I'll have a martini with extra salt,” Clarice says, leaning into me and watching the girl onstage jiggle her mammoth breasts around, pink tassels flying like flags.

  “Honey, I don't think they serve martinis in a place like this.” Audra winks at Clarice and stands up, glancing over at the massive clock – in the shape of a woman's breast, complete with nipple – that's hanging above the entrance to the club. “I'll be right back.”

  As she moves away, I reach out and grab her hand.

  “If you see a target you're interested in, tell me. In a place like this, I recommend not running headfirst into something you can't get out of.” Audra raises her red brows at me and leans in close, pressing her mouth against my ear. Before I can stop myself, my hand is traveling up her side and groping her ass.

  “I can take care of myself, Lucas. Trust me, I'm more than capable.” I sneer as she walks away, cupping my father's pocketknife in the front right pocket of my slacks. However irrational it may be, if I see a man touch Audra without her permission, I think I might lose it. Why, exactly, I can't say.

  “What are we doing here, Luke?”

  My head snaps around and my eyes narrow on Clarice's. I like the way her throat moves when she swallows, not because I find it attractive, but because I can imagine red leaking from a wound there, imagine the taste of it on my tongue, the sharp flicker of pain and anguish.

  I close my eyes and suck in a breath.

  “Do. Not. Ever. Call me Luke, do you understand?” My voice drips with vehemence, but it doesn't matter. In fact, I'd say Clarice is even more turned on than she would otherwise be.

  “How about … master then?” Clarice giggles, and I swear, my blood turns to ice. I have to force myself to lean back and flag a waitress to keep my hands away from her throat.

  “Don't get started on me with that pseudo S&M, Fifty Shades of Gray crap.” I tap my fingers on the table and try to smile at the woman approaching us with a sour look on her face.

  “What do you want?” she snaps before I even get the chance to ask. I grit my teeth and let that cool, calmness soothe over me. I am still Lucas Carter; I have to maintain what I've built all these years. No more rages, no mistakes, no surprises. I make a promise to myself not to play with Robbie again. After all, her father gave her an ultimatum; I have to ensure she makes the right choice.

  “Three pints, if you would.”

  The waitress/stripper squints at me, the wrinkles around her eyes betraying an age her body doesn't show. I keep my eyes on her breasts, not because I find the overinflated balloons particularly attractive, but because it's what's expected of the kind of scum that frequents a place called The Wild Tuna.

  “Bud or Coors, dude?” she asks, like duh. I squeeze my fingers against my palm and allow a sneer to wither across my lips.

  “Does it fuckin' matter? Bring me whatever, baby.” The woman grunts, flicks her much-less-impressive-than-Audra's red hair over her shoulder and saunters off. Meanwhile, Clarice is staring at me like I'm a God. Not that that's anything new.

  “Are we roleplaying?” she asks, sounding awfully excited at the idea. When I ignore her, she starts to blabber. “I made sure that dead guy won't ever be found, Lucas. Nobody has to know you murdered him.”

  I grunt, much like the waitress who just sauntered off.

  “Why don't you say it a little louder? I'm not sure the entire club heard you.”

 
Clarice misses my sarcasm, and the frantic way my eyes dart about the room looking for Audra. Where the hell did she wander off to? The longer she's away, the more concerned I get.

  “If you want, you could choke me tonight. I hear ass-fix-uh … ass-fix-ya … ”

  “Asphyxiation,” I growl, already breaking my new rule of staying in control. “The word your tiny brain is searching much too hard for is asphyxiation.” Clarice nods and continues to blather. A different waitress approaches our table and drops off the pints, climbing onto my lap and shaking her tits a bit before she realizes I don't have any singles on me and storms away.

  “Yeah, asphyxiation. I want you to wrap your hands around my throat, Lucas. Make me see stars.” I take a sip of the pint and wrinkle my nose. Twice as dreadful as I'd expected. Oh well. I chug the glass and slam it down on the table, as many of the other men here are doing. “Are we going to pay for a private lap dance?” Clarice continues, pulling me quite quickly towards the edge of my sanity.

  I continue to ignore Clarice, but she doesn't seem to mind – as long as she can open her mouth and spew meaningless words into the air, she seems happy.

