by H. R. Owen
Flynn’s forty minutes late, and I hate fucking waiting, especially sitting in the hot fucking car staring at a park I used to play in as a child. Too many memories make me feel like shit. Flynn finally arrives parking his shitty old Jeep in the carpark across the road. He looks like he’s in his fifty’s with gray hair covering his head and trailing down into a long beard. He has a bit of a limp as he walks over to where I parked my car.
Getting out, I walk over to meet him on an old bridge that covers a large pond in the middle of the park. “‘Bout fucking time… I’ve been sitting here for ages,” I berate as he stops right next to me and smirks. “Sorry man, I was waiting for some more information to come through,” he replies.
“Right, down to business. Who the fuck is this guy? And where the fuck is he?” I demand.
“He’s here… in town. Don’t know too much else apart from his name. The other information I got was a bust.” He hands me a card with a name written on it.
Garrotte.
“Thanks. If that’s all you’ve got, at least it’s a start. Give me call if you find out anything new,” I demand.
“Just be careful. The name says it all. This guy has a lot of kills under his belt, and he’s only used a piece of wire to end them all,” he explains.
A garrotte is something I have never really understood. Why use a piece of wire to strangle someone when there are many more effective weapons out there, ones that ensure you don’t die first. Weapons from this century. Either this guy is really old, or he’s a fucking lunatic.
Flynn heads back to his car and hops in not looking back, the engine starts, and the car backfires with a loud bang.
Fucking piece of shit car.
Next thing to do is ask around about this ‘Garrotte’ asshole. Hunter’s clubhouse is the closest stop, so I start the engine wrapping my hands around the steering wheel. My knuckles turn white thinking about the way Hunter watched Dahlia while he was tattooing me. I’ll be making sure he knows she’s mine. My mind drifts back to the conversation I had with him before he turned up to tattoo me.
Hunter laughed so hard when I told him about Dahlia.
“Since when do you let women into your house?” he asked.
I told him the story, and that was it. He demanded to come check her out. Usually, I’d head to Hunter’s studio at the clubhouse for my tattoo, but this time he showed up on my doorstep. He’s a bit of a creepy fuck after all.
Driving up to the two-story garage, one of the prospects see my car and already has the gates open before I pull off the road, waiting for me to drive through. Rows of bikes line the front entrance and men wearing cuts stand around watching me as I stalk inside looking for Bill, Hunter’s father. The guy’s a mean son of a bitch, but he can get information on pretty much anyone.
There’s a young redheaded woman with her tits out at the bar, obviously strung out on some shit, head down, sucking one of the prospect’s dicks.
Might be another kill for me if she starts going psycho, I think.
Walking up to the couple, I ask for Bill’s whereabouts. The clubwhore, with her head still down, points to the back room where Hunter’s studio is located.
“Thanks,” I mumble in a harsh tone. Bitch could have at least taken the cock out of her mouth to answer me.
Entering the studio, Hunter’s sitting next to Bill with his tattoo gun inking up the wrinkled old skin on Bill’s arm. Both men glance over at me and stay silent waiting for me to give them a reason why I’ve barged in without knocking.
“You know I don’t fucking knock. Don’t give a shit about fucking privacy,” I grunt out.
“So, what the fuck you doing here, Callen? Did you bring that hot piece of ass for me as a present?”
My blood fucking boils, but I can’t start shit in here, or I’ll be on the floor with a bullet in my head within minutes.
“Not going to happen, Hunter. That hot piece of ass belongs to me,” I state, trying to keep a cool head. “I’m after some information on a guy named ‘Garrotte,’ thought you might know something, Bill?”
Bill replies, “I only know the basics on that one. Guy’s a fucking weapon. No one comes out alive after meeting him. Don’t go there, Callen. You’re fucking good, but Garrotte is better. Rumour has it he cut the head off some poor old guy a few years back now, only using that wire he’s famous for. He’s one strong son of a bitch.”
“Don’t know where to find him, do you?” I question.
