Devil's Lake (Bittersweet Hollow Book 1)

by Aaron Paul Lazar

  He picked at the last of the corn on his plate.

  It was time for her to make her move.

  “Let’s go sit on the bed. I’m so full, and this wine has made me feel a little funny.” She leaned forward, touching his hand again. “Does it do that to you?” She’d made sure to fill his cup until the bottle was empty. His eyes looked glazed, and the tops of his ears were red.

  “No. I'm fine.”

  “Should we open the second bottle?” she asked. Again, the picture of innocence.

  He pushed back from the table. “Okay.”

  She got up and leaned down to open the door of the mini-fridge, knowing perfectly well that the uniform would ride up in the back and expose her nakedness.

  It was all part of the plan.

  She tugged on the dress and shot him a chagrined smile over her shoulder. “Oops. This thing is a little short. Don’t look, now.”

  His eyes grew big with desire.

  She reached in for the wine, uncapped it, and walked back to pour more into his empty cup, leaning down so his face was practically nuzzling her breasts. He swayed toward her, reaching a hand up to touch them. “Soft,” he said, his words slurring. “So soft.”

  She giggled and pulled away. “Now, Charles.”

  He took another swig of wine, emptying half the cup. “I like you in that outfit. It suits you.”

  “Does it?” She twirled and posed for him. “I never thought white was my color, though.”

  “Oh, it’s a good color on you.”

  Slowly, she approached him, noting the permanent bulge that had been pressing at his crotch since they began. She leaned down and kissed his lips, softly, gently. “Thank you.”

  He looked up, confused. “For what?”

  “For bringing me here. For cooking this lovely dinner. For the flowers and wine.” She kissed him again. “For everything.”

  Suddenly, as if he had woken from an impossible dream, his face darkened. “You’re lying. You’re a lying bitch.” He jumped up from the table and backed away. “You’re tricking me. Laughing at me.”

  She stood stock-still.

  Crap. She hadn’t expected this.

  He reached for a plastic tie wrap. “Get over here.”

  She cowered back against the wall. “Why are you so angry? I thought we were having a good time.”

  He stormed toward her. “I don’t trust you.”

  “Wait!” She caught his eyes with hers, letting her temper show. “What the hell is wrong with you, Murphy?” She slapped his face hard, bearing down on him.

  He lifted a hand to his cheek, staring at her.

  “I’ve done everything to make you happy. I prettied myself up. I’m wearing this uniform for you.” She pushed his chest, shoving him back a few steps. “I was ready to make love to you tonight, you stupid ass.”

  “I—”

  “And what do you do? You ruin everything. The mood. The romance. You just stomped all over it.”

  He slumped to the bed. The tie wrap fell to the floor. “I’m…sorry.”

  Chapter 60

  “Well, you should be sorry,” Grace said, flopping onto the bed beside Murphy. “But you can make it up to me.”

  Murphy opened one eye. “What do you want now, Grace?”

  “A foot rub.” She flashed him a brilliant smile and sat back against the wall, lifting her foot a few inches and wiggling her toes. “My feet hurt.”

  “Why? You’ve just been sitting.”

  She frowned at him. “Don’t get me mad again. Don’t you want to make it better?”

  He shrugged and lowered his head. “Give it here.”

  “Wait. I need a pillow for my head. This wall is hard. Go get that extra one from your bed.” When he didn’t move, she smiled again. “Please?”

  He shoved himself off the bed and trundled to the other side of the room. She leaned down, grabbed the tie wrap, and stuffed it under the edge of the mattress.

  He returned with his own pillow, and she slid it between her head and the wall. “Much better. Hey, take off your boots. Stay a while.”

  He kicked them off, then scooted up closer to her and pulled her feet onto his lap, taking one in his hands and gently massaging it.

  Grace wondered if he used to do this for his mother. He was pretty good at it. “You have strong fingers, Charles. Big hands, too.” With her free foot, she rubbed her toes against his bulge. “You know what they say about that. Should I be worried?”