  I decide to pull my mind away from Audra and take a good look at the clientele. There's certainly a plethora of scum here, but we need one that really deserves divine judgment, one that I can let the beast wrap his teeth around and smile about it.

  I don't expect this person to be handed to me, definitely don't expect them to walk in on Audra Holiday's arm.

  A man near the bar begins to get rough with a waitress, managing to get a grope and a punch in before he's accosted by security. It's when I'm studying him and trying to decide if he's all bark and no bite when my redheaded little fiancée waltzes into the front door with a very familiar, if slightly aged and altered, face bowed down next to her ear.

  Lloyd.

  Lloyd Owens.

  I stand up suddenly, too suddenly, knocking over the remaining two pints into Clarice's lap.

  “Lucas,” she whines, shaking out the white cream fur stole that was coiled up on her thighs. “What are you doing?”

  My entire body goes numb and my hands fall limp at my sides.

  Lloyd Owens. Lloyd. Lloyd Owens.

  “What the fuck is he doing here?” My voice breaks the sound in the room into pieces, cutting the techno music, the raucous laughter, all of that goes away and I hear nothing but the beat of my own heart. I sway like a tree in a windstorm, the floor bouncing around beneath my feet as I stumble to a half-wall decorated in dust drenched faux flora.

  “Lucas?”

  It's Clarice, grabbing onto my arm, pawing at me like I'm a fucking piñata. I shove her away violently, unaware of her subsequent crash to the linoleum floor. The only person – no, no, the only thing – I have eyes for right now is Lloyd.

  “Lloyd.” The name hisses between my lips as my focus narrows to a point. There he is, a decade older, the skin around his eyes falsely tight, his smile wide, teeth perfect, nose shaved down to a fine point. Cosmetic surgery hasn't done the man any favors certainly, but perhaps it was necessary to live a normal life after being convicted of such a crime? A life he doesn't deserve, mind you. Prey. The perfect prey. My perfect prey.

  “Lucas!”

  “Shut your fucking mouth, woman,” I snarl wildly, jerking my arm from Clarice and dropping into the wooden chair. My bones feel as if they've been liquefied, like I might never stand straight again. I'm vaguely aware of a waitress mopping up the spilled beers and cursing at me, but I pay her no attention.

  “Told ya.” These are the words Audra Holiday mouths at me as she turns to Lloyd and runs her tongue up his strangely smooth cheek. A thousand questions run through my mind, like how Audra found a man I've been hunting for years, how she brought him here, if perhaps I'm imagining the entire thing. But no. No. Those eyes … I will always remember those eyes.

  “Lucas!” Clarice is flat-out screeching into my ear right now. I reach up and grab her by the front of her stretchy ass dress, dragging her face to mine and biting at her lips until she bleeds. The kiss is hardly a romantic endearment, more like an actual attack, but it soothes the bitch, putting her back in her chair with a half-smile. Neither of us notices her hot pink bra sticking completely out of the top of her dress.

  Audra laughs, swishing her hair from side to side and biting her bottom lip. When Lloyd's attention is drawn from her to the stage, she glances over her shoulder, winks and smiles at me.

  Meanwhile, my heart is beating a drum solo of revenge, the notes harsh and echoing around my chest. Aliyah. Killing her half-brother won't bring her back, but it will feel good. His blood will taste like candy, his pain like fine wine, his screams like music. I want him dead so bad, I can feel myself start to shake.

  Lloyd Owens remains oblivious to my presence. Perhaps he's forgotten what I look like? Perhaps he doesn't give a shit about me? But no. Lloyd killed Aliyah because she was with me, so that can't be it. Obsession like that doesn't die, not in a decade, not in a fucking century.

  “A Misfits T-shirt, ratty jeans, a beat up leather jacket.” I list Lloyd's clothing items in a whisper, my words little more than a wafting of air competing for space with the blaring techno sounds of Hello Kitty, a song that the announcer says is Avril Lavigne's finest work. Huh. I don't know who Avril Lavigne is, but I allow her words to cover mine up, disguise the fact that I'm not just a scumbag slouching in the back of a strip club.

  I am a monster, and I have come here to hunt.

