Bleu
By Michaela Haze
BLEU
Originally published in the United States/ United Kingdom in 2017 by
DIRTY JEANS PUBLISHING LTD
www.michaelahaze.com
Copyright © Michaela Haze 2017
All rights reserved
This book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and all characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cover photo and asset credit: freepik.com
Cover design: Michaela Haze
Note from the author
Originally from The Devil’s Advocate, Nora’s back story was vast and vague. Nora was integral to the plot. A broken woman who suffered because of a demon’s jealousy.
A victim. A survivor. A woman strong enough to be the mate to the brusque Samuel Rose, and make a deal with the devil to take back her life.
I did not want Nora to detract from Dahlia and Luc’s story too much in Advocate, but I also felt that her tragedy needed to be told.
I hope I do you justice Nora…
Love Michaela x
Bleu
He took me. Trapped me like an animal.
I was used and spat out again by a beautiful Demon.
I didn’t know that he was an incubus, desperate for my love.
I was one of the lucky ones. I managed to escape.
I will make him pay.
I will watch him burn.
Chapter 1.
The music was obnoxious. Dubstep without a drop.
It was student night at The Forum, the nearest bar to campus at the University of London. The air conditioning was on the Fritz, which meant that my naturally fine hair was stringy with sweat. I could feel the strands as they clung to the back of my neck.
I sucked down the mouthful of water from my glass, which had been ice only minutes before. I eyed the crowd at the bar and tried to decide if I wanted another drink that badly.
My t-shirt was beyond awesome. An alpaca straddling a rainbow. I had received it as a present from my pen pal Sachiko. It was not the kind of shirt that screamed sex vixen. Mine was not an outfit that you wore if you wanted to get served at the bar almost immediately.
“You want another round of drinks?” Ingrid, one of my roommates, leant over and eyed my empty glass.
I breathed a sigh of relief, “Thank god. I do not want to brave that menagerie.”
Ingrid brushed her honey blonde hair over one shoulder and jiggled to rearrange her top to reveal more cleavage. She sauntered off with a wink.
“Grid's got her eye on the barman.” Harrison, a new addition to the group, leant over and took Ingrid's space in the circle.
I stood at the edge of the dancefloor, enough to be socially acceptable if I wanted to Bob to the music, but not near enough to be jostled and grinded upon. Harrison studied a couple that were having simulated sex in the middle of the dancefloor and hid his smirk behind his closed fist.
“How did your final exam go?” He asked.
I found myself unable to meet his eyes. Harrison was the kind of person that held eye contact during a conversation, which I found strange. I looked down to my flip-flops and wiggled my toes. The floor was sticky and I was certain that if I moved from where I stood, I would probably leave my shoes behind.
“Zenzen, Betsuni.” It was nothing. I said.
“Considering I don’t speak Japanese; I'm going to assume you said that it was great.” Harrison's hair flopped into his eyes and he pushed it away with an easy smile.
Ingrid placed a cold can of Red Bull against my bare arm, and made me jump. I rubbed the spot and scowled. “Lenora doesn’t like to talk about it, but she fucking aced it.”
“Did she now?” Harrison laughed.
“Her Grandma is Japanese, of course she aced it.” Ingrid nodded earnestly.
“That’s like saying that you're a qualified surgeon just because your father was.” I said into my glass. Neither of the two sunshine kids heard me.
“O-M-G, Harrison.” Ingrid clasped her hands in front of her and jumped on the spot in a way that suggested she needed the toilet. “This is my song. Do you want to dance?”
Harrison's gaze rested on mine for a second too long, as if he was accessing my emotions towards the subject. Which was a bit silly, considering that Grid was one of my best friends
“Go on. I'll be fine.” I took another sip of my drink and shook the can when I found it to be almost empty. “I might make a move in a minute. I've got to call my mum and let her know how the last day of finals went anyway.”
I watched Ingrid drag Harrison onto the centre of the dancefloor. Her hips swayed from side to side and the poor Mathematics student looked a little lost. Someone bumped into them both from behind, causing Harrison to edge closer to Grid.
I put my empty can on the side and weaved past the bar and out of the side door, nearest the taxi rank.
I took my phone out of my pocket, ready to call an Uber, only to find that the damned thing was dead. I would hazard a guess and say that my battery couldn’t take the overload of Sherlock fanfiction that I had devoured while I had waited for Grid to get ready.
My house, which I shared with five other girls, was on the other side of the City in the cheaper part of Hackney. Slipping my phone back into my pocket, I walked to the front of a line of black cabs. A few lights were on. I went to the first car, but it had been booked already. It wasn’t the smartest idea to get a taxi that I hadn’t pre-booked. There were adverts about it all the time on TV, but I’d done it once or twice and had never had any issues.
The third car in the line was free. I slipped into the back and gave my street name.
Sitting back against the worn leather upholstery, I watched as we pulled away from the brightness of the Forum and the numerous chicken restaurants that surrounded it.
I twiddled my thumbs, mentally berated myself for not charging my phone because I could have been playing Angry Birds, instead of humming under my breath for entertainment.
