by Box Set
“I don’t like that word, submission.”
I nodded in agreement. I’d never liked it either. My own experience with the word had been degrading and excruciating.
“You’re not going to fuck me?”
Her question was unexpected. Did she want me to fuck her? Not at all. I think she expected it, though. Did I want to fuck her? More than breathing. She wasn’t ready, and she didn’t want it, even though her peaked nipples and wistful eyes suggested otherwise.
“Beauty, when I fuck you, it will be because you’ve begged me. I’ve told you, I’m not a man to take something by force.” A complex mixture of relief and disappointment hung in her slumped shoulders, her worried frown becoming somewhat of a pout. “Do you want me to fuck you, hmmm?”
Her lips parted to speak, but she paused, obviously thinking over my question carefully. In the short time I’d known this stunning woman, she’d been candidly honest with her feelings and thoughts.
“I think a part of me does, but I shouldn’t.”
Her answer didn’t surprise me. Her heart, body, and mind were at war with each other. There was a part of herself that she saw as a victim who should spurn all sexual contact. Then there was that long-buried part of herself that was all woman, and she wanted the control, desire, and sexuality that came with that. Following my own abuse, I was at war with my lust and desire for a long time. One humid, summers night in a hovel of a bar in Paso del Toro, I overheard a prostitute discussing her own rape with another woman. Her words sparked something inside me. Sexuality is normal, I’m not letting some el cabrón take that away from me. It reminded me for all the fucked up crazy in my head, the desire and lust I felt was probably the most normal thing. Then I fucked my way through half of Mexico in an attempt to gain back what I’d lost. Beauty was attracted to me, and I her. She was damaged, and tragically so, in a way I could understand. For her, I needed to do things a little differently. I couldn’t just plow ahead, I refused to simply fuck and conquer. This was different. She was different.
“There is no right or wrong, Beauty. There is just us, and it comes with no expectations or demands. One day, you’ll be ready for me to fuck you, you will beg for it. You will hunger for my tongue on you, on your pussy. You will drag my hands to your flesh, and you will scream with pleasure as I pound into your wet cunt. You will like it, very much I expect.”
Beauty’s pupils were so large they almost eclipsed the blue that surrounded them, her lips parted, and cheeks were tinged with color. It was simply adorable that she could blush after everything she had been through.
“That’s very presumptuous of you,” she murmured, her eyes rolling.
Grinning at her boldness, I stepped away from the all too tempting vixen.
“Are you hungry? I’m hungry.”
“What about the girl?” She was quick to ask when I began to tug her towards the door.
I’d used the password Algimas gave me, and it worked. Then I’d sent a quick text message to Raul, one of the men on my team who was a tech genius. He would quietly enter the premises and dig through the layers that would protect the information on the girl. The password would give me access to the computer, but the files and information would be buried deep. There was no doubt in my mind that we would find her, and after Raul had finished digging through the hard drive, I’d then order him to find every fucking picture of Beauty that Algimas had uploaded to the web and make them disappear.
“I have someone working on it. We’ll find her, I promise you that.” Giving her a wink, I held up my pinky, and she curled hers around mine.
“You’re racking up quite a pinky debt,” she pointed out. One day she would realize she didn’t need a pinky promise from me. My word was a vow in itself. I never offered something I couldn’t deliver.
I led her out of the study, and her bare feet padded softly on the thick, wool carpet. She needed clothes. Pulling my phone from my back pocket, I sent off a quick message to someone who could arrange that. I couldn’t be dragging her around Lithuania in nothing but a shirt, however tempting she was dressed in so little.
We grabbed another bite to eat from the kitchen, sandwiches, another basic meal I couldn’t fuck up. When I asked Beauty if she could cook, she told me she didn’t have a clue how. Considering she was only fifteen when Algis had stolen her, it was unlikely. True understanding of her predicament rendered me silent for the longest time, and we ate quietly with only the sound of birds singing in the back garden. I assumed she hadn’t finished school, but I had a suspicion she would be quite bright. It made me wonder more about Lucy and her past.
