Gone Black

by Linda Ladd

  According to Black, Jaxy should have felt the need to punish Claire by now, to come and hurt her physically, to tie her up and inflict every agony she could think of on her body. That’s why Claire had slapped her, shoved her, and needled her. She needed to get that awful girl alone. Inside this room, alone with Jaxy, Claire would have a chance, unless and until Jaxy brought along her henchmen to back her up. But Black’s file said she liked to exact her personal revenge alone, so she’d get the satisfaction and perverted pleasure of inflicting all the pain herself. That’s what she was doing with Black, wasn’t it? Why wasn’t she coming to punish Claire, too?

  Inside her mind, Claire went through each dossier again. It said all three of the Soquets were master torturers, in every sense of the word. They all had their specialties. Marcel was a computer genius as well and just loved blowing off his victim’s limbs with his intricately designed homemade bombs and explosive grenade vests. He decided which tortures his crazy children should use on each victim. He gave them a list of tortures to be done in order, exactly as he put down on paper. Then in came Jaxy with her sap, her LSD, and her hands-on psychological cruelty. Then Max’s realm, the worst by far. Intense physical torture and all that went with it, burning, cutting, whipping, and slicing. And he was the professional videographer of the family. He would have been the one to set up all the cameras and decide what the little showtimes would be. He was the one who showed prisoners what their friends or loved ones were suffering. He was the one who filmed his own little rape and abuse sessions with their so-called clients. Personal videos of his sexual assaults, filmed to enjoy later when he was alone and needed to relive his perverted gratifications.

  God, these people had climbed up out of hell. One long and quivery shudder inched up Claire’s spine, because they were now well into Jaxy’s Act One, and when Max took over Black’s ill-treatment, Black would not last long. Max was the cold-blooded one. He was the one who felt no remorse, no guilt, no nothing, except the intense sexual pleasure of inflicting pain and humiliation, followed by a horrible method of death.

  After a minute or two, she sat up on the bed when she heard voices outside her door. One low voice giving orders. Then receding footsteps and quiet again. What was going on? She was pretty sure that whatever it was, it was not gonna be good for her. Maybe Jaxy had dismissed them. Maybe it was time for their final showdown at last. Well, good, that’s exactly what Claire had been waiting for. Bring that idiot psycho girl on. The idea of killing that bitch with a very sharp shard of glass was what had been keeping Claire going.

  Claire swung her legs off the edge of the bed. Surreptitiously, she pulled out the makeshift knife and hid it behind her back. She waited. Then a moment later, she heard a key scrape in the lock. The door was pushed open, and she heard Jaxy flip the switch for the ceiling light fixture. The deep shadows disintegrated, and Claire blinked in the sudden bright light, but then her heart fell, hard and fast. Because it wasn’t Jaxy standing in that threshold coming to show her who was boss. It was Max Soquet. The great big, ruthless psychopathic sibling of the family’s whacko dynamic. He was wearing a blue nylon jacket over a white dress shirt unbuttoned at the neck and dark jeans. He had on brown desert boots and had what looked like a homicide bomber’s suicide grenade vest in one hand. It had all kinds of wires on it, attached to large, unusual-looking hand grenades. Probably about ten of them. Oh, God. They were going to blow her to pieces. Probably in front of Black.

  Claire tried not to think about the vest. Right now, she had to think about Max and not letting him strap that thing on her. She knew it had only been a matter of time before somebody came to teach her a lesson for her smart mouth and the trouble she caused, or just straight out to cut her throat or kill her with a bomb, which was one of their favorite pastimes, too. All of which would probably be filmed. A feature presentation for Black to watch as they murdered her in cold blood. Or maybe they were going to take her to him. Blow them both up with matching vests.

  All she had to defend herself was the jagged piece of mirror, but it would slice deeply and painfully into Max’s flesh and get his attention. Hell, yeah. And he wouldn’t be expecting it. He would consider her unarmed and just another helpless victim. Easy pickings for a guy his size. But she had play-sparred with Black on occasion, too, and he’d taught her a few military moves in hand-to-hand combat that might come in handy when the blows began to fall. So, surprise, surprise, Max.

