The Acceptance s-2

by L. L. Foster

That reply didn’t really satisfy him, but he accepted it. “All right. Get going then.” Glaring at Gaby as if the bout of conscience was her fault, he pulled out his cell phone and put in a call.

  Moving closer, Gaby listened in.

  “This is Jimbo. Get your sorry ass over here double-time. I have a job for you.”

  After he’d stowed the phone again, Gaby crossed her arms. “I take it that wasn’t an ambulance?”

  He moved with palpable agitation. “That’d be worse than the cops. I have a guy coming over to get him out of here.”

  Dire possibilities occurred to Gaby. She had no real concerns for the man, but hell, if she’d wanted him dead, she’d have killed him herself.

  “Where will your friend take him, Jimbo?”

  “What do you care?”

  Annoying jerk. “If you’re planning to dispose of him, after I did a number on him but refrained from killing him, then I have a right to know.”

  “God damn, you’re a bloodthirsty bitch. No, I’m not going to dispose of him. What the hell kind of crazy talk is that? I’m in the flesh trade, not the murder biz.” Twitchy with impatience, he waved a hand toward the fallen man. “I want him out of here, off my block, before anyone links him to me. That’s all.”

  Selfish prick. She should have known.

  The man groused a complaint, proving he was still very much alive. Jimbo looked down at him. “Hang on, you asshole. Don’t you dare die on me.”

  “I need a doctor.”

  “Yeah, well, tell me where you live and my man will take you there. What you do after that is your own damn business, but I suggest you figure out a story that keeps me and my girls out of it.”

  The threat hung in the air until the man finally nodded.

  “As long as we understand each other. Now where should we dump your miserable ass?”

  The man gave his address, and Jimbo nodded. “Got it. In less than ten minutes, you’ll be out of here.” Under his breath, but loud enough for Gaby to still hear, Jimbo added, “And then you’re not my problem anymore.”

  Drawn to him again, Gaby strode over to the wracked body. Seeing the wounds she’d so easily inflicted left her cold and indifferent.

  Kneeling down at his side, she put her knee almost on his throat.

  “I could still kill you,” she told him in an eerily serene voice. “And as you now know, I don’t need my knife to do it, either. Your size and strength didn’t help you one bit. Bullies always meet their match—eventually.”

  “Yeah, I get it.” Face pale with pain, he favored his arm. “Like I told Jimbo, I just want to get my arm fixed, that’s all. I don’t want no more trouble.”

  Gaby wasn’t satisfied. “If it wasn’t for Marie, the woman you burnt . . .” Her lungs constricted with anger all over again, and she had to take a cleansing breath before she could continue. “If it wasn’t for her, I might have killed you tonight, and you and I both know the world would have been a better place for it.”

  Pathetic and afraid now that he couldn’t harm anyone, he tried to turn away from Gaby.

  Knotting her fingers in his thick, cool hair, Gaby brought his face back around. “You’d be smart to learn from this reprieve, because if I ever again hear of you harming anyone for jollies, man, woman, or child, I’ll hunt you down, and I’ll make you suffer a long time before killing you. I won’t leave a single bone unbroken, and just before you die, I’ll chop off your balls and carve out your black heart.”

  Horror flashed in his eyes.

  “Believe it.” Gaby released him and stood.

  “God Almighty, woman,” Jimbo whispered. “Let it go now. He sees the error of his ways.”

  “He better.”

  With Jimbo mumbling and huffing beside her, Gaby turned and started to walk away. When she saw Posy and Opal rushing toward them, she paused and, thinking of them, turned back to Jimbo.

  At her aggressive approach, his brows arched into his hairline. “What now?”

  She leaned in close so only Jimbo would hear her. “Blame any of the other women for my actions tonight, and you and I will have more than words. Am I clear on that, Jimbo?”

  “Yeah. Real clear. Now get the fuck out of here, will you? I have to clean up the mess you made before we’re all fucked because of it.”

  “You promise you’re just taking him home?”

  “Yeah, cross my fucking heart. Now go.”

  Gaby studied Jimbo, decided he meant what he said, and headed off. Maybe she wouldn’t play at being a hooker tonight. She wasn’t in the mood. It’d wait. Right now, she felt no evil.

