Reckless: A Bad Boyz Anthology

by Anthology

  Brandi hangs her head and dry heaves. The skin on her cheeks and neck is mottled red. Sweat and saliva drip down her chin to soak the carpet beneath her face. More runs from her forced-open mouth to join it. She wheezes with the required force to bring air into her lungs. If only she could have a minute to rest, to catch her breath, but those fuckers don’t provide a respite.

  Another man strips himself, his clothes falling silently to the white carpet. He lays down beside Brandi and pulls her on top of himself, disengaging her from Darnell and arranging her knees to straddle him. Without warning, he impales her on his cock. As if this were some secret sign, the others begin to join in. Hands roam every inch of her bared flesh. They pinch and twist. Someone bites her, another pulls her hair. One man is straight up hitting her with a closed fist.

  It’s all happening so fast. Too fast.

  I have a white knuckled grip on the chair. My restraint is slipping as fear gives way to anger.

  Someone moves beside me, but I can’t take my eyes off to see whom it is. I promised myself. For Brandi. I need to be here for her.

  “Cigar?”

  Gutierrez.

  Half of me wants to reach over and snap his fucking neck.

  The other half knows it’s impossible.

  “Sure.”

  He hands me the thick Cuban. “Are you enjoying the game?”

  It takes all my willpower to release my grip on the chair and shrug. “Sure.”

  “You want to join in?” he asks while lighting his cigar. When it’s lit, he passes the flame to me.

  My mouth waters with the pungent taste of the tobacco. I take a puff, blowing a thick cloud of smoke while I gather my thoughts. “You know I don’t share.”

  “I know. You never have. I’ve never seen you fuck.”

  “Are you gay?” I toss out around my pain. I’ve had enough of his games.

  He laughs deeply. “No. But I thought for a while you might be. Living in a mansion full of pussy, and I’ve never seen you take one. I understand, of course. You like your women classier than this bunch of whores. At least I know I can trust you not to go behind my back.”

  And at least I know I have him right where he needs to be. “You’ve got that right. I like a certain kind of tail, and this isn’t it.”

  “I have a deal I need you to work out tomorrow. New owner flying in from Mexico. We can work out details in the morning. I need to get back to my game,” he says with a wink.

  Nodding my head, I return my eyes back to her. As if she feels the weight of my stare, she looks at me. Her cognac eyes are bloodshot and rimmed with tears, the thick lashes clumped together. Regardless of the distractions, we lock eyes. Mine are screaming at her to hang on.

  Hers are begging me to set her free.

  Then I lose her connection, because another man takes over her mouth. And another slaps her around before taking her ass, while she’s on top of a third.

  I’m losing her.

  Brandi

  MAKE IT STOP.

  Please. Oh, God. I’m being torn apart. There are three men, maybe four. I can’t focus.

  I’m so tired.

  They lift me.

  Someone raises my arms above my head and cool metal encircles my wrist. One, and then the other.

  My arms sway when the person lets go, and the sound of clanking chains rings out.

  They lift me.

  I feel like I’m flying, they lift me so high.

  Cool air blows between my legs when they spread them. My knees are bent, and each one balances on a narrow board.

  My body is like a pyramid. I am a temple, and the people are here to worship. They worship with whips and instruments meant to inflict pain.

  This is worship in the house of Satan.

  I can’t keep my head up. It lolls from side to side before dropping backward. Gravity wants to pull me down, while the chains and hands keep me up.

  I try to open my eyes in order to beg them to stop. To look at them all and show them they can’t break me. All I manage is to crack them.

  There he is.

  He will save me.

  He has to save me.

  Holt. I want to call out to him. Call his name so he knows I see him.

  Please save me Holt.

  Every tear at my body is like a tear into my soul. Every time their fingers and mouths and cocks invade my body, they’re invading my mind. My willpower. My strength.

  I’m going to let myself go now. I’m going to let them take me.

  This is worship in the house of Satan, and I’m their newest sacrifice.