  Claire wrapped her fingers tightly around the bottom of the shard, and she tried to prepare her mind for what was probably gonna be the ultimate fight of her life. Because that’s exactly what he wanted her to do, no doubt about it. He wanted her to fight him tooth and nail so his little victory over her would be more rewarding to his depraved sensibilities. One thing she knew, for sure, she couldn’t show him the fear that was streaking like wildfire through her body and mind. Black had emphasized that over and over in Max’s dossier. His awareness of his victims’ fear fed Max’s violence, and those who showed courage survived longer than those who did not. Black’s exact words. But easier said than done. And she was already starting to tremble.

  Claire took some deep breaths and forcibly stilled her hands and her heart. Time for one of them to die. She somehow managed to engender a mocking tone. But she sounded breathless because she was scared to death. “Well, well, look who came to see me. Max Soquet in the flesh.” She stopped, taking another breath, trying to garner strength that she didn’t have. “So what’s up, Max? You comin’ to tuck me in? Make sure I’m all comfy? Or do you just plan to slaughter me and be done with it?”

  Sliding off the bed as she spoke, she kept most of the mattress between her and the large, lethal, but seemingly well-mannered killer. Then she waited for him to attack her. Because he would, and he would do it with a weapon, most likely that Chinese silver dagger that Black’s report said he kept in a leather sheath on his belt and used to slash throats deep enough to decapitate people. She was just glad he hadn’t brought Zeus the Rottweiler to rip out her throat. Then she really wouldn’t have a chance.

  Max remained where he stood beside the door, silent, just watching her. He held himself very still and stared a hole through her face. She tried not to shiver. His dark eyes were hard, like chips of black and shiny flint, unblinking, cruel, and calculatingly evil. He had finally shed his quiet, gentlemanly mien. His control. He had come to teach her a hard lesson in civility. She knew it.

  Claire watched him take a small remote control from his pocket and point it at the security camera. The red light went out. The camera was off. Whatever he was planning to do, he didn’t want anyone watching, didn’t want video evidence. That’s why he had turned off the camera. That’s why he was alone inside the room with her and with no guards outside to witness what was about to transpire. Oh, God. But then he took out a smartphone, punched in a couple of commands, and placed it atop a bureau sitting beside the door. He was going to film what he did to her with his personal cell phone. His own personal snuff film to enjoy at his leisure?

  Claire felt the panic, pure and devastating, and it started eating a corrosive path through what was left of her self-control. Okay, she was afraid of him. Terrified out of her wits, in fact. She could admit it to herself. Quiet, self-contained, methodical murderers were worse than quick-tempered, mouthy ones. A lot worse. They were thinkers. They had everything figured out in advance, in a detailed scenario before they acted, including just how they would inflict torturous agony on their victims, how long it would last, and how intense it would be.

  Max Soquet had not come to mess around and exchange barbs or insult her or give her another chance. He had other things in mind, things that she didn’t like to think about. She knew that Max liked to beat his female victims almost to death and then brutally rape them while they bled and moaned and retched. In her case, and after the beating and the rape, he would strap her into that grenade vest while she was still alive. She tightened her fingers on the mirror, felt the razor-sharp g
lass cut through the thin T-shirt material and slice into her palm. She had to make him think she was unfazed by his superior size and strength.

  “What? You want a feature film to watch later so you can get your jollies a second time? You know, without all that bothersome blood spattering everywhere? That it, Max? What? You got a little library of snuff videos on your phone, right? Probably gets you all turned on every time you watch them. Gets you ready for the next innocent person you murder. Well, guess what? This time what happens here might not be something you want to watch again. This time you might come out with the short end of the stick. You know, dead. Just sayin’.”

