by Kaia Bennett
“Shit… that is rank!” The higher voice belonged to Liam. The weaker one. A rush of cold air assaulted me from all sides when the windows rolled down.
When I spit out the last of the bile coating my mouth I opened my eyes and shuddered with horror at the sight.
I expected to see the sickly palette of digested food, but the vomit was a sea of black blood, speckled with yellow bile. Only a scarlet sheen when the light hit the putrid puddle kept it from looking like an oil spill.
“I’m dying,” I whispered. Relief buoyed me. Maybe this would all be over soon.
The smell and the uncertainty of my fate made me heave again even though my stomach felt hollow as a drum.
“No, you’re not,” the leader said. “Not yet. Just healing.”
Healing, huh? Tell that to my broken—Wait.
My wrist. I wiggled the joint in shock and heard a crackle and pop. But my wrist moved without the intense pain I remembered. Only a dull ache persisted.
Must have been a sprain. Small mercies.
He sat me up. I pressed my feverish forehead against the window panel. A winding back road raced by. Frigid air dried the sweat on my brow, my only consolation as we hurtled to some unknown destination.
Every true crime documentary and murder mystery I’d ever watched told me this wouldn’t end well. Moving me meant they planned to kill me in a place where they could take their time.
I’d already lost an unknown amount of time, but I knew my time was running short. After a day or two, my chances of getting out of this alive dropped to abysmal Vegas-roulette-table levels.
Every second awake had to count for something. I had to pay attention now more than ever, so I forced myself to face my attackers instead of fading into unconsciousness again.
“We should burn this car with the witch in it after we do her, Jesse,” said a deeper, gravelly voice. The pale one. Vaughn. I could still hear him mocking my screams of terror as I sprinted in the woods. “She’s slowing us down.”
Jesse. The leader had a name now. They all did. Vaughn, the one aching to kill me. Liam, the weakest one, who did their bidding.
And Jesse, the one who’d saved me for a purpose worse than death.
“Where you gotta be?” Jesse’s rich baritone made my body sing like a tuning fork. The realization brought on another wave of nausea. “Fast. Slow. Don’t matter. We got nothing but time.”
“I have money. A lot of money.” My voice squeaked from lack of use and the weak lie. I had pocket change and little else, but desperate times. “If you… if you let me go—”
It hurt to talk, but I didn’t have to speak for long. Vaughn’s laughter was so loud my eyes burned with tears. I clamped my lips together in outrage.
“We already got your money, Evelyn Marie Pierce.” I shuddered at the sound of my full name on a murderer’s lips. Jesse’s lips. “Your credit cards, too.” I didn’t bother to pat my jacket pocket. They had my wallet.
“We should get rid of the credit cards and just keep the cash,” Liam offered from the driver’s seat.
“Yeah, all fifty bucks.” Vaughn snorted. I heard the snick of a lighter, the pause as he took a drag off a cigarette. “That’s alright, though, baby. A choice piece like you don’t need money to party with us.”
They’ll never let me live. I know their names. I’ve seen their faces.
I looked up to meet Vaughn’s devouring, ice blue gaze. He looked like Billy Idol’s vicious younger brother, the snarl curled around his cigarette caked in dried blood.
My blood? Or someone else’s? Or is that his own blood from when Jesse kicked him in his smug fucking face?
I couldn’t hide my satisfaction at the memory. I played the scene of him spitting out blood, brought low by Jesse’s boot heel to the face. I could’ve sworn his glare narrowed. Only then did I realize a small smile curved my lips. I made my satisfaction disappear just as fast, but not before Vaughn saw. He sneered and turned away, leaving a silent promise to wipe that smile off my face hanging in the air.
“We should stop soon,” said Liam. “I think there’s a clean motel around here. We can hose down the girl, maybe use her cash for room service? I’m starving.” I met his hopeful bourbon gaze in the review mirror.
Liam had that right at least. I needed a hose–maybe even a waterfall–to clean me off. I felt sticky and gross. Covered in blood, vomit, and urine, judging by the acrid dampness seeping down the crotch of my jeans. Despite the lowered windows, the odor persisted. I tried recalling when I’d pissed myself, and failed.
