Pieces of Autumn

by Mara Black

  But he's not fucking real.

  Autumn had just broken the most important rule of all.

  "I'm sorry," she said, quietly. Her face was very pale.

  "Sorry?" I echoed, mockingly. "Sorry? That's all you have to say about this?"

  "I just wanted -"

  "I don't need your excuses," I growled.

  Red on the edges of my vision. The Viper cracked his knuckles. I knew I was being irrational, and that was just the way I liked it. I hated this girl, I hated her for shining a light on all the dark, private corners of my life. I hated her because she made me remember my weakness.

  I'd been alone here for such a long time, nursing my anger, with no one but myself to take it out on. She'd finally given it an outlet. And for that, she would pay.

  She lied to me. She put my life in danger. She had no respect - not that that was any fucking surprise.

  When she first came, I'd believed the worst. Stoker wasn't usually that obvious, but when it came to me, they were frightened and desperate. They hated the fact that I existed. If they saw an opportunity to take me down, they would.

  And this girl was perfect for the job. Her fierceness, the intelligence in her eyes, the way she met me eye to eye, no matter what the circumstances. She could kneel, she could bow, but she was never broken. She couldn't be broken.

  I used to think the same thing about Daniela.

  I was wrong.

  This girl, Autumn, she was called - she was sent to kill me. I was sure of that.

  At first, I thought she knew. But now, I wasn't so sure. Either way, it made sense to keep her close - the viper against my chest. It was better to let Stoker believe their plan was working. That I was beginning to trust her, or at the very least, that I was blinded by my lust.

  She had no weapons, and she had no access to mine. That, I could be sure of. But the way she'd lurked outside my room was decidedly sinister. She claimed it was pure curiosity. That was always her excuse. But what kind of woman would be curious about me? What kind of woman would choose to stay here?

  No. This was rotten. If I had half a brain in my skull, I'd throw her out to the snakes. I'd let Birdy take her.

  This whole thing was just too God damned convenient. Stoker knew. They had to know.

  The memory of her bright green eyes, peeking through the crack in the door, made my cock twitch. I wanted to believe that she was excited by me. Intrigued. Aroused. And there was no denying she'd responded when I let the Viper take over, treating her roughly, reminding her who was in charge of her body now.

  Standing there, watching her eyes wide and afraid, her pulse fluttering next to her throat, I wanted her. I wanted to smell her again, taste her arousal, wrap my hand around her throat while I fucked her.

  "I never would have done it, if I thought you would've agreed to protect me after you knew." Her tears were beginning to flow. "I know I don't have much time left. Unless someone else gets to him first..."

  "You think I'll be your white knight?" I laughed, loud and harsh. "You think I'd go hunting for one of the most dangerous men in the world, on behalf of some little slit?"

  My own words tasted like poison, and even as the Viper licked his lips, relishing the imaginary taste of blood, sickness and self-hatred churned in my gut.

  "I'm a human being!" she sobbed, clutching at my pant leg. "I deserve to be -"

  "Shut up!" I shouted, finally losing my tight control. I wanted to fucking punch a hole in the wall, but I knew from previous experience that was nearly impossible. The last thing I needed was a broken hand - though, of course, this girl would probably relish the opportunity to care for me.

  Her eyes were wide and unblinking, but she didn't flinch when I reached down and grabbed her arm, dragging her upright. Her legs trembled beneath her as she stared at me.

  "Stop it," I snarled. "Whatever you think you're doing, stop. I'm not your fucking knight in tarnished armor. I'm not a broken man with a heart of gold. I'm pure fucking evil, and you made the choice to shackle yourself to me. Is this what you wanted? To be afraid all the time?"

  Her face was maddeningly calm, although her jaw trembled slightly. "I've been afraid for as long as I can remember," she said. "You think this is the worst I've ever lived through?"

  Laughing darkly, I released her. "That sounds suspiciously like a challenge. You should be more careful with your words."

  Raising her head higher, she met my eyes.