  Holt

  I CAN’T BRING myself to calculate the amount of time we’ve been here. Brandi passed out hours ago but that hasn’t stopped them. Villainous laughs and cheers and grunts have echoed around this room all night. I wanted to leave after she lost consciousness. I wanted to believe she’d be fine and save myself from watching this vileness. But I thought if I did, she’d wind up dead.

  She’d probably rather be dead.

  The old man with the salt and pepper hair and beer gut rolls over for another go, but I’ve had enough. Fuck this, I have to do something. I should have done something a long time ago.

  “G, you gonna stop before she’s dead or lose a prime piece of merch for a game?”

  The ones that are still here turn to stare at me.

  “Holt’s right, boss. She ain’t got nothin left,” the old man says.

  “Fine. Since you’ve got the most energy outta us, Holt, you can clean the little slut up. She was fun. Make sure she doesn’t die before morning. I want to make sure she learned her lesson without it killing her.”

  My stomach clenches with the need to expel something, but there’s nothing in there but bile. I choke it down. “Right. Thanks for that.”

  The men quickly get dressed now that the party is over. Gutierrez stops by me, where I’m still in the leather chair. My elbows rest on the arms, and my fingers steeple in front of my mouth.

  He drops a wad of cash on my lap and leans close to my ear.

  “Here’s your refund. I trusted you. You proved it isn’t misplaced.” He straightens, then announces to the room, “Time for some sleep. We’ve got three big deals to close this afternoon.”

  The room empties, except for her and I. I’m stuck in this fucking chair, afraid to move. They left Brandi on the floor, the minimal rise and fall of her chest the only indication she’s alive.

  Before I’m ready, I rise. I reach out to the side table on my left, grab the highball glass Gutierrez left there, and pitch it across the room. It blasts into tiny pieces. That wasn’t satisfying enough, so I pick up the entire goddamned table, heaving it across the room as if it weighs nothing. The wood ricochets off the wall, splintering into three pieces with a loud crack. Fuck.

  My knees give out, and I fall, crawling beside her. I kneel over her and unfasten the gag, the sudden need to get her out of here overwhelming me.

  I scoop her into my arms as if she’s weightless. My body is too numb to register her size.

  The next thing I know, I’m in my room. Almost as if I blacked out. I lay her down on my bed then check the door to make sure it’s locked. G didn’t specify how to clean her, but I’m sure he wouldn’t appreciate me taking such good care.

  I strip out of my clothes, tossing my shirt behind me, and dropping my pants to the floor. Then I rush to the bathroom and run a bath.

  The room is so still when I return that panic attacks me. I hurry to the bed and scoop Brandi up. My arms jostle her around and her head rocks from side to side.

  “God damnit, Brandi. You can’t fucking die,” I curse. Rushing to the tub, I plunge us both quickly inside.

  She inhales sharply. Her eyes open just a crack. “It,” she breathes. “Hurts.”

  “I know, shh,” I soothe. “I’m going to take care of you.”

  I delicately trace every inch of her skin as I wash the remnants of her brutal assault away. If only I could cleanse her soul as
easily as I can her body. Her milky skin is marred with bruises and cuts I can only imagine are as evident on the inside.

  Using the spray attachment, I wash her hair, as well as her face and neck. After she’s clean, I turn on the jets and let the underwater sprays soothe her muscles. Tomorrow, she’s going to be in so much pain.

  After half an hour, the water begins to cool, and Brandi’s fallen asleep against my chest.

  Reaching behind my head, I blindly feel for a towel from the rack that is filled by a discreet staff. No doubt, they’ll clean up this mess without asking a single question. Gutierrez pays them a solid wage to do their job and keep quiet about what they see.

  Shaking out a fluffy towel, I toss it on the ground to catch the water from our bodies. Then I grab another in my right hand. I try to keep the jostling to a minimum and readjust Brandi in my arms.

  She’s out cold.

  Without waking her, I stand up, step out of the bath onto the towel, and wrap the other around her naked body. Forgetting my own nakedness, I walk us swiftly into the suite and deposit her carefully into my bed.

  “Breathe, Brandi,” I whisper to myself. Anxiously, I stare at her chest, willing it to rise and fall.

  The heavy whoosh of air rushing out is music to my ears.

  “Thank fuck.”

