Merciless

by Bryan Smith

  More savage stomping ensued. Grant lost count somewhere around ten crushing impacts. The girl ceased her futile efforts to get out of the way after the third stomp only because she was no longer capable of it. Lindsey was in a frenzy, her wet hair flying about and hanging in her face. The look on her face, what he could see of it as she raged and howled like some wild beast, was sheer fury.

  She finally stopped and stood there breathing heavily for several moments, her whole body sheened in sweat. When she finally caught her breath, she looked at the girl’s mother and grinned. “Think I took care of that little problem for you. No need to thank me.”

  She laughed.

  Grant let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. “Fuck. Just . . . fuck.”

  Lindsey laughed again. “Exactly.”

  24

  THE BRUTALITY OF THESE PEOPLE continued to astonish Jorge. If there was one silver lining to all this madness, at least from his perspective, it was that the insane couple seemed to have forgotten all about him. Temporarily, at least. He was still stuck down here on the floor, bound to the fallen-over chair, but it wasn’t like he was hidden away out of sight somewhere. The respite he was currently enjoying was only happening because his captors were more interested in tormenting the newer arrivals to the cabin. That would change eventually, of course, probably as soon as the mother and daughter were dead.

  Because regardless of what Lindsey had promised the girl, she would not survive this experience. Any hints or suggestions to the contrary were only the woman toying with her. The horrific stomping incident was proof enough of that. Those were heavy blows delivered with maximum leverage and force, intended to inflict severe injury. He’d be surprised if any fetus growing inside the girl could have survived the assault. And that was just the tip of the iceberg. The stomping might also have ruptured vital organs. The girl could be dying from internal bleeding right now.

  The knowledge pained Jorge, of course, but there was nothing he could do to help her. That one leg of the chair he’d been working at earlier still felt somewhat fragile, but he wouldn’t be able to get back to work on it without making a significant amount of noise. Noise would, of course, draw attention back to him and that was the last thing he wanted. He could only hope there might yet be one more time when both maniacs would be out of the room. If that happened, he was determined to make the most of the opportunity. He would focus every bit of his remaining strength and mental energy on snapping that fucking leg free of the rest of the chair. If he could do that, getting entirely free might become at least remotely possible.

  He felt like laughing and crying at the same time. His survival depended on a whole lot of mights, maybes, and ifs. Too fucking many of them, probably. In all likelihood, he was still doomed to die here tonight.

  He wasn’t ready to give up just yet, but that girl dying sooner rather than later would be bad for him. Yes, there was an element of selfishness in his concern for her well-being. He felt bad about that, but it was basic human nature. With her gone, their attention would shift back to him that much sooner.

  The painful crick in his neck was getting worse every time he craned his head around for a look at the girl, to the point where it felt like an icepick was being shoved into his neck. It was so bad he was reluctant to take another look, even after allowing himself a few minutes for the pain to fade slightly. Now, however, panic was rising inside him, his need to know if the girl was still alive overriding his fear of the pain. He wished like hell he could tear the tape away from his face and spit out the woman’s soiled panties. If he could do that, he wouldn’t feel quite so much like he was choking every time he turned his head.

  He decided to rest his neck a few extra minutes before trying to take another look at the girl. His mind drifted as he allowed his eyes to flutter shut. Despite his ever-present terror of the situation, he felt tired. He was still in pain from the things that had been done to him, but right now that steady throbbing felt dull and distant. Hazy images from his childhood came into his head. These included sunny memories of his family on vacation somewhere in Florida. He saw his dad in a Hawaiian shirt grilling burgers by the pool at the cheap beachside motel where they stayed that summer.

  Jorge wasn’t quite fully asleep in those moments, but he was edging dangerously close to it. The dream of bygone days kept pulling him deeper into unconsciousness, with its promise of a soft, comfortable refuge from the hell his waking life had become. It was tempting to let go and sink all the way into that fuzzy, idealized echo of the past. He’d endured so much and couldn’t take much more of it. At the same time, another part of his psyche was sounding the alarm, insisting he needed to snap out of it and focus on what was happening. He needed to be awake and ready to seize the chance to save himself when it came.

  As the dream continued to linger, he became aware of voices from the here and now intruding. Multiple voices. Two of them belonged to the crazy couple, but there was one other. A female voice. Something in the timbre of it told him it belonged to the young girl. She was talking to their captors in a subdued way, almost in a monotone. His slow return to full wakefulness began with the realization that the tape must have been removed from her mouth. That more vigilant part of his psyche began screaming at him to wake up. Something had changed during his moments of near-sleep. He needed to open his eyes and finally take another look at what was happening over there.

  He heard footsteps.

  His eyes finally opened when he sensed people looming over him. He looked up and saw three sets of eyes staring down at him. The girl was still naked, but she’d been freed from her bonds. He saw the sticky tape residue still on her wrists. Gripped in her right hand was a big knife with a serrated blade. It had been wiped clean, but there were still flecks of blood lodged in the serrations. Had to be the same knife Lindsey had used to murder the girl’s father. Jorge’s brow creased in confusion. It made no sense. Why would they entrust their captive with a weapon?