  "You can choose your own punishment," I said, my mind racing, cock stiffening in my pants. "But you only get three chances. If I don't agree to your first three choices, then you have to endure my punishment. My choice. Those are my terms."

  She swallowed, audibly. "That sounds fair to me."

  What the fuck? What was wrong with this girl?

  She'd do anything to stay alive. That's what's wrong with her. And you're the sadistic bastard making her suffer for it.

  I steered her to the edge of the bed and sat her down, settling down next to her and waiting for an answer. A moment later, she stood, pacing the room in thought. I wondered if she was mirroring me on purpose. I wouldn't fall for such cheap psychological tricks, but if she was making an effort - interesting.

  After a moment's silence, she cleared her throat and spoke again. There was a hint of a smile on her face. "Send me to bed without supper?"

  This fucking girl.

  "Very funny." I leaned closer, elbows on my knees. "That's one option down, I hope you're proud of yourself for that."

  "How about..." She took a deep breath. "No video games for a month?"

  I allowed myself a cold smile, but I was burning inside. The flames were only stoked higher by her defiance, but I didn't dare let it show. My dick was nothing but a distraction. This wasn't about getting off, this was about teaching her a lesson.

  Same thing, isn't it?

  Why was she doing this? Why did she want me to be angry? Didn't she know she was playing with fire?

  "I don't know what you think you're doing," I said. "But this isn't going to end well for you. One more chance. Make it count."

  "Well," she said. "I'm already grounded. I'm not sure what else you could possibly do to me. I forfeit."

  My fists clenched. God damn it. Why?

  "Fine," I said, lust clouding my vision. "My choice, then. I hope you're happy."

  She was smiling, standing up on her feet, equal parts proud and afraid. A sharp feeling jumped through my chest, but it was quickly gone.

  "I don't particularly like this game," she said. "But I can play it, just as well as you can."

  "It's not a game," I insisted, standing up and prowling over to her. I didn't care anymore if she knew how badly I wanted to fuck her, how much she turned me on with her disobedience. "You think this is fun? You think you're going to walk out of here laughing?"

  She stood tall, not answering, as I buried my fingers in her hair and gripped hard. Her eyes watered, but she never flinched, or made a sound.

  I murmured in her ear. "Have you thought about all the possibilities for your punishment? What if I decided to fuck you until you can't walk? What if I plunder every part of you, using your body until I've got everything I could ever want from you? Until you're ruined? Did you think about that? Did you want it? Is that why you forfeit? Is that why you dared to be so sarcastic with the man who owns you?"

  She trembled, her eyes falling closed.

  "You can do anything you want to me," she said, softly. "But it won't change the fact that I don't belong to you."

  "That's sweet of you to give me your permission," I said, with a dark chuckle. "But I don't need it. In fact, I'd prefer it if you scream and cry and fight back."

  Her eyes fluttered open, and I saw that the fear of me had made them pale. "I'm not afraid of you," she insisted.

  "That's another lie," I snarled, grabbing the roots of her hair even tighter. "Why, why, why do you do this to me? Why do you want me to hurt you?"

  Her chest rose and fell, hypnotic
ally, with each breath. She was practically panting with fear, but I swore I could see the stiffness of her nipples through her dress. She wasn't just afraid.

  She wanted it.

  I hated and loved that. Spinning her around, I quickly bent her over the lounge to see the evidence.

  "Pull up your dress," I ordered her. "Show me. Show me how much you hate the idea of being my property."

  Slowly, hesitantly, she did.

  I crouched down, breathing in the heady scent of her arousal. She was glistening wet, her pussy bloomed open with desire, begging for my touch. I fisted my cock through my pants and bit back a groan. God, she was fucking intoxicating.

  Leaning forward, I reached up with one finger and flicked the swollen bud of her clit. She screamed, gripping the cushion.

  I laughed as I stood back up. "Wonderful. I want you to keep thinking of all the ways I could punish you. Every. Single. One. Let your imagination run wild. Don't touch yourself. If you touch yourself, like you did last night in your sleep, I'll know. So I recommend you don't let yourself have any more wet dreams about me."