“Man’s been in hiding for the last two years. No one can seem to get in contact with him. Apparently pissed off a few people,” Bill states.
Without any more questions, I nod to Bill and smirk at Hunter before I head out the door. “Hopefully, you can add another piece to my collection soon,” I yell out over my shoulder. “And stop thinking about my woman, you dirty fuck.”
Storming out the door, I jump in my car and decide to call it a day. I want to get back to Dahlia and get her away from that shithole apartment she lives in. No woman as perfect as her should have to succumb to living in such a dirty fucking neighborhood. The prospect on the gate nods as I exit the clubhouse, and my foot hits the pedal as I tear out of the driveway, speeding up the highway urging myself to be back inside Dahlia’s sweet little cunt.
Pulling up to the front of Dahlia’s apartment, I notice that the homeless man from earlier is still sitting out front, but this time he’s in a different spot. His blanket is wrapped around his shoulders—it’s a dirty brown color that I assume is just filthy from living on the streets. His feet peek out from beneath it, and his shoes are all too shiny. There’s definitely something off about this guy. But that doesn’t matter because I never intend on bringing Dahlia back to this shithole.
“Hey… the woman I dropped off here this morning… do you know what apartment she’s in?”
He looks at me with his clean, shaven face, looking more like he should be in a fancy house on the other side of town instead of sleeping on the streets in this neighborhood.
“Number four,” he grunts.
The hallway of the apartment block is just as derelict as the outside. There’s paint peeling all over the place, graffiti on every door I can see, and dust covering every visible spot on the floor.
Reaching the apartment with the number four messily painted on the door, I push it open at full force finding it unlocked. Dahlia’s sitting on a sofa in the middle of the room with her back facing me.
“You need to lock your fucking door! It could be anyone in this fucking neighborhood,” I spit out angrily.
She doesn’t even flinch at the door being busted open and me yelling at her. “Well, Callen, thank God it’s only you then.” She smirks as she turns to face me making my body tense with frustration.
“Get your shit, we’re going. And grab a coat. I’m taking you out later, and it might get cold.”
I need her to see just how much of a monster I am, so I’m taking her to the place that haunts my dreams, the place where my darkness was awoken. I’m taking her to the house I grew up in—the old lake house cottage.
DAHLIA
We arrive at an old house that looks as though it’s been empty for a long time. The wrap around balcony has posts falling down all around it, and two worn-out rocking chairs sit next to the front door swaying back and forth in the light breeze. Callen takes my hand and leads me up to the front door.
“I need you to see who I am. Who I really am. If this scares you, you can run, but I don’t intend on making it easy for you,” Callen states with a look of concern on his handsome face.
I reply with a smile. “I don’t scare easy, Callen.”
His lips turn up into a smirk, but his eyes stay dark and unreadable. I make my way up the steps running my hand along the railing. Not sure of what I’m going to find in this house, I put my hand on the doorknob and ask Callen if I can go in. His body is tense, and I can tell he’s not sure about letting me inside, but he nods with a slow drop of his head and looks to the floor.
The inside of the house is in the same condition as the outside. Paint flaking off all the walls, poles and beams falling down all over the place. As we walk through the house, Callen stays behind me watching my every reaction.
Walking through all the rooms all I can see is old furniture scattered around with dusty, tattered white cloths thrown over them, and what looks to be broken picture frames shattered in pieces all over the floor.
Kicking around the dust-piled frames, I finally come across a photo. Four happy faces stare back at me. A mother, a father, and two young boys fill the picture with a presence that seems glowing. A perfect family. The family I never had.
I was only two years old when my mother was found in a ditch, beaten and raped. My father was involved with some seedy people, and they had gotten a hold of my mother to pay a debt he owed. Well, that’s what he told me anyway. I was raised jumping from one shitty small town to the next, hiding from my father’s mistakes. He was never a loving man, and he only cared about himself.
As I grew older, instead of playing games with me or spending time loving me, he would teach me how to fight and protect myself. It caused me a few black eyes and broken bones along the way. My finger was the last bone he broke when I was caught sneaking around with a boy who was the son of our town’s sheriff. My father hated the law. He’d told me that sneaking around, running my mouth to the sheriff’s son, Jake, would see him locked up. And he just couldn’t have that.