  He laughed. “You’re married. You’re not a virgin.”

  “I was married. And anyway, I’m going to divorce him. Besides, he had a really tiny one.” She giggled. “So. Should I be worried?” Grace said a silent apology to Anderson, who was more than adequate in that department.

  He actually laughed. “Maybe. I was bigger than all the other guys in the locker room in high school.”

  “Well, don’t think I’m too forward, or anything, but…” she rubbed her toes against him again, “…I am curious about it.”

  Murphy moaned and clutched his crotch. “Jesus, woman.”

  “Grace,” she corrected.

  “Grace. Right.” He closed his eyes and started to unzip his pants.

  This was not what she wanted. She didn’t want him just jacking off on his own; she needed to be in control. She needed to weaken him.

  “Wait.” She slid up beside him lengthwise on the bed, propping his pillow beneath her head. “Let me.”

  His eyes snapped open, as if horrified at the idea. “No.”

  She purred in his ear, kissing it lightly. “Honey. If we’re going to be together, we need to get closer. And I’m willing to do this for you. Only you.” She took his hand and placed it on her bare thigh. The stupid undersized uniform had ridden up on her, practically exposing her nakedness. She purposefully worked it up even further by shifting a little on the mattress. “You can touch me, too. It’s okay. I trust you.”

  He seemed to relax, searching her eyes. “Really?”

  “Really. Now. Where were we?” She reached down, suppressed an urge to vomit, and unzipped his fly. “There we go. Now just slide out of these.”

  He wiggled out of his pants, and she realized when she saw him in his boxers that he wasn’t kidding. Everything about this creep was big.

  I’ve done worse things before. I even gave that disgusting dealer in Toronto a blowjob on the sidewalk when I was desperate for a fix. I can do this.

  I can do this.

  She moved his hand up to the Y between her legs and opened her thighs. “Go ahead, honey. Touch me.”

  He moaned and reached two fingers into her private area, moving the tips deeper inside her. She pretended to like it, arching her back a little. “Oh, Charles.”

  Taking a deep breath, she reached into his boxers and released his organ. It sprang to life before her, waving in her direction. Trying not to retch, she leaned over and touched her tongue to its tip. “Take these things off, Charles.”

  “Oh, God. Grace.” He shrugged out of his boxers, then reached right back inside her, probing and rubbing with one finger.

  Would he notice she wasn’t aroused? Could she fake that, too?

  She grasped him at the base and ran her fingers up and down the shaft rhythmically. His hips rose and fell as she stimulated him, and from sounds coming from him, she was afraid he’d explode before she could get him in the right position.

  “Wait.” She rolled over onto his legs, straddling him. “Do you have any lubricant?”

  He looked at her as if she were nuts. “What?”

  “You’re so big, Charles. I need a little help.” She glanced over at the table, noting the vegetable oil. It would have to do. “Hold on.”

  She got off him, grabbed the oil, and returned to straddle him, pouring the oil into one palm. “See how this feels.”

  He moaned again and from his position, she was sure he was about to explode. She needed to distract him, hold him off, just a little. “Now you do me.”

&n
bsp; She took his limp hand and poured oil into his palm. “Come on, now. Don’t be shy.”

  He cupped his hand beneath her, smearing it into her.

  “That’s good. Now work it in.” She moved against his fingers as he slid them up and down the now slick canal. “Good. That’s perfect.”

  With a deep breath, she lifted herself over him. “Just lay back, Charles. I’m going to take you inside me.” She slid over him, groaning a little when he pushed his giant organ inside her. It was huge.

  His left hand held her bottom. His right hand yanked down the uniform and freed her breasts. He leaned up and licked her, moving his head from side to side as if he couldn’t decide which breast he liked the best. She took his right arm and lay it straight back, running her fingers along it to his hand, where she laced their fingers together. “Hold on, Charles. Don’t come before me.”

  He pumped inside her, and while she pretended to enjoy it, she let go of his hand and reached under the bed for the tie wrap. When he came, she’d loop it and tie him to the metal frame beside the mattress. He was in the perfect position.

