Flagrant: An Inferno World Novella

by Ally Vance

  I tug at the material with my teeth, frantically working at the knots. My shoulders and body scream at the pressure from being contorted in such an unnatural angle, but to my delight the knots start to loosen, and I’m able to pull one hand free. Then, getting onto my knees, I untie the other restraint, one-handed.

  Once I have both hands free, I quickly tug my jeans into place and fasten them back up, sighing with relief that Gregory failed to violate me as much as he’d initially intended. His comments were confusing; he seemed to be talking about more than one person, but I don’t care to know any more. Spying my backpack sitting on top of a chest of drawers, I grab it and sling it over my aching shoulders.

  I glance nervously toward the door and then back to the chest, contemplating whether I have enough time to search through it. Deciding to take the risk, I pull the top drawer open but see nothing of interest, just some make-up and an old tarnished hairbrush. Shutting it quietly, I check the other two drawers, one by one, but they’re both empty, and I huff out an annoyed breath at the time I’ve wasted. However, as I shut the final drawer, the sound of paper rustling catches my attention, and frowning, I drop cautiously to my knees and pull it open again to take a closer look. I don’t see anything at first, but when I tilt my head to the side, I see an envelope poorly taped to the base of the middle drawer with one word written on it, ‘Greene’. I snatch it up, shove it into my backpack, and shut the drawer.

  Standing, I turn, and treading as lightly as possible, I head for the door. In a place as old and uncared for as this, there’s bound to be a few squeaky floorboards. I pry the door open carefully, and strain my ears to hear what’s going on downstairs. The sound of shouting filters up and I use the loud vocals as an opportunity to slip out without giving myself away. I creep down the stairs and pause briefly to eavesdrop on the argument.

  “You shouldn’t have touched her. You’re a fucking fool for daring to lay a hand on that girl. Whatever our blood may be, and whatever cravings may or may not flow through us, I didn’t raise you to be a fool. It’s bad enough you ran off with his girl and helped her hide the baby, but now you gotta go and fuck it up even more,” Gregory’s mom angrily scolds, sounding raspier than she did before, probably from all the shouting.

  “I didn’t fuck her. I couldn’t,” Gregory counters.

  She laughs, “Your limp dick is no concern of mine, and whether you did or not, you put it near what’s his and you’re gonna pay for that. If he comes looking for you, then you’re on your own. Get outta my sight you drunken lout,” she finishes, and I hear a door being opened farther along the hallway.

  Shit! I hurriedly look around for someplace I can hide, and I spot a hallway closet under the stairs with a broken latch. It’s not ideal and probably full of spiders, but I’d take arachnids over Gregory and his mom any day, and this just happens to be the day. Taking a deep breath, I quickly yank the door open and squeeze inside, making sure not to knock anything over in my hurry. Once I’m safely within the closeted space, I reach out and pull the door closed.

  My heart is pounding, and pure unadulterated fear floods my veins with ice. At any moment they’re going to discover my absence from the bedroom, and I’ll have only a few minutes, if I’m lucky, to get the fuck out of this hideous house and away from the family my mom chose for us. I don’t have the answers I’ve come looking for, and I sense that even though Gregory’s telling the truth and knows more about my family than I do, it’s not worth the price I’d have to pay in exchange for that information.

  Considering the number of times Gregory’s sneaked a grope in the past, I’m inclined to believe that his impotence was a result of his mom being nearby rather than his own lack of desire. This is the first time he’s taken it so far, though, and I pray he never gets the opportunity again. I’ll do everything possible to ensure he doesn’t ever lay a finger on me now or in the future.

  Footsteps on the stairs shake dust loose from the boards above me and I have to stifle a cough. More dust swirls through the air, and my lungs feel tight, and my nose begins to itch with the need to sneeze. I can’t stop it; the sneeze erupts from my chest, sounding unreasonably loud within the enclosed space. The footsteps stop and begin a slow descent. I’ve got no choice, I have to get out, and it has to be now.