“Do you speak any other languages?” I wondered out loud.
Chewing thoughtfully, Beauty’s eyes grew distant as she tried to remember.
“Hola señor.”
“You speak Spanish? Eso es perfecto, yo vivo en México, será útil."
The look on her face was blank. “You don’t understand me?”
Shaking her head, she took a drink. “Not a word, but it sounds familiar. I like the sound of it, and I think I remember a few words. Maybe Lucy knew Spanish. How old are you?”
“How old do you think I am?”
She shrugged and considered the question, her gaze wandering over my face and body as I leaned against the kitchen counter.
“Twenty-five?”
“Close enough,” I said with a grin. She’d nailed it, first guess. “And you?”
“Eighteen . . . I think. I might be nineteen, but it’s been a long time since Vir—” she bit the end of what she was going to say off with a curse. “Algis . . . It’s been a long time since Algis gave me any clue to what the date is. Lucy was born on the first of June, 2000.”
“Millenia baby,” I murmured. “You’ll be nineteen in another month.”
Beauty sank into her thoughts, no doubt bad memories fighting for some time at the forefront of her mind. The corner of her eye twitched, and her whole body flinched as she battled to force them away.
“Do you have siblings?” she asked, the tension around her eyes disappearing. Shaking my head, I gave her a firm no. Thankfully, my mother hadn’t left any more children with her perverted husband. Just me. “Tell me about your mom, the English lit professor.”
Memories stormed my mind. A petite woman, older, being forty-two when I was born. She always wore her dark hair the same, in a short bob. Her eyes were a dark brown, and her cheeks were full. She wore glasses that sat poised on the end of her nose when she read. Over time, my memories had gone from large visual moments to brief flickers of remembrance. Although I could remember exactly how she looked, and things she did, the memories themselves had dulled.
“She was smart and loved to read.”
“Hart Crane,” Beauty whispered.
Nodding, I took a sip from the water beside my plate. Remembering the words my mother recited with a soft look in her eyes, I gave Beauty a sliver of not only Hart Crane, but also a piece of myself. With hushed tones and wistful longing, my mother would spill words of lament, starving love, and hope. The way she would light up like a star when she recalled Hart’s romanticized, profound words always left me in awe. As a child, I recalled wanting that same kind of love for someone. As an adult, the only thing that came close was the cathartic release I found in blood and death. It wasn’t the same adoration my mother possessed, though. Where her love was innocent and saved for the pensive art in words, mine was malicious and nothing more than a selfish reward found in the tortured screams of a dying soul. Recalling my mother’s genuine fondness for this particular poem, I recited such sentiments as missing the pleasure of a lover’s touch, and the laughter upon their lips. It wasn’t a feeling I’d ever experienced, having never even entertained the idea of a relationship beyond fucking. And yet, as I watched the enthralled look in Beauty’s eyes as I recited Hart Crane’s poem, Exile, I found myself wondering what it might be like to possess something as wild and exquisite as her.
Her eyes widened, and she leaned fo
rward, utterly captivated by the words that were filled with such raw passion it could make a stone pulse with life, or so my mother had said. When I finished, a soft puff of air escaped her lips, as if maybe she’d been holding her breath.
“That’s beautiful.”
I knew she meant it, there was honest emotion in her eyes. I’d never been particularly fond of poetry, but Crane had his moments, and that particular piece was close to my heart.
“That was one of her favorites.”
“What about your father? What was he like?”
My warm heart was quick to ice over.
“My father was man enough to stick his dick in a shy, somewhat anti-social woman while his own wife slept in their marital bed with three children under the same roof. But he wasn’t man enough to own up to his infidelity and do right by my mother and her unborn child.”
Beauty’s own happiness leeched away and her lips pressed together.
“Bastard,” she spat out. “Did you kill him?”
A bark of laughter escaped my lips, and I shook my head. “I’ll admit, I thought about it, but by the time I thought to look him up, I discovered he was divorced, had lost his job as an engineering professor because of an affair with a student, and was suffering from erectile dysfunction. I think it’s fair to say life fucked him over enough.”