  Just don’t move that hand.

  Harder, he rammed into her. She faked a scream, throwing her hair back and forth like a wild woman, clawing at his chest and tweaking his nipples. He exploded inside her, thrusting himself up with demonic urgency.

  When he peaked, she leaned over and looped the tie wrap around his wrist. With a sigh of relief, she jerked it tight and bent over to toss his knife—still in his discarded boot—across the room.

  Chapter 61

  Murphy took a few minutes to come back to his senses. He lay slack beneath her, groaning and smiling. She pushed back to get off him, but in seconds he stiffened, and with his free hand he reached up and grabbed a hunk of her hair.

  “Really?” he growled. “You tied me to your bed?” His eyes snapped open, and fury spilled from them. “No fucking way.”

  She yanked back, felt her hair practically rip from her head, then reached an elbow around and jabbed it into his neck. “Let me go, you big, ugly pervert.”

  She pulled back while he choked and reeled from the blow, but before she could escape, he grabbed her wrist and twisted. “You’re not going anywhere. Woman.”

  He lay naked beneath her, now flaccid and exposed. Twisting in his grip again, she jumped up and with as much force as she could muster, aimed her knees at his crotch.

  “Pretty big target. I can hardly miss it,” she hissed. “Too bad you aren’t man enough for what God gave you.”

  He let go of her wrist and reached to cover his manhood, groaning with his eyes closed. “You bitch!” he stammered. “You crippled me.”

  Free, she rolled off him, running to his stash of tie wraps on the other side of the room. She hurried back, and wrapped it around one ankle, jerking it tight. “You’re not going anywhere, Charlie.”

  He wailed, still coddling himself and moaning, turning sideways. He tried to pull into a ball, but could only move the untethered leg. “I hate you!” he screamed. “You’re just like her.”

  She backed away again, picked up his pants, and searched for the keys. “Like who? Your precious Momma?”

  He screamed more obscenities, his metallic voice sending a shiver down her spine. “Don’t talk about my mother. Nobody talks about her but me.”

  And then, he started to cry.

  She stopped, stared, and flopped onto one of the chairs. “Really?” She sighed, starting to unbutton the hated uniform. She couldn’t wait to get out of it. “I’m the one who should be crying, you bastard. I had to touch you. I had you inside me. I don’t know how many showers it’ll take to wash your stink off me.”

  She stared at him, trying to ignore the urge to do more harm to him.

  She wanted him dead for what he did to Portia.

  Dead.

  She eyed the knife, leaned down to pick it up.

  Could I? Could I end it right now? Stab him and leave him here where no one would find him for weeks? Maybe months?

  With a fortitude borne of the knowledge that Anderson would never look at her the same way if she gave into these urges, she stopped herself.

  No.

  I’ve beaten the drugs.

  I’ve beaten this bastard.

  I can’t give in to murder.

  She shook herself, pushing away the tempting thoughts.

  I just want to go home.

  She got up, found her pajamas and damp underwear, put them on, and turned to him one more time. “I’ll be back with the police. And if you have any other women stashed around here, we’ll find them. And something tells me they’ll sing like canaries at your trial.” Looking at him over her shoulder, she winked. “I know I will.”

  Chapter 62

  Grace walked through cement corridors for several minutes before she found an exit. In her bare feet and pajamas, she emerged into bright moonlight.

  How the hell am I going to get home? Or even get to a phone?

  She hadn’t seen an office or phone on the way out, but wondered if she could possibly locate that room where Murphy had found the coffee maker. If people were using it, there had to be a phone hook up.

  She missed her iPhone. It probably still sat in her purse in her bedroom at home. Battery dead. Wondering what happened to its talkative owner.

  What about Murphy’s car? She had the keys in her pocket, they jingled as she walked.

  What color was it?

  She had no idea. Just that it had a front and back seat, and a loud radio.

  That’s helpful, Grace.