  I throw the door open and stumble out of the closet as a shout follows after me. I dart through the house and find myself in a small dining room that stinks of cigarettes and looks to be in worse shape than the sitting room. Not stopping, I grab the heaviest object I can find, a small footstool, and I hurl it through the window, shattering it into pieces with a crash.

  “Hey! Get back here you little bitch,” Gregory’s mom curses after me, bursting into the room with him hot on her heels.

  I risk one final glance back before following the footstool through the broken window, scratching my arms on the glass as I clamber out and bolt for freedom. I run without pausing until I’m far away from the house, and the shouts of Gregory and his mom have faded into the distance.

  Chapter Seven

  I have no destination in mind but fear drives me on, urging me to place as much distance as possible between myself and the house I’ve just escaped from. I shudder inwardly at the memory of Gregory’s hands and tongue on me, and moving to the side of the road, I bend over and empty the contents of my stomach into the bushes. From my backpack, I retrieve a bottle of water, purchased earlier at the coffee shop, and quickly rinse out my mouth to remove the sour taste.

  Looking around, I realize I’m no longer in the town, and the woodland on each side of the road I’m now walking along is dense and imposing, surrounding me in a sea of green. It’s daylight, and the sky is pale, so I’m not sure how long I was unconscious. The old bat drugged me and Gregory knocked me out, so who knows how much time has passed…no more than the rest of the day, surely?

  I carry on walking, moving away from the bush that my stomach just greeted and deeper into the forest, looking for somewhere I can stop for a while, undiscovered. I spot a clearing through the trees and head toward it. Hopefully, it’ll be a good place to rest up, get my bearings, and maybe read the contents of the envelope that’s now safely tucked away in my backpack. I’ll also be out of view of the road should Gregory happen to drive past, looking for me.

  As I break through the boundary of trees circling the clearing, I stop and stare. A myriad of stones are haphazardly scattered everywhere with a larger one positioned in the middle, almost as a focal point to the group, but that’s not what catches my attention. Sitting on top of the central stone is a chair carved out of rock. Moss and leaves cover the seat and the elements have darkened the stone. It’s been here undisturbed for a long time.

  Nervously, I approach the chair, taking care not to trip over any of the surrounding stones that are visible while also avoiding any that may be buried and hidden under the forest floor. There seems to be no reason or rhyme to the placement of the stones, except for the throne-like structure sitting on its stone plinth in the center of the clearing. On reaching the chair, I inspect it but can see no markings or indicators as to who built it or for what purpose. I do know there are many cultures who have created sacred places made of stone; however, apart from its seemingly random placement within the forest, there’s nothing unusual or strange about it.

  Shrugging, I brush the dead, dry leaves off the seat, take my backpack off and sit down on the chair. The stone is cold and hard against my ass through my jeans, but it’s better than sitting on the ground and getting grubby. Although, I’m probably filthy anyway, having spent some time unconscious on the bed back at Gregory’s mom’s house. I let out a shudder, and debate whether this would be a good place to change my clothes. Glancing around, I listen hard, but can’t detect any human sounds or see anyone approaching.

  I decide to risk it, and standing up, I lift my backpack onto the stone seat. I quickly strip off my clothes, discarding them on the ground by my feet, and pull out a fresh t-shirt, underwear, an
d leggings. A rustle behind me draws my attention and jolting my head up, I spin around, looking for the source of the noise. I turn three hundred and sixty degrees, my eyes darting everywhere, checking to make sure no one is there, but I don’t see anyone lurking beyond the tree line. Feeling more vulnerable than I did a moment ago, I hurriedly pull on the fresh clothes, wishing I could have showered first but relieved to be covered up once more.

  As I stow away my dirty clothes into the backpack, I notice the photographs I took from. Mom’s box and pick them up. I stare at the photo of Mom and me and run a finger over our smiling faces before tucking it behind the picture of the stranger. I’m still not sure why I brought this one with me. I don’t know who he is, but some part of me couldn’t leave it behind with the others. I feel like I’ve seen him before, but that’s impossible because I’d remember if I’d encountered this man previously.