  Max didn’t respond to her jibes, didn’t look affected by them at all. He took his time placing the grenade vest very carefully on the floor beside the door. Then he walked to the foot of the bed, where he removed his blue nylon jacket and then slowly unbuttoned his white dress shirt and placed both garments carefully over the footboard of the bed. He was bare chested, with lots of curly red chest hair and elaborate and colorful tattoos all over his torso and great big arms that looked about the size of Claire’s thighs. The largest tat said Beloved Mother in red and white. There were many others in fancy cursive script, but she sure as hell didn’t want to spend her last few moments on earth reading them.

  He reached into his jeans’ pocket and pulled out his famous leather gloves and locked a very intense black-eyed gaze on her. He held the gloves in one hand while he spoke to her, and his voice was so calm, so conversational, as if he were telling her about the weather outside or giving her directions to the bus depot. “You have been screwing around with my sister, making her angry and upset, trying to cause trouble for us, trying to make her do something stupid again. Well, now, Ms. Morgan, you have found your trouble, and I am a much more formidable foe than my poor, overemotional, traumatized little sister.”

  Claire’s swallow went down hard. She watched Max return to the door, twist the key in the lock, and then slip the key into his pants pocket. She inhaled a couple of deep breaths, trying to brace herself for what she knew was coming. She set her muscles, settled her mind, and prepared herself to fight back. Her adrenaline had begun to pump like crazy now, going absolutely wild, but that acted to make her mind sharper, but he was coming back across the room now. Walking slowly, staring at her with unblinking gaze, still somber, still serious about making her pay with the kind of pain that only he could dish out. Come on, Max, she thought, come on, get a little closer to me. Close enough for me to stab you in the gut, you big evil psycho bastard.

  Instead, he rounded the foot of the bed and stopped about two yards out from her, but just in front of her, squarely facing her. Trapping her back against the bed. Keeping the jagged shard of glass down behind her right thigh and tight inside her curled fingers, she edged sideways laterally, away from the wall out toward the center of the room. He countered her movement. For the first time, he smiled. Ice cold, cruel, totally without humor. “Uh-uh, Ms. Morgan, can’t get away this time. Time to pay the piper and take what’s coming to you. That smart mouth of yours won’t save you from the horrific beating I’m about to give you.”

  Now in big-time trouble, Claire decided to bait him. What else could she do? Maybe he wasn’t as invulnerable to insults as he thought he was. Maybe she didn’t have any other choice, either, other than to throw the first blow. But he was ready for that, too, she could tell by his stance, one leg behind the other, knees slightly bent, poised to react to whichever way she went, ready for her. He was heavy with muscle, tall as Black was, broad shouldered, and strong as an ox. No way could she put him down in a frontal attack. No way could she ever let him get a good hold on her or get on top of her. But maybe, if she played dirty, she might have a chance. But she knew that the instant she put herself into the reach of his long, muscled-up arms, her chances of winning went straight down the tube. So taunt him she must.

  “So, what now, Max? You decide to come up here and act all big and strong and scary and make me shake in my boots? That it? That how you get it up? Unarming women and then showing them who’s boss? Bet you wouldn’t be so confident if I had a weapon in my hand. How about making this a fair fight? You know, for once in your life? Scared to?”

  Max stared at her as he slowly tugged a glove onto his left hand. He said nothing until he had both gloves in place. He was probably afraid he’d mess up his new manicure when he slammed his fists into her face.

  “Actually, Ms. Morgan, I didn’t give any of that much thought. You need to be taught a lesson for annoying my sister and making her act even crazier than she usually does. So I’m going to have to put you in your place. Break a few bones, maybe. Mess up that pretty face of yours. Make sure you leave her alone for the rest of your stay with us. Truth? The fact that you are such an attractive woman only makes it that much more enjoyable for me.”

  Max stopped there and smiled as he continued. “I am going to humiliate you now, Ms. Morgan, in ways I don’t think you’ve ever been humiliated before. Until you beg for mercy. After you plead for your life a while, beg me to stop hurting you, then I’m going to go over there and activate that grenade vest and buckle it onto your broken body. Then I’m going to drag you upstairs and blow you up in front of your man. I might let him say good-bye to you, but I might not. I haven’t decided. He won’t die then, though. My father plans to keep him here a long time, but he’ll wish he was dead. He probably already does. Trust me on that.”