  She made a small noise of protest, but didn't move. She didn't even lower her dress, because I hadn't yet told her that she could.

  What a perfect, maddeningly beautiful slave she was.

  "When I'm ready, you'll get your punishment." I let out a harsh breath through my nostrils, palming my cock and relishing the shock of pleasure and arousal as I rubbed through my pants. "Not a moment sooner. Now, get the fuck out of my sight."

  She ran.

  I unzipped hastily, stroking hard and fast, feeling the beginnings of an orgasm tingling behind my balls. I came with a tortured groan that didn't sound like my own voice, shooting halfway across the fucking room in huge, arcing ropes.

  This girl was going to be the death of me.

  But at least I could enjoy the journey on my descent into hell.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The Syndicate

  I waited for seven days.

  The longest week of my life, I waited, silent, not daring to leave my room or open my mouth. Tate brought food to me, leaving it outside my door with one firm knock. He'd be gone by the time I opened the door to retrieve it.

  More than once, it occurred to me that this was my punishment. The most sadistic game of all, making me anticipate something that would never happen.

  No, Tate was certainly capable of much worse sadism than that. But either way, it wasn't much of a comfort.

  I had been reckless and stupid. I knew that now. It was one thing to be bitter and sarcastic with him when I thought he was about to sign my death warrant. But once he'd made it clear he intended to keep me around, in spite of my lies, I should have acted more grateful.

  But I just couldn't bring myself to keep groveling. Not when he was enjoying it so much, playing this stupid, childish game with rules and punishments and lording over me like...

  Like he really did own me.

  I wouldn't let it happen. I couldn't. He would have to confront his desire to torment me; I wouldn't grant him the absolution of asking for it.

  On the sixth day, I heard a noise that I'd never heard in this house before.

  Someone was pounding at the door.

  I got up, blearily, having only just fallen asleep a few minutes before. I'd been tossing and turning the whole night, catching snatches of rest whenever my mind managed to stop racing.

  Yanking my own door open, I realized the pounding was coming from somewhere else. Down the hall, Tate's door flew open, and he charged down the stairs in a blur. He was holding a rifle.

  Oh God, he found me already.

  That was the first thought that crossed my mind.

  Heart pounding, I stood rooted at the top of the stairs. I didn't dare run, and I didn't dare hide. If they knew I was here, they wouldn't stop until they found me. And no matter what kind of man Tate was, he didn't deserve to die for me.

  I could just barely see the front hallway from where I was. Tate had his eye pressed against the peephole, gun in hand.

  "We're unarmed," came a voice from outside. "Please. We just want to talk."

  Tate yanked the door open, training the rifle on whoever was standing on the other side.

  "So talk," he growled.

  Silently, I began walking down the stairs.

  "I don't mean you any harm," said a voice.

  I recognized it.

  Joshua?

  "Of course you don't," said Tate. His finger was on the trigger.

  "I'm not who you think I am," said Joshua. "I'm not with Stoker. I'm with the Syndicate. Maybe you've heard of them."

  My throat went dry, my head buzzing. The Syndicate. That word was tossed around on the streets the way people in Nottingham probably whispered Robin Hood.

  "We are real," he said. "Despite what a lot of people think. And we are working for change. But it's slow going. Particularly with Stoker. Much as I wish we could just storm the place and destroy it, they have networks all over the world, connections, it's a giant spider's web. It has to be dismantled carefully. There will be a lot of collateral damage, no matter how well we do it."

  Tate's voice was grim. "You think I don't know that?"

  "We need your help, Tate," said Joshua. "Please. I know you want nothing more than to forget they ever existed, but..."

  Tate slammed the door in his face.

  The knocking started again, immediately. My head was swimming and I couldn't even being to comprehend what was happening, but when Tate turned to me, his eyes spoke murder.

  "Did you have anything to do with this?" he hissed.