  Except for the evil brewing inside her soul.

  It was an awful thing to know she possessed the capacity to maim, to murder—to behave exactly as the wholly evil did.

  God had made her a paradox.

  He’d made her a paladin.

  And in the process, she’d become an abomination of all humanity.

  Sometimes, she didn’t even trust herself.

  Chapter 13

  From a safe distance away, Oren cowered in the obscuration of heavy night shadows, watching, waiting, drawn again and again to the tall figure.

  Woman?

  With the way she fought? He was starting to doubt it.

  Flesh and blood? Definitely.

  But she possessed abilities he’d never before witnessed. How could she look so plain, and yet be so spectacular?

  Unlike the other stupid sluts he’d taken captive, this one would prove to be worthy of his time and refined effort.

  She would fight to the bitter end. Never would she give up and surrender to death as an easy escape from the pain, as the other, weak adversaries had.

  Not that one.

  Adulation kept Oren glued to the spot until she disappeared into the adumbral night. Without her magnificent presence to hold him ensorcelled, Oren’s attention wandered to the gruesomely battered body of the man she’d just dismantled.

  Ah. They had that in common: a love of corporal punishment .

  While disciplining the big man, she had glowed with vivacious energy. Her face, usually so ordinary, had taken on an ethereal beauty.

  Oren’s heart rate accelerated with sweet anticipation. Would she glow like that when he had her strapped down, naked and helpless? Would she still exude energy even as he issued a tantalizing test of pain-filled judgments against her lack of morals?

  All along the sidewalk, people milled, seeing the beating as a twisted form of entertainment in their pathetic lives.

  Did he dare make use of this golden opportunity? He’d done so much thus far without being stopped, without suspicion. Oren closed his eyes and drank in the sweet taste of bold arrogance.

  Tonight he would extend his reach for the thrill of seeing what he could get away with.

  Not about to lose this golden opportunity, Oren slipped away to get his car. Taking only enough time to change his disguise and, still maintaining a discreet but diagnostic distance, he drove up the block and waited in the idling car. Only a few minutes passed before another vehicle arrived to retrieve the injured man.

  It took two of the hookers to help get the idiot into the car. They were more concerned with haste than gentleness, and given their curses, the man had considerable weight.

  It could be a problem, but somehow, Oren knew he’d manage.

  With the man stowed in the backseat, the vehicle drove away.

  Oren followed. They drove for fifteen minutes or more before slowing. The car pulled in to a quiet but lower-middle-class neighborhood. Headlights turned off, Oren pulled up and waited. The driver got out, went around to the back, opened the door, and without ceremony or care, dumped the big man to the curb.

  The car sped away.

  Oren waited, but when the big man sat up and still no porch lights came on and no one came to investigate, he decided it was safe enough.

  Slowly, cautiously, he pulled up and, when nothing seemed amiss, he got out and approached the big bruiser.

&nb
sp; In a childlike voice, he asked, “Mister, are you all right?”

  A raw, wretched groan made Oren’s hair stand on end. After scrubbing a hand over his face, the man said, “Help me up, kid.”

  Thanks to his broken arm, he sounded nearly in shock, heightening Oren’s bravery.

  “Oh my gosh,” Oren enthused. “You’re hurt, aren’t you? You need to get to a hospital.”

  “Yeah, a hospital.” The man tried to stand, but he went back to his butt in misery.

  God, Oren despised gutless cowards lacking internal fortitude. Hiding his repulsion, he reached for the man’s beefy upper arm. “I’ll help you.”

  After urging the brute to his feet, Oren opened the rear door to his car. “You’ll have to get yourself into the backseat. Can you do that? Then I can drive you to the hospital where the doctors can make you comfortable and take care of your pain.”

  The man struggled, sweated, and cursed. His broken arm, now blue and grotesquely swollen, was of no use at all. Seeming confused but cooperative, he strained and finally managed to load his crushed and cracked form into the backseat as instructed.

  “That’s it.” Oren reached into his pocket. “Now just lean back and close your eyes. I’ll try not to hurt you.” He withdrew a syringe, panted with his ebullience, and stuck the man in the thigh.