The driver didn’t bother to make conversation, which was fine with me. I was awkward enough with people I knew, let alone strangers.
Tapping my fingers against my jean clad legs, I watched the streets blur as headlights moved past. We were stuck in traffic. Stop. Start.
I eyed the metre, but luckily for me, it was fixed so I didn’t worry too much.
I recognised the ramp that led up to the Blackwell Tunnel. My mind was foggy from the alcohol that I had drunk, and a sweet smell permeated the air and made me dizzy. My chest heaved and I pulled my t-shirt away from my neck so that I could fan myself against the heat.
“Hi...um...” I stuttered. “I don’t think you're going the right way.”
The side of the driver's face was bathed in blue light as the darkness of the tunnel swallowed the car. The low hum of the radio jarred as it lost signal.
“I said Hackney. Not Greenwich.” I said, trying to place more confidence in my voice than I felt. I reached over to the door as subtly as I could and I tested the handle. The child locks were engaged. I squinted and eyed the dashboard and saw the tell-tale red light that confirmed my fears.
“You can drop me off at that bus stop.” I pleaded, trying to keep my voice level.
The driver said nothing. He kept his eyes on the road and continued driving.
My heart started throwing itself against my ribcage and my palms were clammy.
I wanted to open my mouth to scream. I mentally catalogued how hard it would be to break the window. I stared out at the traffic around us and wondered if anyone would stop if they saw me screaming for help.
I opened my mouth
but my tongue was too big for my mouth. My throat had sucked closed.
I couldn’t make a sound. Paralysed by my own fear.
Maybe you're overreacting. I rationalised. He probably knows a short cut.
My hands started to shake and I tried to wrestle the door handle with as much force as I could. No longer trying to be polite.
All I could see was the back of his head. Close cropped dark hair. The glow of the red metre meant that I couldn’t accurately discern any of his facial features. Shadows twisted his image until he looked like a monster.
I blinked and rubbed my eyes, before putting my feet against the car door and pushing with all of my might. If I had worn heels, I would have taken them off and used them to bash the window through. Instead I was stuck with flip-flops which were a hindrance.
If I did manage to get out, it was unlikely that I could run in them, so I had to take them off.
I slammed my fists against the window until my clammy hands left smears all over the glass.
“Someone. Please!” I screamed until my voice was hoarse. “Let me out of the car. Help me. Please! Stop!”
I no longer recognised any of the buildings as the road twisted from urban London into long stretches of darkness that had no houses on at all. I had taken off my seat beat and curled against the edge of the car door to make my body look as small as possible.
We had been in the car for over an hour. Long enough for my adrenaline to run out and leave my body exhausted and shaking.
The sickly sweet smell in the air so thick that it like I was swallowing cotton wool. I had never smelt anything like it.
The driver drove the car through a chicken wire gate, and over a ramp. The streetlights gradually diminished in number until the only lights on the road were our headlights.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and rubbed my f ace with the back of my arm. Tears leaked silently from my eyes, against my will. I was going to die.
The notion of my impending death hit me like a sucker punch along with all the things that I wanted to do and see but would never get a chance to.
I felt a flare of anger at the driver. I gritted my teeth and clenched my fists until my finger nails left crescent shaped dents in my palm. I was going the scratch him as much as possible.
I'd seen SVU and most of CSI Miami. I was going to get as much of his skin and DNA on me as possible to ensure that the bastard would rot, even if I was dead and defiled.
The car pulled to a stop, but there was nothing around for miles but thick darkness. I could no longer hear the road and I tensed my adrenaline weakened muscles and I readied myself to run from the car as fast as possible.
Granted, the only exercise I did was Zumba on a Thursday night at my mum's local church, but I had the will to survive on my side. I would bet that I wanted to live much more than the arsehole in the driver’s seat wanted me dead.
The driver killed the engine and got out of the car, leaving me alone in the locked vehicle. I wasn’t expecting that. I jumped over the centre console and grabbed the driver’s door. The lights flashed red as he locked it from the outside.
My kidnapper walked up a metal step and flicked on a dim bulb to what seemed like a temporary mobile home. The light bathed the immediate area and I could see rows and rows of rusted cars. I must have been at a scrap yard. I had never seen one or had a reason to.
He'd parked the car to the side, which meant that I had no idea which way that we had driven in from. I clasped the steering wheel and rested my head against it.
I was fucked.
I should have stayed with Grid and Harrison. I should have charged my phone. I should have. Would have. Could have.
I'm going to die.
Baka. Idiot.
The driver started walking back to the car. His gait was careful but calm as if he had all of the time in the world.
I screamed and thumped the steering wheel as hard and as many times as I could. The silhouette bathed in the still-running headlights flinched but did not stop his advance until he reached the driver’s side of the car. I scrambled away to put space between us when the door flew open, and my kidnapper grabbed my bare foot.
A tingle of electricity raced over my skin and my mouth filled with vomit. Suddenly light headed, my arms slumped in front of me like dead weight. His touch had disarmed me. Had he injected me with something and I just hadn’t felt it.