  My tongue slides across my lips, and I taste the tang of Clarice Braxton's blood. Vaguely, I'm aware of little things that my OCD demands I pay attention to: I haven't been tested recently, I could've put Robbie in danger, I should NOT be thinking about fucking Robbie.

  I stand up again, this time without knocking the recently righted table over. I hear Clarice ask me what I'm doing, but I don't pay any attention to her, retreating to the men's room for a breather.

  Fuck, it stinks in here.

  I crouch inside a stall and rub my hands down my face, struggling to pull myself together. Yes, this is Lloyd Owens we're talking about, but I can't be any less careful with the hunt. Truthfully, I should be more careful because there is the chance – even the slightest – that I could be considered a suspect. Fortunately, The Wild Tuna is not a place I frequent, it's across town from my house, and Lloyd has not seen or heard from me since he was convicted and sentenced.

  “Breathe, breathe, breathe,” I intone, rocking back and forth on my heels. I can't bear to lose it now, to break in half and drop the last of my sanity into the pit of darkness that makes up my soul. This is my chance for, if not a different, then a new life. Perhaps with Audra by my side? After seeing what she's done, I'm inclined to want to love her. Maybe if I banished this demon, I could become capable of that horrendously painful emotion?

  Did Audra know who Lloyd was when she brought him here? She had to. She just had to. Fate is not kind enough to toss a bone this big my way by accident.

  “Lloyd Owens.” I say the two words slowly. He'd be thirty-five years old now, a convicted felon released on good behavior. A murderer. Slime. Pig slop. Garbage. Trash. Nothing. Lloyd Owens is nothing, and his life was forfeit the moment he murdered his baby sister, the love of my life. It belongs to her and since she's not here to take ownership of it, it is now mine. Mine.

  Lloyd Owens now belongs to the monster inside of me.

  “Where have you been?” Clarice asks when I come out of the bathroom. I'm not sure how long I've been in there. Ten minutes? Twenty? An hour? I have no fucking clue, but it doesn't matter. Audra has kept Lloyd occupied and right now, he seems to be embroiled in a lap dance with a stripper who looks suspiciously like Miz-E. I consider this to be a sign from, if not above, then down below. At this point in my life, even hell's blessings seem precious.

  “Do you like what you see?” Audra asks, sidling over to me on the pretense of buying another round of drinks.

  “H-how?” The word ba
rely makes it past my lips. Now that I'm staring at my prey again, my body's gone to ice, frozen itself in place to keep me from ripping the skin off his bones at this exact moment in time.

  “Well, it's complicated … ” Audra trails off with a sigh. “After you let that name slip, Aliyah, I did some research. It wasn't hard. A little Google search on Lucas Carter Aliyah pulled the articles up in the hundreds.”

  “That explains how you knew to find him, now how you actually did.” I try not to let my voice simmer with the murderous tendencies brewing in my blood. Somehow, Audra hears them anyway. Perceptive little bitch.

  “Lucas, save that for later.” Audra grabs onto my shoulder and shakes me. “Savor the moment, bite into it and let go. This is your chance to get rid of the demons.”

  I tug my arm away and suck in another breath. I'm having trouble remembering to fill my lungs with the stale air of the club; they're already filled to capacity with revenge.

  “Killing Lloyd won't get rid of my demons,” I tell her, watching her brows pinch together. “It wasn't the anger or the rage that made them; it was the sadness.” Loss. Pain. Loneliness. These are the real ingredients for my inner darkness. My monsters aren't actually made up of justice or vengeance or rage. That's the difference between me and Audra, Margarite Simmons, Lauren Houssard. This is why I've been able to do what I do, drain their darkness away. The devil on my shoulder is melancholy, and that can't be cured, at least not in any way I'm aware of.

  I squeeze my hands into fists.

  “So … you don't want to do this?” Audra asks me, as I feel some of that power draining from my skin. In a split second I go from wanting to twist Lloyd's head from his shoulder to wanting to run far, far away. Robbie's face fills my thoughts, the sound of her voice fills my ears, and the feel of her body surrounds mine, shielding me away from the rotten energy of the club, of my own revenge.

  “I do,” I force myself to say as Lloyd's lap dance comes to an end. “Or rather, I have to.” I don't tell Audra, but I don't know if I could live with myself if I let the man get away.