Jake was laying on top of me in the back of his truck out in the paddock that ran along our property when my father caught us. He was drunk. He was always drunk, but this time there was something different about him. Jake and I had only been kissing for the few weeks before and decided it was time to have sex, so we drove out to the paddock so that we wouldn’t get caught. His pants were around his ankles, and he’d just pushed his way inside me. His erection had felt huge at the time tearing me with a painful sting.
As soon as he started building up rhythm, my father came along swearing, swinging a bat, and hitting Jake in the head with it. I laid on the truck bed absolutely terrified of what my father would do to me next. Looking over at Jake, I noticed blood pooling around his head, and I got angry. Furious. I thought I was in love with Jake, and my father had just ended his life in a selfish attempt to keep himself out of trouble.
Grabbing my hand, he folded down all my fingers, except for the ring finger.
A loud scream left my throat as he bent my finger back a far as he could until it cracked. Tears flowed from my eyes and small sobs escaped my throat. Pulling my hand away and sitting up in the truck, now covered in Jake’s blood, I knew this was it. This was the day my father would get his payback for all the black eyes, the broken ribs, and the death of my mother. And it was.
Looking down to the perfect family portrait has me wondering why Callen’s brought me here. “Is this you?” I ask, pointing to the young boy in the photo who has his eyes.
“Yeah, that’s my twin brother, Caleb, and me. That’s my mother, and that there is the reason I’m such a monster,” he says finally pointing to the man in the photograph.
“Come on, darlin’, I need to get out of this house,” he grates through his teeth.
“Okay, but why did you bring me here then?” I question.
Pulling me out the front door and heading down the steps, he stops right in front of the lake, taking a seat on an old wooden bench bringing me down with him.
“When I was thirteen, Caleb and I built a swing hanging from a branch over the lake… right over there.” He points to a large tree a few hundred meters away. I have to strain to see it, but then I notice an old tire hanging from a rope, looking like there might not be too much left of it.
“Whenever our parents were fighting, we would swim over to the swing and spend the rest of the day over there. We used to steal beers from the fridge whenever we got a chance. My mother was always protecting us, she was as perfect as they came. She loved Caleb and me. We couldn’t afford much, but she always sacrificed herself for us. Multiple times she went without food, so we could eat a wholesome meal every day.” He blows out a deep breath and carries on with his story. I hold his hand letting him know it’s okay to tell me.
“One day my parents were fighting… again, so I went looking for Caleb and couldn’t find him. Figuring he’d already taken off, I went to the kitchen and snuck a few beers out of the fridge and swam over to our spot. Once I got there, Caleb was lying on the bank lifeless. I pulled myself out of the water and yelled for him to wake up, but it was too late. His body had stab wounds all over him. So many I couldn’t even guess at the number. It had taken a few moments for my screaming and crying to turn into pure rage. I swam back over to the house to tell my parents what had happened, but…” Callen’s face turns hard, looking at me with glazed over eyes.
“Fuck, Dahlia. I’ve never told anyone this before, not even the police. When my head was out of the water, I heard screams, so I ran up the bank, and there was my father, standing over my mother with a knife…” he runs his fingers through his hair, “… she was bent over on the floor of the balcony, holding her arms over her head while my father was stabbing at her with a fishing knife. I stood frozen for so long, just watching, unsure of what to do. My father mustn’t have heard me come up because he didn’t stop. My mother saw me standing there and mouthed the word ‘run,’ so I did. I ran straight out to the garden shed and got his hunting rifle. Shit! Please don’t think anything less of me when you hear this next bit,” he begged. “I’m not weak, and I don’t care what people think, but with you it’s different. I will always care about what you think of me.”
“Callen, I understand, I really do. You know I won’t think any less of you. I know that we’ve only known each other a few days, but I see something in you, something you can’t see in yourself. Something safe. So please tell me?” I reassure him. There’s no way I’m leaving. My past isn’t pretty, and I’m starting to think we have more in common every time we talk.