  I’ve had crushes in the past, on boys at school and once even a teacher, but I’ve never felt the creeping blush or hot rush of curiosity and desire I feel when I look at him. It’s his eyes; they seem to bore right into my soul. It’s ridiculous how much I’m drawn to the man in this damn photo, but I can’t seem to switch it off. No doubt this is someone my mom encountered, so I shouldn’t be having these thoughts for that reason alone, because he’ll be much older now than he was when this was taken.

  I flip it over, suddenly wondering if she’s written anything on the back. I didn’t think to look before. There’s nothing but a blank space on the other side, and disappointed, I turn it back over and look at him again. I feel foolish for having such a strong reaction to a photo, but I can’t help it. My body heats the longer his unmoving eyes stare into mine, and I feel the same need I felt back in the coffee shop, starting to build within me. With no one around to view my shame, I tentatively slide my free hand down the front of my leggings.

  I gasp in shock as the motion lowers the material and my bare skin kisses the cold stone beneath my ass. I press my fingers against the spot that’s begging to be touched and slowly start to stroke the tiny bundle of nerves before pressing harder, rubbing faster, chasing the sensations that are running through my body like electricity. The eyes in the photo I’m clutching onto almost feel like they’re watching me, egging me on, urging me to succumb to the pleasure. I dip my fingers into my soaking wet pussy, delving deep inside before withdrawing them. As I swirl the juices around my clit with my wet fingers, I grip the stony arm of the seat, panting in between whimpers as I approach the crest of the wave flowing through me. My eyes close as I reach the peak and tumble over, shuddering and crying out as I ride the sensations rippling through my body.

  I shake through the aftershocks still racking my body as I come down from the high of pleasure. My breathing slows and my heartbeat starts to regulate. I straighten myself out and look thoughtfully down at the photo I’m still holding in my lap. That was intense, more so than any of the previous orgasms I’ve ever succeeded in giving myself, and I’m sure his image was the cause. Shaking my head, I tuck the photo away in my backpack and finally pull out the envelope I stole from the chest of drawers at Gregory’s mom’s house.

  Nervousness makes my hand shake as I stare at the name written on the front, and I flip it over, lifting the flap at the back to open it. My heart is stuttering in my chest again, and I’m almost afraid of what I’m going to learn about my family. I’ve no idea what this envelope contains, and a small part of me doesn't want to know. Gregory was right about one thing, though: the not knowing is eating me up inside. Mom never wanted me to know anything about my daddy, but now I do, it’s lit a burning need inside me, prompting me to find out more. I’m hoping that the contents will answer some, if not all, of the questions I’ve been asking myself and my mom ever since I was a little girl.

  Chapter Eight

  I open the envelope, and I’m disappointed to see there are only photographs inside. I was hoping for some kind of letter, or anything that might give me more details about my history. Carefully, I remove them, and place the envelope on my lap with the photos on top. I pick up the first one and smile; it’s a photo of Mom holding me when I was a newborn baby. She looks so young.

  I turn it over and see unfamiliar handwriting on the back, and the words, ‘Kayley and Sofia’. Setting it aside, I pick up the next one and my stomach jolts unpleasantly when I see my mom and Gregory staring back up at me. I flick through the rest and see more photos of me and Mom, and her and Gregory. Finally, one catches my eye. It’s a family photo. I can see Gregory, his batshit crazy mom, and a lot of other people including the fascinating stranger…the man I don’t recognize but feel so strongly drawn to. I flip it over and see ‘Greene Family’ is written on the back.

  As I begin to replace the photos in the envelope, I notice one more, smaller than the others, and I lift it up to take a closer look. It’s of Mom, and she’s standing next to the stranger. I stare down at the picture; confirmation that he’s a part of her past is right there in front of my eyes, and his hand is wrapped possessively over her stomach. With shaking hands, I turn the photo over and read the words, ‘Kayley Richards and Luke Greene are having a baby. Kayley is 8 weeks pregnant’. I drop it into my lap and cover my mouth with my hands. ‘Greene’…fucking hell!