  I unravel the cottony soft towel from her body with the anticipation of opening a special gift. I’ve seen her naked a hundred times. Maybe even a thousand. This feels different.

  This doesn’t feel like seeing one of the prostitutes walking around the mansion or fucking a John.

  My body can barely contain the mixture of anticipation and possession. As if she’s mine, and I’m seeing her naked for the first fucking time.

  Get ahold of yourself, Holt!

  The towel falls away with a hard tug and rage envelopes me in an instant.

  The bruises. The marks. Her body is no longer a smooth, unblemished figurine. Inch after delicate inch blossoms in splotches of angry red and purple. The skin torn in abraded. Out here in the open, it looks much worse than it did in the tub.

  I’m not quick enough. Bringing the towel to my mouth, I vomit right there without taking a single step towards the bathroom.

  I’m as vile as the monsters who marked her. How did I watch and not do a single thing to stop them? Why did I let this happen? I’m not sure the investigation is worth letting them get away with this shit any longer. I need to gather the rest of my information. Fast. Before this happens to someone else.

  I pull my satin sheets over her body before walking to the bathroom to clean up. I suddenly feel the events of the night as a heavy shroud over me. I’m tired to my bones. After gathering some needed supplies—a fresh towel, a comb, the first aid kit, and a glass of water—I set the items on the bed and pull a chair over to Brandi’s side.

  There’s no way to atone for my sins, but I’ll stand vigil while she sleeps as a start. I refuse to leave her alone.

  Her soft breathing captures me and lulls me while I begin to dry her hair. I don’t want to imagine the possibility of her death.

  I can’t describe it.

  Before tonight, I was merely curious of her. This girl, so like the others, yet something about her captured my interest. After tonight, though, she’s more than caught my eye. She’s absolutely captivated me in her strength and willpower. Now, I’ll do whatever it takes to get the both of us out of here—alive.

  I dry and comb her hair, not wanting her to catch a cold on top of everything else I’ve done to her. Then, I do my best to take care of her wounds. As I peruse her battered skin, I’m content that there doesn’t seem to be any serious physical injuries. Although, I can’t speak for her mental ones. I take care to bandage the few cuts and scrapes, and activate two instant cold packs from the first aid kit to place on her wrists. They seem to be the most injured as both are swollen with angry red welts from the chains.

  I’ve done all I can at this point. After disposing of my supplies in the bathroom, I sit my ass back down in the chair and wait.

  Every time I begin to doze, I shake myself awake. I take the now warm glass of water and replenish it with fresh water from the tap. Sitting beside her again, I hope and pray she wakes up long enough to take a drink. To show me she isn’t dead inside. I need those cognac eyes to peer up at me and witness my remorse.

  She’ll never forgive me, but she can see how sorry I am.

  The clock ticks steadily past nine A.M. while I start to fall asleep again. My phone rings. The loud chime has me flying across the room to silence it before it wakes Brandi. She needs all the rest she can get.

  My fingers flex and release when I see the caller I.D.—Gutierrez.

  “Yeah?”

  “My, my. Aren’t we welcoming this morning.”

  “Fuck off. You woke me.”

  G laughs, his voice like sandpaper on an old wooden bench. “Grab a cuppa coffee and meet me in the control room. Twenty minutes. We have a big deal to discuss today.”

  My instincts are eager to tell him to go fuck himself. I have to think of the big picture here. The investigation and keeping Brandi alive. “Right. Twenty.”

  “Can always count on you, Holt.”

  I’m about to end the call, but his next question stops me cold.

  “Oh, how’s the bitch? She still alive?”

  The hand holding the phone to my ear shakes violently. “Yes,” I respond through tightly clenched teeth.

  “Good, good. I’ll deal with her tomorrow. Leave her be, and I’ll see you in twenty.”

  The call cuts off.

  My hand drops from my ear, and the phone sails across the room, busting against the far wall. I rest my hands on the back of my neck, and my chin falls to my chest. I can hardly catch my breath.

  “Holt?” Her voice is chillingly soft.