Good. This is good. They won’t touch me till they clean me up. That means they have to stop. And when they do, other people will be there.
I’d never been more relieved to look and smell like a disgusting mess. I wore the various stenches of my ordeal like armor while I formulated an escape strategy.
I’ll need a phone. I’m a good judge of character, I’ll find the right person to take pity on me. Thirty seconds to call 911 and the police will know I’m alive. My parents and brother will know I’m alive.
My temple collided with the window as we hit another pothole and my brain tilted round and round. The motion knocked some sense into me. I have no idea where I am and I’m frail as a dying rabbit. Even sitting upright had become a challenge. When would I get the chance to talk to someone, surrounded by three strong, vigilant killers? At full strength I hadn’t been able to escape. Already the plan crumbled.
I’m not weak. I’ve never been weak. They know my name, but they don’t know me. I have parents who love me, a little brother who needs me. TJ needs his big sister at his high school graduation.
I teared up. My baby brother’s smile seemed like the brightest thing I’d ever seen. I saw myself picking him up, my five-year-old self cradling my newborn sibling like he belonged to me. I saw him lean down to hug me a few days ago when I made the trek home from college. Just the thought of his heart breaking because I gave up shored my sagging spirit. I couldn’t hold back the tears anymore, but I needed to remember. I needed to feel this stabbing pain in my chest that told me I had to live. I had people waiting for me. Like Mom, tiny and fierce. She gave the best hugs and infuriated me because we were so much alike. Mommy…
Mom’s gonna teach me how to make the turkey for Thanksgiving this year. I can’t miss it. She’s convinced I’ll mess up her precious bird, so I have to prove her wrong.
I sobbed as an image of my Dad, leaning down to give her a lingering kiss, shone bright in my mind. Daddy, gruff but sweet. So in love with Mom, that to this day, he still held her hand, even if they were just sitting on the couch. Daddy, who smelled like sawdust from woodworking, who wiped away tears when he saw me in my prom dress.
Dad’s going to help me pick out a new car now that my little Honda’s on its last legs. He’s so excited to show me how to haggle. I have to be there.
And Manny. The Emmanuel Vasquez, popular and athletic and gorgeous. Sweet, kind Manny. My reward for keeping the faith, for staying the course and abandoning the dark visions of the past.
Think of Manny. Think of our last words to each other. He’d never live down the guilt if I died after a fight.
That’s what I need to do now.
Fight. Fight or die.
I tried to fight when Jesse grabbed a fistful of hair and tugged me back down to his lap. I stared up at him, seeing him clearly for the first time with my own two eyes. Light shone like a halo off espresso hair that tumbled past the waistband of stained jeans.
Nut-brown, like mine, his pitiless gaze locked with my terrified stare. I had to glance away from the promise of pain I saw reflected back at me. Not to mention, I was horrified to find my gaze lingering in appreciation. His skin glowed like bronze silk. My gaze trailed the sharp planes of his face, the high cheekbones, aquiline nose, and the long slash of his pink mouth. A strong, pointed chin sported the barest shadow of a beard that would never fill in. Under a dingy blue flannel shirt lurked thick, corded muscle. I’d felt the phant
om press of every inch of him, and now I had confirmation that monsters could indeed have fearful symmetry. I took in his terrible beauty and forced measured breaths.
He didn’t taunt like Vaughn, or make plans like Liam. He offered no warning. He’d rolled the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbow, and now, he lifted his thick wrist to his mouth and bit deep into the flesh.
I didn’t bother to hide my disgust. I couldn’t, he’d just bitten his wrist open.
Veined forearms protruded from rolled shirtsleeves the muscles worked as his pumped his fist. Open. Closed. Open. I thought he’d suck his own blood, like some twisted mind-fuck to scare me. When he pulled his wrist away from his mouth, still bleeding, his plan clicked.
No!