“Dahlia, my father, had killed my mother right in front of me…” his eyes are blank as he continues, “… killed my brother. He was my best friend. So, I aimed the gun at my father. He was leaning over my mother’s body, swearing at her, even though she couldn’t hear him. I snuck up behind him and let a round off right in his fucking head. Darlin’, I killed him. I killed my own father. His body came crashing down those stairs. And what’s more… I liked it. No… I loved it. I loved the way it felt, loved the way he fell to the ground, and I loved watching that bastard bleed. That day changed me. I have a taste for death and watching people bleed. I have a dark mind. So, tell me... are you ready to run?” he asks.
The tears in my eyes run down my cheeks as I grab his beautiful face and kiss him hard. Before I know it, I’m off the bench, straddling him, kissing him furiously. My pussy is rubbing on his lap, and I move to get some friction. His cock starts to strain against me, making me moan with pleasure. Sliding off his lap and onto my knees, I undo the zipper of his jeans. His long, hard, thick cock springs free, and my hand finds it straight away. Looking up at him, his eyes read of confusion, then turn to pure lust when I run my tongue along his shaft.
“Fuck, darlin’...” he moans, grabbing my hair with force and looking directly into my eyes.
Running up his length with my hand, I slide my mouth around his delicious cock.
Callen growls out a deep cry. Pulling my face up to meet his, he lands a hard kiss on my mouth, his tongue teases mine, making my already wet pussy soaked.
“Mine,” he roars. “Tell me you’re mine. All fucking mine.”
A moan escapes me, and I whimper through our kiss. “Yours, Callen. I’m all fucking yours.”
Callen lifts me from his lap laying me out on the grass, his lips never leaving mine. Using his large, strong hands, he pulls his pants down fully and opens my legs as far as they’ll go. Running his finger along the front of my panties, he finds my clit and strokes while I moan and wri
the beneath him.
“Fuck, sweetheart, you’re so fucking wet for me,” he says, rubbing my clit harder.
With a quick, harsh move, Callen rips my panties clean off my body leaving my pussy fully exposed to him.
“So beautiful, darlin’,” he states.
Staring down at me, he slowly lifts my shirt over my head and unhooks my bra, running the straps softly down both arms, avoiding my wound. Callen grabs both of my hands, pushes them above my head and wraps them around the base of the wooden bench. He picks up my bra and uses it to tie my wrists to the bench, so tight that I can’t move. His tongue trails down my neck and over my breasts licking and biting at my nipples.
Sucking one nipple into his mouth, he inserts one long finger into my pussy, pushing up and rubbing on a spot that makes my knees buckle. The feeling of being tied up and Callen’s magical fingers bring on my orgasm crashing down around me. He waits until my body stops convulsing, rubbing me inside until my movements stop, then takes his finger out and sucks it clean.
“Goddamn, your cum tastes like heaven,” he moans.
Flipping me over on my stomach, my wrists twisting the tied-up bra, he pulls my ass up into the air and rubs his cock along my wet entrance.
“Please… please, fuck me,” I beg.
With that, he rams inside of me, hard and aggressive. Pumping away at my pussy, he reaches around and finds my clit, massaging to the rhythm of his pounding. A finger on his other hand finds my ass, and he inserts it just enough to make me come undone.
“I’m coming, Callen… oh fuck… I’m coming so hard,” I scream as my release brings on a wave of pleasure I never thought could exist.
“I can feel you coming around my cock, darlin’… Fuck! Your pussy’s so tight.” I feel his cock jerking as his orgasm hits him, shooting his hot come inside me.
We lay in silence for a while, Callen laying over my back while I’m still tied up trying to settle our breathing. This is only the second person I’ve ever had sex with, but I’m certain no other man could be this good. That thing he did with my ass, I really didn’t think I’d like that, but goddam, it made me come quicker than ever. I really have to tell Callen about my past, but not just yet. Right now, I just want to lay with him.