  The guy was so far gone, he barely flinched at the prick of the needle.

  Within seconds, he went entirely limp—which was a blessing, because at least now he wasn’t whining and whimpering. Oren rushed around to the front of the car and got behind the wheel.

  Contemplating the sadistic delights in store made driving a challenge. Anticipation sizzled and sparked.

  Going straight to the house, Oren jiggled in his seat. He could barely wait until Aunt Dory and Uncle Myer saw the surprise. They’d both been annoyingly antsy without anyone to play with. From the looks of things, this man wouldn’t last long, but then, he didn’t need to.

  Oren parked in a rush, locked the garage door, and went to the intercom system. In a singsong voice, he said, “Uncle Myer, Aunt Dory, I need you to come to the basement. Right now.”

  Five minutes passed, testing Oren’s forbearance, before his aunt and uncle arrived. Disheveled and sleepy-eyed, still in their bedclothes, they stepped off the elevator.

  “Come, come,” Oren told them, his voice tinged with febrile intent. “We have to hurry before he awakens and causes a ruckus.”

  “He?” Uncle Myer rushed to Oren’s side. “Who is he? What have you done?”

  “Why, I’ve brought you a present to feed your ardent fetishes.” Oren opened the back door of the car with a flourish to display the large, unconscious man lolling in the seat. “Ta-da!”

  Wary, Uncle Myer eased closer. His eyes widened. “A man? Is he dead?”

  Idiot. “Not yet, no.”

  “But who is he?”

  Chafed by the questions, Oren stepped back from the car. “That, Uncle Myer, doesn’t concern you.”

  Aunt Dory peered over Myer’s shoulder. Her eyes sparkled and a wild pulse thrummed in her throat. “Oh my. He’s awfully bloody already.” Her ripe nipples showed beneath her nightgown, turgid, elongated. “Did you do all that to him, Oren?”

  At least she appreciated the gift. “No, of course not. I found him like this, and decided he’d make an excellent playmate.”

  Uncle Myer rubbed his chin. “He doesn’t have any family looking for him, does he?”

  Growing more splenetic with each sign of his uncle’s hesitation, Oren crossed his arms and glared at each of his relatives in turn. “He’ll be bloodier when the two of you finish with him.”

  Aunt Dory twittered, and her homely face lit with burgeoning excitement. “Really?”

  Smiling at her fervor, Oren held out his arms in grandiose presentation. “Absolutely. Do what you will with him. Anything you desire.”

  Breathing hard now, Aunt Dory pressed a hand over her breast. “Anything?”

  “By all means. He’s a gift. Indulge yourself in whatever means pleases you.”

  Uncle Myer wasn’t convinced. “But, if he dies . . .”

  “He most certainly will, and that’s fine. I want him to.” The man groaned, stirring a little, and Oren stroked his thigh. “Shush now, my friend. You’re going to delight my relatives, and when they’re done with you, why then, you’ll serve a higher purpose. Your miserable life won’t be a waste.”

  Laughing now, Dory said to Myer, “Hurry. Let’s get him on the rack before he comes to.”

  “I prefer women,” Myer complained, even as he reached into the backseat and hauled the man out by his uninjured arm. He collapsed onto the basement floor.

  “And you’ll have a woman,” Oren promised. “A sublime woman. A woman like no other.” Saying it aloud excited him. “A woman who will last.”

  “You’re so good to us, Oren.” Aunt Dory danced to the side of the man to help elevate him.

  As Dory and Myer dragged the man toward a specially designed restraint, Oren watched. Once locked into place, there’d be no escape for him. “I’ll procure the woman for you next—but not until the time is right.”

  Myer grunted as he arranged the man onto the platform. “Any idea when that’ll be?”

  “Soon. Very, very soon.” Talking about it excited Oren unbearably, so he forced the image of the tall, dark-haired girl out of his mind. “But for now, would you rather I leave Aunt Dory to her pleasures and give you chores to do?”

  “No, course not.”

  Sullen idiot. “Then hurry it up and get him fastened down. I think he’s in shock. If you keep dallying, he’ll die before you can even get started.”