Beauty chewed on her bottom lip in thought.
“Tell me about this boss of yours,” she asked, all serious and professional, arms crossed in front of her, body angled forward. Her candor amused me, and while I might have normally lacked patience with all the questions, I found myself preening a little over her interest in me.
“Charlie Decena is the leader of the Los Zetas.”
Her gaze dropped to my chest, and the blood red ‘Z’ that sat boldly there. Reaching forward with one dainty finger, she traced the letter.
“Is that was this stands for? Los Zetas?”
“It is,” I replied, enjoying the fact she’d reached out to touch me without hesitation.
“Who are the Los Zetas?” she went on, dropping her hand.
“A criminal organization.”
“Like a gang?”
Chuckling, I nodded. “Who is one of the most feared gangs in the world.”
By just a fraction, her shoulders tensed. “Does this gang steal women?”
Not willing to sink too deeply into the goings on of the Los Zetas, I tried to answer as honestly as possible without giving too much away.
“Charlie does not condone the stealing of children.”
Had I not been the man I was, her sharp glower might have skewered me where I stood.
“But women are okay?”
“He does what he can, but his organization isn’t about puppies and kittens, Beauty. The Los Zetas are one of the world’s largest criminal bodies. If you were to tap into the darkest, most depraved thoughts in your mind, I can assure you the Los Zetas have been there, done that, and bettered it, and Charlie is the king of that darkness. For what it’s worth, he has good in his heart, something his father was sorely lacking. If it weren’t for Charlie, I’d be dead.” Her face remained impassive. This was the first time I couldn’t figure out what she was thinking. Her usually expressive eyes blinked and remained on me, but were empty. “Personally, I don’t have the stomach for the trafficking of any person, and Charlie is aware, therefore, he’s more selective about the jobs he sends me on.”
Ordinarily, I couldn’t care less what a person thought of me. In fact, the worse those thoughts, the better. Blood didn’t just coat my hands, it drenched them. My death count was high, I’d tortured, maimed, beaten, and abused many people, but never someone who didn’t deserve it, and never a child or woman. What this untamed angel thought of me was important, and I wasn’t stupid enough to wonder why. I knew. The moment I’d laid eyes on her, I’d cared about her. The moment she hissed at me not to pity her, my heart cracked open. The moment she threw a fist at her captor, I grew hard. And when her eyes filled with blood lust at the sight of my slicing open Matis, she fucking owned me. While I hadn’t completely pacified her rage that whispered so closely to the surface, she did lose some of the tension from her body.
“Who’s Gina?”
It was my turn to become stone, my jaw clenched tight and spine snapping straight. Gina was innocence personified, sheltered somewhat from the evil that was her sadistic father. I was just thirteen when I met Charlie who was two years my senior, he’d seen me at my absolute lowest, witnessing the degradation of my abuse first hand. There had been no thought when his dark eyes rose to find me chained and bent over a kitchen table, my step-father wildly thrusting into my ass, he’d simply reacted. With bloodshed. Murder and death formed our bond, and mutual respect kept it intact. When I met the little Gina, I was full of wrathful hate, and the compassion she bestowed on me wormed its way into my unforgiving heart, reminding me there was still kindness and innocence to be found in this ugly world. She had been four years younger than me, just a slip of a thing. If it hadn’t been for her and her brother, I wouldn’t have survived to see fourteen. Helping Charlie hunt down the men responsible for her disappearance was not a hardship. Bringing Algis in bloody and beaten would be a pleasure. As one of the men who helped orchestrate her “sale,” his death was only a matter of how, and Charlie would ensure it was long and painful.
“Like you, she deserves vengeance. Unlike you, she is unable to attain that for herself.”