  He was fully awake by the time the couple knelt and worked together to set the chair he was bound to upright again. The girl was hanging back a bit, a few feet away from them, her expression flat but unflinching as she stared at him. He saw blood between her legs and dark bruising to her abdomen. It took only about a second to understand that the blood was evidence of a forced miscarriage. Jorge looked into her eyes and understood he was looking at someone deeply traumatized by what had happened to her but determined to survive.

  It was then he remembered Lindsey’s promise to let the girl live in exchange for doing anything they asked of her. Jorge still believed it was an empty and cynical promise, but it was clear the girl believed it was the only chance she had. One she meant to take.

  He was so focused on the girl he at first paid little attention to what Lindsey was doing. That changed when he felt her tugging at one of his shoes. He frowned as he glanced down and saw she’d already untied the shoe. It came off in the next instant, along with the black sock he’d been wearing. She then shifted slightly sideways and removed his other shoe, tossing it aside. This was only a mildly curious development at first. He was far more worried about the knife and the girl’s grimly determined expression.

  Then the man handed his wife a hammer and two more of those enormous nails. The same kind Lindsey had shoved into the girl’s face not that long ago, a raw-looking wound that was still dribbling blood. Jorge began to scream behind the gag in his mouth when the woman positioned one of the nails above his bare left foot. He tried rocking the chair over as she raised the hammer over her head. He stopped when the man pressed the razor-sharp blade of a box-cutter to his throat and told him what would happen if he didn’t stay still.

  Jorge stopped rocking the chair. Terror again engulfed him as tears spilled down his face and all his hopes of escape vanished. The woman looked up at him and smiled in a leering way.

  Then she brought the hammer down and the thick length of unforgiving steel punched through bone and tissue.

  2
5

  THE CRAZY BITCH HAD AN eager look on her face. She’d just finished describing for Kelsey what she wanted her to do. In great and hideous detail. There was some small satisfaction when that expectant expression gave way to a look of surprise a moment later. The woman had clearly anticipated anything other than immediate agreement. Loud protestations of disgust, perhaps even refusal to go along with something so vile, because vile it definitely was.

  Vile and fucking deranged.

  Kelsey had known she would be required to do something awful beyond anything she’d ever imagined. She’d been somewhat mentally prepared for that, but the sadistic scenario conceived by the crazy woman far exceeded her worst fears about what she’d be compelled into doing. And yet she didn’t hesitate to say yes. Not even for a second.

  Because more than anything in the world, Kelsey Weatherby still wanted to live. She wasn’t naive. There was no reason to believe the crazy cunt had any intention of keeping her promise, if for no other reason than because she was a witness to murder and therefore a liability.

  In their place, there was no way she’d keep her word, but she’d not abandoned hope yet. She believed there was only one possible path to survival. It did not involve trying to outwit her captors or possibly trying to assault them during a perceived moment of vulnerability. There were two of them and only one of her. If she decided to fight, she might get one of them, but the other one would probably get her. Besides that, they were too guarded, too careful about how they were handling her for any such moment of vulnerability to arise.

  The one possible way out was to sink all the way down to their putrid, demented level. She had to be as willing to wallow in utter depravity as they were. More than that. She needed to exceed their warped expectations in every way. To maybe even go beyond what the woman had asked of her. To so impress them with her apparent enjoyment of the evil deed that they might consider her a kindred soul. She might even suggest they take her with them when they left this place, become a trio of traveling killers. Possibly they’d scoff at the notion, but she intended to sell it as hard as she could, because she believed if all went right, they might actually go for it. And then, somewhere out there on the road, she’d figure out a way to get away from them.

  There was a lot still ahead of her before that could happen, though. The hardest part of it would be maintaining an outward air of emotionless calm, whereas on the inside she was in a state of extreme anguish. Her father was dead. Her brothers were dead. The life she’d only just learned she was carrying inside her had been stomped out of existence. She could feel what was left of it trickling down her legs after they cut away the tape and allowed her to get to her feet. Her stomach was cramping and other things didn’t feel right inside her. She was terrified of what other damage the woman’s assault might’ve inflicted. All that had to be pushed aside. She had to summon levels of physical and mental strength she wasn’t sure she possessed.

  She might fail.

  But she would try her fucking damnedest.

  As she stood up, she glanced at her mother and forced herself not to wince at the miserable, beseeching expression on her face.

  You have to be hard, she told herself. Hard and merciless.

  It was the only way.

  She sneered at the woman who’d given her life, an expression conveying a level of contempt that wasn’t entirely an act. “I have to do it. It’s my only chance. I might’ve said no if you’d been more like a real mother to us, you know. Half the damn town knew you were screwing around on Dad. Except Dad, I guess, and now he’ll never know.”

  Kelsey spat in her mother’s face.

  The crazy couple gasped in disbelief. Then the woman laughed.

  Kelsey worked hard to keep her face blank.

  So far, so good.