  I slowly lift my head, trying not to scare her, and those beautiful cognac eyes are peering up at me from the mass of feathers on my bed. I should say something, anything, but the words catch in my throat. I make my way around the bed to the chair I sat in all night. The entire time, her eyes never leave me.

  “Where am I?”

  “My room,” I reply in a gravelly voice.

  Wrong thing to say.

  Her eyes widen to nearly half dollars, and it’d almost be comical if she weren’t so panicked. Her legs flail in an attempt to throw off the covers, and she flattens herself against the headboard. “No!” she screeches.

  “Brandi, it’s okay,” I soothe, holding my hands out to her.

  “No, don’t touch me!”

  “Damnit, I won’t hurt you. Calm down,” I say in an attempt to contain her.

  “Don’t hurt me. Please, don’t hurt me, Mr. Holt.”

  “Brixton.”

  The room goes still. Her panic is snuffed out as easily as a burning flame without oxygen.

  “What did you say?” Her body leans curiously towards me an inch.

  It’d be nearly imperceptible if I wasn’t so tuned into her movements after watching her breathing all night long. But, I saw it.

  “Don’t call me Holt. My name is Brixton. When you’re in here, you can call me Brixton.”

  “Brixon,” she says slowly, testing it out, and my name sounds beautiful coming from her mouth. “But why?”

  “Because I’m not like them. When we’re alone, I don’t want you calling me Mr. Holt. I want you to know when you’re with Brixton, I won’t hurt you.”

  The duvet falls from her hands. “But you will as Holt? In front of the others?”

  “Not unless I have to,” I sigh. “But I don’t want to. God, I never want to.”

  “Then why? I don’t understand.”

  “It’s complicated,” I reply. “I have to go. I have to meet Mr. G. I promise I’ll be back as fast as I can.”

  “I should go downstairs.”

  “No. Wait for me. Please. I’d like to talk to you, but I have this meeting-ˮ

  “Okay. I’m still tired
anyway.” As if to provide truth to her statement, she yawns.

  I suppress the urge to smile. Shit, I don’t think I’ve smiled in years. “Good. I’ll be back soon. I’ll lock the door behind me, so nobody will bother you. Don’t worry, you won’t be locked in. You’re free to go, but I hope you stay.”

  She relaxes into the mattress. “I’ll stay. Thank you.”

  “Sleep well, dove.”

  Brandi

  I LIE STILL as the lock snicks closed, and Mr. Holt’s, I mean Brixton’s, footsteps fade down the hall. Then, I hiss through clenched teeth. Everything aches. My entire body from tip to toe throbs in time to my rapid heartbeat. Every inch flares with pain with each tiny movement. Death would be more welcome.

  I squeeze my eyes against fresh tears, angry with myself for even daring to think about death. They haven’t won yet. As long as my heart is beating, I have to hold onto hope. The second I quit, I might as well turn myself over to the drugs and the buyers. The second I lose hope, I lose any chance of getting out alive. It doesn’t matter how miniscule that chance is. As long as I’m still fighting, there’s a chance.

  Even though I told Brixton I’d stay, I want to leave. I’d rather surround myself in the comfort of the other girls than be locked in his high tower. However, I’m in too much pain to make that trip all the way downstairs undetected. And if someone catches me, I’m not sure what’ll happen. Not only to me, but to Brixton as well.

  He has to be breaking some rule by bringing me here. I just don’t understand why.

  Suddenly the images of last night burst through my foggy mind. If I were standing, I would have fallen at the onslaught. I don’t remember everything, but I remember enough. The bits and pieces I see singe my heart and burn away any hope I was holding onto.

  I was brutalized.

  Raped.

  Beaten.

  And through it all, Brixton Holt’s eyes never left me. I can picture him sitting there. His face was a mask of indifference. But I remember noticing his hands. His fingertips were white against the dark brown leather. He wasn’t as controlled as he appeared to be.

  He didn’t come to my rescue, but I didn’t expect him to. By not joining the others, he proved his differences. While he believes himself to be a monster among monsters, I suspect his inner demons are just as tormenting. For whatever reason, Brixton couldn’t save me, but by putting himself in the position to watch without participating, I think he was exposing himself to something much bigger.