I turned my face away, thoughts of incurable diseases and STDs terrorizing me. What’s with these creepy fuckers and blood? But he gripped me by the chin, forced my face straight again, and dripped the flood over my clamped lips. A flex of his considerable strength at the hinges of my jaw opened my mouth, forcing it wide as a baby bird’s.
The flavor burst on my tongue. Thick, tangy spices did battle with my taste buds. My mouth watered with desire for more of a taste unlike any I’d ever experienced. Better than chocolate, better than the sweetest brown sugar glaze on a Christmas ham. Better than the crisp, dry flavor of red wine. Better than tearing into the tart flesh of a ripe plum. He tasted like summer, like open air, and freedom, and dirty, feral sex. My body thrummed, pre-orgasmic and starving for more. My nipples hardened and my pussy clenched on air, desperate for something to stretch the swelling flesh.
And I hadn’t even swallowed his blood yet. The liquid sat on my tongue, coating my taste buds, filling my mouth until I had to let the flood down my throat. When I did, I gulped his blood like water. Parched to my soul, I drank, and moaned against my will at the pleasure his taste gave my body.
Swallowing a stranger’s blood freaked me out, but I had no choice. I reminded myself over and over as the flood became a trickle, then slowed to a drop or two.
I came to my senses.
I just drank a stranger’s blood like wine.
He smiled when I sucked harder, an involuntary urge to wring another taste of him from the wound like a suckling baby.
You need more, his eyes seemed to say.
My heart pounded so hard I could swear he heard each thump against my ribs.
I’m delirious, dehydrated. I’m dreaming. I have to be dreaming.
How else to explain him biting the same wrist a second time, as if the wound needed to be reopened?
He pulled his bleeding wrist away from those chiseled lips with a grimace, like this time around the motion hurt. Crimson drops coated his bottom lip, and when he licked them away, my tongue echoed the movement. He tracked the swipe of my tongue mirroring his, catching me like a predator on the prowl, sighting the shudder of a trapped rabbit.
“No. Leave me alone.”
I twisted my face away, and again, he wrenched my chin in his direction. This time I clawed his cheek. My dirt-and-blood-covered nails dug deep into his gorgeous, smooth skin. He didn’t seem to care. With his free hand—the one not dripping blood onto my face—he gripped the fingers I clawed him with. He cradled my palm against his mouth and teased the fatty muscle under my thumb with his teeth. Then, he licked his blood off my fingertips.
While I gaped, he shoved his bleeding wrist against my mouth. The old bait and switch. I sobbed in protest, but once again, swallowed the sweet flood of warmth. I savored and hated myself for my weakness. I hated myself for the ache blooming between my thighs. I didn’t know what made this moment worse—not knowing why his blood had such a pleasurable effect on me. Or knowing nothing else in the world had ever made me this aroused.
Death would’ve been better. The swift demise on the forest floor now seemed like a precious gift I’d tossed aside. The part of me that still held on to hope of seeing my family again howled in outrage. How dare I be so selfish when I’d been given another chance?
Soon, the blood he offered coursed through my veins like a drug, dulling my pain. The seductive liquid tingled under my skin, suffusing every nerve ending with traitorous pleasure. No more pain. No more pain, and somehow, that lack made my self-loathing worse. I clenched my thighs as my eyes rolled back in my head, ashamed of the relentless slickness building there. I needed a stiff, hard—
I want to die.
“Not yet,” Jesse whispered, like he heard my desperate admission.
I want to die. I want to die....
I floated on a cloud of euphoria, swaying into unconsciousness. It took me a moment to realize I hadn’t imagined his voice. He’d spoken. His breath caressed my ear.
He was going to kill me. Soon.
But not now. I passed out to the feel of his fingers smearing his blood over my lips and a sinister promise.
“I’m not finished with you yet….”
4
Jesse woke me when we pulled into a motel. The sun began its descent on an unfamiliar landscape, the only hint of lost time. How much time, I couldn’t guess. I felt like I’d slept for days, a drugged and dreamless unconsciousness that cradled me like a warm bath.