  Very glad to hear the vest wasn’t armed yet, Claire knew it was imperative to get away before he strapped the explosives on her. Once he did that, she was dead all right. That was the last act. She forced out as contemptuous a laugh as she could muster when so frightened that she could barely breathe. It came out sounding a lot more confident than she really felt. “Oh, I don’t know, Max, I’ve been pretty damn humiliated, now and again. I suspect you’re very good at this kind of thing, though. You know, like I said, you’re hell on wheels when beating up unarmed people smaller than you are. Just like your jackass, whacko bitch sister. You know, stripping somebody of all defenses and then being such a big tough guy. Not so tough with even odds, though, I’ll bet. Say, with Nicholas Black up there. He would eat you for lunch if you didn’t tie him down and drug him first. Tell me, have you ever given even odds? But, oh, yeah, that’s right. You usually just pick on women because they’re so much smaller than you are. Know what that makes you, Max? A big coward who probably runs like hell from fights with real men.”

  Max’s dead eyes now burned a hole in her face. He wasn’t smiling anymore. He wasn’t frowning anymore, either. He had his workaday expression in place, as if he just had a chore to do and he needed to get started so he could go back downstairs and watch football.

  When he did finally say something, Claire wished he hadn’t. “Do you want to take off your clothes yourself, Ms. Morgan, or do you want me to do it? Your call. I will give you that option before we get started.”

  At that, Claire’s blood pretty much formed into ice crystals, but she wasn’t going to let him assault her sexually. No way. She’d rather be dead than let that happen. She’d rather kill herself. So now she had a very good incentive to fight him, tooth and nail, and she still had a very sharp mirror shard that he didn’t know about. “Oh now, let me think, Max. That was just, oh, so titillating, my word, it really was. But guess what? I’d rather kiss a corpse than undress for you.”

  Max took another step toward her, his eyes very cold now, as he looked her up and down. Then he noticed that her hands were both hidden behind her back. She gripped the sharp piece of glass even tighter. It was gonna cut her hand big-time when she plunged it into his neck, but so be it. “You do understand that I’m gonna fight you like hell, right, Max? That I won’t go down easy.”

  “I would expect nothing less. I’ve heard all about you from my father. But that famous survival instinct that you’re purported to have? It’s only going to get you hurt worse, make the hour-long beating I’m going to give you
harder and bloodier and more brutal than usual. Think twice before you do something that stupid. There are times in battle when surrender is the wisest move. The path of least resistance.”

  “Oh, I get it. Better to just lay docile and pretend you’re Black, huh? Don’t think so. You just don’t measure up to him, you know, as a man. Or anything else.”

  For the first time, Max looked annoyed. Annoyed, cold, determined, and deadly. But, aha. He did have a problem with his own virility. Maybe that was his trigger. Maybe he got stupid when people used it. “Not much of a man, are you, Max? I bet you can’t get it up with a woman if you’re not beating the life out of her. That it? You got a problem that you don’t wanna talk about?”

  Man, he looked livid now. She had gotten to him. She didn’t move. Just waited. Alert and ready.

  “Shut your mouth and get on that bed.”

  That’s when Claire went for it, darting to her left. Unfortunately, he was quicker than he looked, but now he was close enough to stab. He grabbed her by the back of her T-shirt and jerked her around to face him. She let her body go with the rotation, using the centrifugal force, her fist with the sharp glass out now, the pointed tip plunging straight at the side of his neck. He saw the attack coming, feinted right, but she still managed to thrust the glass hard and deep into his left side. It hit a rib and stopped abruptly, slicing a deep, painful cut into her palm. She didn’t even feel the pain. She jerked it back out and thrust it in again at his waist, twice more, quick and hard and deep, getting him deep in the soft tissue under his ribs.