  She helped her captors get her mother off the floor and into a chair. They positioned the chair near the cluttered table, facing the door. For some reason that was not yet clear, the woman was removing Piper Weatherby’s shoes. The other man, the one bound to the chair, was still on the floor. He was snoring softly, oblivious to the world of pain about to consume him. She was supposed to do him first, then her mother, but the couple did not appear to be in any huge rush. They were taking their time, enjoying the buildup to the main event.

  Kelsey, however, just wanted to get on with it. She’d psyched herself up to doing this horrendous thing, but she wasn’t at all sure how long she could keep it together. The sooner they could get started, the better. She wanted it done and behind her. The guilt and trauma that would inevitably follow could wait . . . if she lived.

  She made eye contact with the crazy woman as she got to her feet and set the shoes on the table. “I have an idea. Something to make it even better. But I need one of you to get my bag and my mom’s bag from our car. There’s some stuff I need in them.”

  She described the bags for them.

  The man and woman exchanged wary, perplexed glances. When the woman looked at her again, her expression was mildly distrustful. “Why do you need them?”

  Kelsey told her.

  The woman did a double-take. She looked even more surprised than when Kelsey had agreed to do this. “Are you shitting me?”

  Kelsey was stone-faced as she said, “No.”

  Inside, her soul was on fire. She was probably going to hell just for having thought of it. What she’d been asked to do was sickening enough in its own right, but this twist she’d come up with on her own represented a drastic escalation in sheer depravity they’d obviously never even considered. She could tell they were impressed and felt a reflexive twinge of twisted pride despite the deep revulsion she felt for the whole thing.

  The woman shook her head and glanced at her husband. “Go get the bags. I’ll keep an eye on her.”

  The man took one step toward the door, but hesitated, eyeing Kelsey suspiciously a moment before again looking at his wife. “Are you sure about that? I don’t think we can trust her yet. Maybe you should get the bags while I watch her.”

  The woman snorted and rolled her eyes. “Why, because you’re the man and therefore more capable of keeping her in check?”

  The man shrugged. “Well, yeah. Now that you mention it.”

  The woman scowled at him. “Go get the fucking bags, asshole. I can handle her.”

  The man grunted. “Whatever.”

  But he finally started toward the door again. He was still naked as he went outside. Any other time, this would’ve struck Kelsey as odd, but not on this night. Besides, as isolated as the cabin was, it wasn’t like he had to worry about being seen.

  Kelsey managed a small, inscrutable smile when he was gone. “Trouble in paradise?”

  “You could say that, I guess.”

  Kelsey fought to keep her smile from widening. This was good shit to know. One more thing she might use against them before it was all over. They’d been angry with each other before, after fucking right in front of her, but now she knew their problems ran deeper than an isolated incident of sexual frustration.

  The woman came toward her.

  Kelsey needed every ounce of will she had to not immediately retreat or visibly tremble. In another moment, the woman was standing right in front of her. She felt terror and anger. A great urge to smash her in the face rose up inside her. Yet she made herself remain still, keeping her eyes downcast rather than maintaining eye contact.

  Sensing her inner struggle, the woman laughed softly. “Relax. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  She slid a hand between Kelsey’s legs and put her mouth close to her ear.

  “I want to have a little taste of what I took from you.”

  Kelsey gritted her teeth and forced herself to remain rigidly still while it happened.

  26

  GRANT CAME BACK INTO THE cabin with two medium-sized nylon travel bags, one light blue and the other a dark shade of maroon. He carried them over to the table and set them on its already crowded surface after pushing some stuff aside to
make room. Lindsey shooed him aside and opened each bag, quickly rifling through the contents to confirm there were no hidden weapons.

  There were none.

  Clothing items made up the majority of what each bag contained. There were also books, makeup compacts, and clear bags containing toiletries. The blue bag had a cross-stitch kit zipped inside one of the side compartments. Based on what Kelsey had already told them, its presence there confirmed the bag as belonging to her mother, something Lindsey would’ve been able to figure out anyway. The clothes in the bag were the sort more typically worn by an older woman than a teenager, with the opposite true of the other bag’s contents.

  Once Lindsey had given her the okay, Kelsey took a moment to go through her own bag, extracting a small plastic packet containing white powder that had been hidden in a rolled-up pair of socks.

  Lindsey frowned. “Is that what I think it is?”

  Kelsey opened the packet and scooped a bit of the powder out with a fingernail. “If you think it’s cocaine, then yes, it is.”

  She held the powder to a nostril and snorted it up. Another small scoop of powder then went up her other nostril.

  Lindsey still felt slightly bewildered. “How does a kid afford cocaine?”

  Kelsey smirked. “There’s all sorts of ways of getting things. People give me stuff because I’m rich and pretty, especially if they think I’ll fuck them. Honestly, I could afford it with the allowance Daddy gives me, or used to give me until you killed him, but it’s much more fun getting things for free.”

  She took yet another small hit of coke.

  Lindsey glanced over at Grant, saw the avid way he was observing the girl. She could see his interest in her was close to obsession. Everything about her fascinated him. Her body, of course, which was lovely, admittedly, but also the demeanor she’d exhibited since being freed of her bonds. She was smart and sarcastic, even when faced with horrific things that would break many people much older than her. And now she was showing him her bad girl bonafides.