  My throat constricted a few times before it let me speak.

  "No," I managed to whisper.

  He stared at me for a few moments more, before turning back to the front door. The pounding hadn't stopped.

  "The girl you brought me yesterday," he shouted. "What does she have to do with all of this?"

  "Nothing," Joshua shouted back. "It was pure luck, I happened to be assigned to her - and she happened to be a gift for you. That's how I knew where to find you. But it wasn't her doing."

  Tate yanked the door open again, the rifle coming back up to his shoulder. "Get inside," he said. "Sit. Keep your hands on the back of your head, both of you."

  I realized there was someone with Joshua - an older woman in jeans and a flannel shirt.

  "This is Mary," he said. "She's one of our veterans. She's seen men like Mr. Charles go down before, and she'll do anything to see it again."

  They both kept their absurd pose, hands on their heads, while Tate circled them with his gun. "That's very noble of you," he sneered. "I don't believe in luck. Tell me what you know about the girl. Why did they send her?"

  "I don't know," said Joshua. "I'm not privy to those discussions. The Seven have them in private."

  His eyes flicked towards me, but then quickly returned to the man with the gun. Tate let out a long, harsh exhale through his nose.

  "How the fuck did you manage to get into their organization?" he demanded.

  "It was easy enough," Joshua replied. "All I had to do was pretend to be helpless."

  "How do you know they're not playing you?"

  "I guess I don't," Joshua admitted. "Not for sure. But I do know that I'm still alive, and we're still operating. The groundwork has been laid. Maybe it's all an elaborate trap. I don't know. But there's nothing tying me to the Syndicate, as far as they know." He smiled, wanly. "Not unless you tell them."

  "You think we have chats over fucking afternoon tea?" Tate glared at both of them. "Get one thing straight - there's no taking down Stoker. Whatever you've seen there, it's much bigger and much worse than you could possibly imagine. They can own anyone they want to. They can control anything they need to control. Someone will betray you, and you won't even live long enough to wonder who it was. Or maybe you will - and that'll be even worse. By the end of it, you won't even remember your own name."

  Joshua was silent for a lon
g moment, exchanging a few meaningful glances with Mary.

  "You're right," he said, at last. "I'm sorry. I should have known better than to assume you'd help us."

  "I think we're done here," Tate said, abruptly, lowering his gun and heading for the doorway. Both Joshua and the woman started to make noises of protest, but he silenced them with a raised hand before pausing at the foot of the stairs.

  Tate stared at me. A silent order, but just as loud and clear as if he'd said it.

  Come.

  But something in Joshua's face made me deathly curious. He wasn't done talking, and I wanted to hear what he had to say. As terrified as I was of what would happen, especially after they left - if they left - I had to know.

  I ignored Tate.

  But instead of snapping an order at me, with a crooked finger, a warning in his tone, he just spun on his heel and left the room. Perfectly silent. Anger radiated off him in waves, but something about the presence of these people was stilling his tongue. He didn't want them to know.

  He doesn't want them to see him treating me like a slave.

  My head was spinning.

  Why?

  "Listen," said Joshua, as Tate rapidly disappeared up the spiral staircase. "If you have any kind of influence - any at all - please try to get him to talk to us. It's very important."

  The woman was nodding in agreement.

  "We need him," said Joshua. His voice became low, urgent. "We need him to take down Stoker."

  My head swam. I wanted to snap, to lose my composure and warn him that Tate wasn't who he thought he was - there was no way he possibly could be. A man who would help dismantle Stoker, brick my brick - or preferably with a wrecking ball, or TNT - would never treat another human being like this.

  But I still didn't know if I could trust Joshua, trust this woman. I didn't know if I could trust anyone.

  "I don't," I said, finally. "He does what he wants. But maybe I could help you."

  Joshua shook his head. "Trust me. We're in a bunch of tents in the wilderness right now. We're hardly better off than you were in whatever shantytown I dragged you out of. You'll be much better off here. Much safer."