My eyes drifted closed, but I teetered on the edge of consciousness and sleep. He gripped the bottoms of my legs and wrenched me from the vehicle. My body was prone and paralysed like a rag doll. My hair gathered over my face as I was dragged over the hard concrete. My skin burnt from the friction but I couldn’t move a muscle.
I tried to work my jaw to scream but it was too stiff, and I could not move.
He hefted me over his shoulder like a sack of flour and ascended the stairs. He deposited me on on the water stained carpet and reached into his pocket. The dark-haired man pulled a pair of handcuffs out and gripped my wrist.
The office stank of old bleach and dust. The furniture was cheap and the windows were covered in newspaper with a small amount of light breaking through at the edges.
My bones protested as I was manoeuvred into an uncomfortable position. My chin rested against my chest. I felt drunk, even though the alcohol in my system had long since burnt out due to the adrenaline I had felt in the car. Had I been drugged?
My conscious brain drifted just under the surface of action and I could not will my body to move of my own volition.
I couldn’t raise my head to look at my kidnapper’s face. I could only see his shoes on the patchy carpet. Those fancy Italian shoes that look like boats.
I shivered against the cold, but my attacker did not seem to notice. Without a word, he turned off the light and shut the door behind him, leaving me alone.
I didn’t know how long I sat in the darkness, staring at the faint grid of light that leaked through the grotty newspaper. It wasn’t long before the combination of the alcohol and fatigue caused me to drift into a state of semi-sleep. With one arm propped over my head and completely numb, I slumped onto the floor with my head on my shoulder as I fought to keep my eyes open.
My bladder was full and uncomfortable. I crossed my legs over and over and fighting sleep was no longer a battle because I became focused on my desperate need to empty my bladder.
Using my free hand, I patted down my leg and searched my pocket. When my fingers met the cool steel of my house keys. I pulled them out using my Hatsune Miku - Vocaloid key chain and flinched when they clinked together loudly. I looked to the door and waited a few seconds for my kidnapper to burst through. When nothing happened, I breathed a sigh of relief and began to arrange the keys in the palm of my hand, using my mouth to pull the jagged metal edges through my knuckles until I looked like a homemade Wolverine. I need to be able to do some damage, and then I could try and run. I would have to wait for the cuffs to come off. That was if he came back.
I swallowed around the painful lump in my throat and the burning tears that threatened to emerge from my eyes. I shook my head to clear it. If I was left alone, at least I wasn’t being raped or killed.
Onaka ga suita.
I’m so hungry.
I took deep gulps of the stale air and forced my heart rate to slow. My body was still wracked with tiny tremors and I felt wrung out. Every noise made me jump. The sound of the vent. The rustle of trees. The creak of rusted metal.
“Why?” I sobbed, “Why me?”
I was delusional when morning came. The shadows had played tricks on my mind most of the night. My mouth was dry and the pressure on my bladder was unbearable.
He strolled in like he didn’t have a care in the world, carrying a flimsy plastic carrier bag. My fist tightened around my keys, by the side of my leg. I had to time it just right.
“Please let me go.” I begged, my voice was nothing but a whisper.
My kidnapper ignored me. His eyes surveyed me with cool det
achment. In the bright light of day, his irises looked black. Like two harsh shards of obsidian and just as sharp.
His gaze raked over my body but he said nothing. I brought my legs up to my chest and laid my free hand between my thighs and stomach to protect my paltry weapon from his sight.
He inhaled deeply, his nostrils flaring but his mouth was still set in the same grim line. His eyes flashed another colour, like a cat in the darkness before returning to black.
He took a bottle of water out of the plastic bag and knelt as he held it out for me to take. I inspected his offering but made no move towards the bottle.
“Go on.” His voice was smooth honey and it wrapped around my body like a warm hug. I shivered in disgust and tried to push the slimy artificial feeling away. I had no idea why my body had reacted in such a strange way. I felt a familiar tingle between my legs that told me that I wanted the man.
Which made me feel sick.
“I need the toilet.” I whispered, tightening my grip on the keys in my hand.
My kidnapper grunted and rubbed his face. He was a muscular man and could have easily broken me in half. His clothes were clean and he was freshly shaven. Everything about him screamed at normality. He wasn’t someone that I would have avoided on the street. He was the kind of person that wore a suit and read the metro on the train, going home to his two point four children and his stay at home wife.
What did he want with me?
My kidnapper reached into his trouser pocket and retrieved a small key. He reached over to unfasten my shackled wrist, clearly not seeing me as any kind of threat. His neck was in front of my face as he unlocked the cuffs.
I gritted my teeth and held my breath as I jammed my house keys into the hollow of his throat. My bindings dropped to the floor with a thud and I used both hands to push against my kidnapper’s chest. Blood splashed against my face and I found myself closing my eyes. I staggered to my feet, cradling my numb arm to my chest, having lost all feeling in it due to its overnight position.
Bleu Page 1