Beauty was silent, her twisted mind taking in my words, considering them, and eventually accepting them. With a nod, she wiped her mouth on the back of her hand then stood. Long, pale blonde hair fell over one shoulder, and inviting, innocent eyes fell on me. She looked like a fucking porcelain doll, but when those pouty lips turned into a smile, it almost knocked me out of my chair. She was sin personified.
“I think it’s time to see Algis.”
12
BEAUTY
Charlie Decena. I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to meet the man. Although he might have some morals and drew the line at child exploitation, he was willing to sit back and allow women to be abused and used in the vilest of ways. If I ever came face to face with the man, I wasn’t sure if I’d cower in fear or shoot the bastard. Hart was obviously fond him, their relationship more than boss and employee. They had history, dark history. I doubted Hart would ever tell me the story, but the fact Charlie had somehow saved him left me feeling oddly thankful. It was confusing, and shaking my head, I dislodged all thoughts of the ominous gang leader.
Instead, I allowed my thoughts to move in another direction. As much as I wanted to ignore them, too, I needed them to tap into the place inside me that was wicked and dark. Like snapping beasts emerging from the gloom, the memories pushed forward. Each one more rancid and frightening than the last.
“Fuck my friend, and if you fuck him good, I might allow you to eat from the bowl tonight.”
“Suck my cock, but if you use your teeth, I will shoot you in the head and fuck your corpse.”
“Look at her bleed, Matis. It’s the most exquisite art I’ve ever seen.”
“You’re nothing. Not a girl, not a woman, not even a human being. You are a slab of meat for me to stick my dick in. And when I’ve had my fill, I will kill you slowly and feed your flesh to the dogs.”
By the time I came to a standstill at the dungeon doorway, I was seething with rage. My chest rose and fell with short breaths, my fists were clenched tight, my jaw was ticking, my lids were heavy. Algis’ gaze rose to mine, and immediately dismissed me, searching over my shoulder for Hart.
“Did you find what you were looking for?”
The warm press of a hand to my lower back moved me forward, and Hart stepped to one side. He looked so strong and confident. His wide shoulders pressed back, chin held high, sparkling eyes set on Algis. Slipping his hands into his pockets gave him the illusion of indifference, but the way his muscular body was tensed, his biceps clinging to the tight material of his shirt, the clen
ch of his jaw, he was a hair’s breadth away from unleashing hell. And I was the only reason he was denying himself. This was my vengeance, and it was going to be sublime.
“I have someone working on it,” Hart purred, and my attention returned to Algis.
“Then let me the fuck down.”
“That’s not my choice, Algimas. You see, your fate is not in my hands. It’s in Beauty’s.”
“What the fuck?”
Stepping up to the wall of whips, chains, and floggers, I examined all the paraphernalia, remembering how each item was used on me. How I begged from him to stop, how I pleaded for mercy that never came.
“We had a deal,” Algis roared from behind me.
Hart replied, but I ignored their exchange. Finally, my eyes came to rest on what I knew would be my first instrument of torture. A flogger of mesh chain with heavy ball bearings woven into each tendril. Pulling it down, the delicate chink of the chain sounded so much sweeter than when I was hanging from the cuffs. It was heavy, but the weight not uncomfortable as I approached Algis.
“When I get free, I’m going to cut off your tits,” he hissed.
My arm drew back to swing the flogger, but I stopped before letting it fly and glanced toward Hart.
“Perhaps you could select some music?”
In the smile he gave me was something akin to pride. After a moment’s scrolling through his phone, he placed it to one side, and from the device came a gentle tinkering sound. My brow creased, wondering what he’d chosen. After all, it was he who told me this was an important part in the process. The sound was quick to disappear though, and an edgier beat took its place.
“Mad Hatter, by Melanie Martinez. Do you like it?”
With a nod, I murmured, “this will do.”
Then I swung the flogger, and it slapped hard against Algis’ flesh. His entire body became taut with pain. Bringing it back, I swung again, hitting his ribs, stomach, thighs, and dick. The grunts of pain were nice, but they were a little too uninspiring for me. Taking one last look at the bright red welts forming on Algis’ body, I wandered back to the wall.