  That warning spurred Myer to haste. As he and Dory worked with industrious delectation, Oren went up to his rooms to change from his frumpy, dirty clothes. He detested the garb he had to wear to fit into the slum neighborhoods. He much preferred finer things, but he was adaptable enough to do whatever was necessary.

  Leaving the intercom open so he could hear the frenzied activity in the basement, he stripped out of his costume and changed into his regular clothes.

  At one point, he laughed aloud at Aunt Dory’s rapture. She was such a rutting pig that her groans of pleasure could be heard over the man’s hoarse screams of agony.

  And Uncle Myer, for all his protestations about preferring a female, wallowed in the ministrations of pain with the vigor of a man half his age.

  The high-pitched wails were like music to Oren, feeding his soul. He’d missed this so much. Thanks to the tall woman, it had been too long since he’d luxuriated in his preferences.

  When the coordinated blend of tormented outcries and squeals of carnal pleasure began to fade, Oren knew the man had expired. As he’d suspected, the brute hadn’t lasted long.

  Because of his personal bent toward inflicting pain, Oren often read up on various medical afflictions. He knew that shock could cause a sudden drop in blood pressure, a faint pulse, and if left untreated, death.

  Of course, shock had only hastened death. The overindulgent tendencies catered by his relatives had done the most to terminate the man’s life. They had never learned to savor opportunities, but in this instance, Oren didn’t mind. Their lack of mastery over their obsessions had, for once, served his purpose.

  Resolute in his whims, tingling with impassioned expectancy, Oren made a casual descent to the bowels of the grand house. As he reached the cool basement, the scent of death, excrement, and sweat assaulted his nose.

  Lifting a hand to shield his nostrils, he ventured forward into the tableau of pain. The mangled body of the man, now stained with blood and his own body fluids, as well as secretions from his relatives, showed signs of grotesque abuse.

  Like children denied the last bite of succulent candy, Aunt Dory and Uncle Myer stood there, silent and sullen.

  Her desires not yet fully sated, Aunt Dory still quivered with need.

  Uncle Myer, for all his protestations, looked well glutted.
>
  Buffoons.

  They lacked all finesse, and neglected all sense of advantageous detail.

  Walking past them and the bloodied remains, Oren approached a mahogany cabinet. On the outside, apparatuses of various use hung in arrangement according to size and application. Accoutrements of torture filled the many drawers. The amount of paraphernalia his relatives had procured through the years belied their ability to control themselves.

  After searching for the best device to suit his purposes, Oren retrieved a long surgical blade from a golden hook. From a velvet-lined drawer, he withdrew elbow-length rubber gloves. Inside double doors at the base of the cabinet, he took out a long plastic apron.

  His mouth trembled. His hands shook. Deforming a corpse added no felicities to his perversion, he assured himself.

  But he’d do this.

  The end result would bring immeasurable pleasure to him.

  It would be the best joke of the century.

  * * *

  Ann sat on the edge of his desk, flirting without meaning, annoying for the fun of it.

  “Luther, Luther, Luther.”

  “What?” he asked, trying to concentrate on his papers despite her physical disruption.

  “After all the women who’ve thrown themselves at you.” She tsked. “Mmm, mmm, mmm.”

  Laying his pen aside, Luther looked up at her. “Really, Ann? Harassment from the woman who’s sleeping with Morty Vance?”

  Umbrage put her shoulders back. “His name is Mort, not Morty.”

  “Whatever.”

  After a moment, she treated Luther to a Cheshire cat smile. “He’s adorable, isn’t he?”

  Not in the least. “If you say so.”

  She stood, stepped behind his chair, and rubbed his stiff shoulder muscles. “So what about you?”

  “What about me?” God that felt good. Lately, he stayed so knotted up, he felt like a walking lump of tension.

  Leaning around to see his face, she specified, “Are you sleeping with little Miss Sunshine?”

  He wished. “You’re awfully nosy all of a sudden.”

  “There’s a method to my madness.”

  “Yeah, and that’d be?”

  She went back to rubbing, which kept her out of his view. “Have you seen Gaby lately?”