  I shove the rest of the photos back inside the envelope, then sliding off the chair, I hastily return them to my backpack. I push them to the bottom as if I’m hoping to bury them and pretend I didn’t do what I just did…I fucked myself to orgasm with my hand while staring at the picture of a man I thought was a stranger, only to discover that’s far from the truth. This is so messed up! The thought he might be my real daddy turns my stomach, but I can’t seem to erase from my mind all the desire and mystery that surrounds him, not while the juices of my release still remain slick on my pussy.

  A crack of a twig draws my attention, and I snap my eyes up in the direction the noise came from in time to see a man enter the clearing. Quickly, I turn and finish packing all my stuff into my backpack. Thank goodness, he didn’t come sooner, or he’d have seen me with my leggings and panties pulled down, sitting on a cold stone chair in the middle of the woods, hand between my thighs in the throes of pleasure, rubbing one out to a photo of a man who may be my daddy. Fucking awkward!

  “Who the hell are you? What the fuck are you doing on my property?” a gruff voice makes me jump, and I turn back around to face him.

  “I, um…” I trail off, staring open mouthed.

  My backpack slips from my slack hand and drops to the floor with a thud. I must be dreaming because there’s no way...he can’t be real.

  “I won’t ask you again. Now, answer the question,” he snaps impatiently, but I still don’t respond, I’m too stunned.

  Years have passed, but there’s no mistaking the dark, piercing eyes staring at me from across the clearing, emanating angry curiosity. He’s older, but it’s only made him look even more rugged and handsome than before. I curse myself for thinking it, but it’s the truth.

  “S-Sofia,” I stammer, tripping over my words as I rush to answer him.

  I want to ask him about my mom, about everything, but I’m too shocked to speak. Shame makes my cheeks redden when I think about what I did and how he’d react if he knew. I jump down from the stone plinth on which the chair sits, and his dark eyes track my movements. I’m embarrassed to feel the wetness in my panties increase the longer his gaze remains on me, and I feel sick to my stomach.

  “Sorry for trespassing,” I mumble, as I stand upright and move to walk past him, not realizing in my foolish daze he’s already closed some of the distance between us.

  “You didn’t answer my question, little girl,” he says, clamping a firm hand around my upper arm and halting me.

  I attempt to tug my arm away, but his hand tightens as he waits for me to explain myself. My heart is pounding and my legs are shaking. I’m face to face with the man who might be my daddy, and I’m too scared to say anything.

  “I’m look
ing for my real daddy. My mom died and my stepdad is an alcoholic and an asshole,” I finally confess to him in a small voice.

  I look down at my feet to avoid his gaze, but I can still feel his eyes on me. I fight the urge to squirm, and tamp down the sickness that’s threatening to follow. Gregory’s face flashes into my mind, and I shudder.

  “That doesn’t explain why you’re here, on my property, and sitting in that chair without my permission,” he growls, and I cry out as his hand pinches tighter.

  I look directly up at him, staring him dead in the face, unable to keep my eyes averted. So many years have passed. Has he forgotten about my mom? Gregory said she’d lied about miscarrying me, so I guess there's no reason he'd try to see himself or my mom in me. I will him to notice the resemblance, to see something in my face, my eyes, or anything that might reveal my identity. I don't want to be the one to have to mention it.

  "Leave and don't come back, little girl. You're not welcome here," he finally says, shoving me away.

  I stumble and trip over my feet, trying not to lose my balance.

  “No,” I whisper as he turns and walks away, disappearing through the trees.

  I scramble to my feet and run after him. Hearing my pursuit, he turns around to look at me. The expression on his face is terrifying, and I quail beneath the weight of it being directed toward me.

  “My name is Sofia,” I repeat in a weak voice.

  He snorts, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

  “You already said that. Now, beat it, little girl.”

  “Sofia Greene,” I repeat, and even though his expression remains unchanged, something flickers in his eyes…recognition maybe?