I sat up, but fatigue closed my eyes. One second the car door opened, the next the door closed, time marked only in movements that woke me from sleep.
Liam said, “I checked and it’s clean. The room is on the other side.” I met his brown eyes in the rearview mirror and felt the car start up again.
Clean? How clean can a motel room be?
I actually giggled at the thought. A clean motel room, one that didn’t glow like the red light district under luminol, must be quite the novelty. Especially for three weirdos who had a thing for bodily fluids.
“She’s high as fuck. You gave her too much.” Vaughn growled.
“If I hadn’t, she’d be dead. You greedy fucks almost sucked her dry.”
Higher than a kite. He must’ve drugged me. There must have been some crazy new narcotic in his blood, or he'd slipped me something while I slept. I’d never felt anything like this before. On the mental level, I frothed with fear. But on a primal level—a level I feared as much as my abductors—I felt nothing but a solid buzz. The nerve endings under every inch of my skin filled to bursting with sensation, fizzing like champagne on the tongue.
We pulled around the side of the building. When Liam parked, I planned to run, to scream, but my legs were numb. I tried and failed to tense them for a sprint. Jesse seemed to sense my thoughts and he liked them, liked my terror. He curled his hand around my throat, staring at the fit. Those strong fingers didn’t squeeze or constrict my breathing, but I sensed with a tremble they could. I’d bet if he wanted, he could snap the column connecting my brain to my spine.
“You don’t have to do this. Any of this,” I flipped my internal switch, the one I used to influence and calm others. But the wheels were rusty. “I get it. You got really fucked up, got some bad batch of whatever you’re on, and you made a mistake. You didn't mean to do this—”
Liam and Vaughn’s laughter as they exited the car made me physically ill all over again.
Vaughn thumped the roof. “She has no fucking clue, dude.”
“This is your dick on drugs!” Liam slammed his door with a chuckle, followed by Vaughn giving his door a heave. “Any questions?”
More raucous laughter. The trunk opened, obscuring my view of them through the rear windshield. The car jostled as they unloaded. I swallowed so hard my throat muscles caressed Jesse’s massive palm.
My kidnappers were joking about my rape and murder while pulling objects out a trunk. Nothing could kill a buzz faster.
“You’re the one who made a mistake, Evie.” My nickname rolled off Jesse’s tongue without hesitation. Like he’d said it a million times before, instead of hearing my boyfriend say it before he kidnapped me. “I knew exactly what I was doing, and that’s only the beginning.” Jesse’s fingers flexed behind my neck, rubbing my ragged ponytail a
gainst the skin at my nape.
“I’m gonna hurt you so good, baby, you’ll learn to need the pain.” Jesse leaned so close, his breath caressed my breasts. “But if you piss me off, if you try and pull that sneaky witch shit again, I’ll tear you apart. And then I’ll give you to Liam and Vaughn to lick up the mess I made. I’ll make you wish I’d left you for dead in the woods.”
“I wish you had.” The truth came out unbidden. My voice shook like leaves in a storm. “I’m not whatever you think I am. Whatever you guys believe I am, that’s not me. I’m just a girl who wants to go home to her family. My parents… I have a baby brother. Jesse, please.”
His penetrating gaze widened. The sound of his name on my lips. The word “please” tied to it. I felt the tug between us, a plucked string of desire vibrating from him to me. All because I’d hinted at what he wanted when we got into that room. He wanted me begging. Crying.
I hated myself for bursting into tears, but the flash of TJ’s face felt like a fist clenched my heart. I clung to the image like I’d clung to my brother before I went off to college. I could feel his tears on my neck before I pulled away and gave him a kiss on the forehead—
Jesse growled like a beast warning an enemy to back away. Then he shook me, hard enough to make me gasp.
“See? That’s the shit I’m talking about! I don’t want you filling my head with sob stories to soften me up, witch.”
“What are you people?” I shrieked. “Satanists? You part of some creepy, fucked up cult? There are no witches, Jesse. I’m not a witch. They don’t exist!”
He just smiled and licked his lips. “You don’t know anything, do you? You’re like a virgin.”