  She chuckled in spite of herself. He’d probably hidden it, she figured. Maybe over in the woods? She scanned the tree line that bordered acres of woods surrounding the facility. It was dark, so it really was useless to try to find something in those deep, dark woods now, anyway.

  And where was the main road? She had no idea which direction to walk in.

  Was that shining silver reflection through the trees the surface of Devil’s Lake? Tempted for a moment to run toward the water and wash all things Murphy from her, she envisioned stripping and jumping into the cool lake water, stroking far out into the middle of the lake, and just floating on her back with the moon shining on her face.

  She stopped and sat on the stoop by the door where she had just emerged. Sat and thought. Sat and felt like crying.

  A few tears trickled down her cheeks. She roughly wiped them away.

  My God. I really did it.

  If Portia’s theories were right, Grace could’ve ended up as one of Murphy’s castoffs. She might’ve been killed and buried out in those dark woods. She’d never have seen Anderson again. Or her parents and Portia. She would have just been a ghost, wandering the fields and barns of Bittersweet Hollow.

  She wondered about her mother, and prayed that going back to the clinic would stop the cancer again.

  How much is one person supposed to take, anyway? Beating the whole drug thing was hard enough. Trying to maintain a chaste lifestyle was another challenge, especially since she craved men so much and seemed to have a really hard time controlling it. Watching her mother wither away from cancer, month after month…Then getting kidnapped by a robotic-voiced moron.

  What was that all about?

  Something told her she was not going to crave other men so much now. Not after this whole charade.

  She’d always been a good actress. That’s how she met Anderson, when she starred in the lead role of her college production of “Grease.” She’d made a fantastic Sandy, even if she did say so herself. And she’d fallen for Anderson, who’d apparently had it bad for her since the first day of auditions. Sure, he was fifteen years older than she was. But crap, who cared these days? If you found someone who loved you…what did it matter?

  Anderson.

  Would he understand? Would he think of her as tainted?

  No.

  No, he had taken her back time after time when she’d cheated on him, when she’d fallen off the wagon. No. He’
d take her back and love her, just like always.

  I need to be much nicer to him. He’s a gem.

  Something moved in the woods to her right. A flashlight played along the path.

  She froze.

  Who would be out at this time of night?

  Oh, God. Did Murphy have a partner?

  ***

  Portia gripped Boone’s arm, staying close to his side. He played the light along the narrow path in the woods.

  “I told you to stay in the car, Portia.” He stopped and chided her, knowing it was hopeless. “It could get dangerous.”

  “Jeez, Boone. I’m not your dog.” She frowned and spit the words. “I’m armed.” She brandished her father’s rifle. “I know how to use this. My dad made sure of it when I was fourteen.”

  He flicked back a lock of his shaggy blond hair. “You haven’t shot it in years.”

  “So? It’s like riding a bike. It’ll come back to me.”

  Anderson chuckled behind them, followed closely by Ned.

  “Tell me this was a smart idea,” Portia said. “We’re doing the right thing, aren’t we?”

  Boone nodded and pushed toward the clearing where the gray buildings of the abandoned munitions plant sprawled for acres in front of them. “I’ll tell you it was a good idea when we find her. She could be in any—or none—of those buildings.”

  Anderson took the lead. “We’d probably better split up. Do you all have a good signal?”

  Ned held his up. “I’ve got two bars.”

  Portia and Boone did the same, nodding. “Good to go,” Boone said.

  Anderson lowered his voice as they approached the edge of the compound. “Let’s check in every half hour. Boone, you call me. Ned and I will search together; we’re taking the southern half of the plant. Portia, stick with Boone. Got it?”

  The foursome had decided to investigate on their own after waiting for the police to act on the tip that had come in about some old drunk who said he saw Murphy driving a car in Baraboo with a girl slumped in the front seat. They’d acted skeptical about his report, even though Sheriff Dunne told them they’d already checked out the cabin by Devil’s Lake and had found nothing new there. It was when Boone found evidence online that Murphy had worked at the old munitions plant over a decade ago that they decided to check it out.