My Valentine: Siren #2

by Roberts, Jaimie

  As a wave of pleasure shoots through me, I bite down on her neck, causing her to scream out. “Help me!” she screams, but this time it’s not in her normal Scottish accent.

  It’s Scarlet’s.

  I pull my head up, locking my eyes with her fearful ones. They’re the most boring brown eyes I’ve ever seen. “Did you put contacts in to hide those precious green eyes of yours?”

  She starts shaking her head. “Please, Reece! This has to stop.”

  “Back to the Scottish accent again. It’s getting tedious now.” I run my hand up her thigh, and she answers by frantically pushing me away from her. What she doesn’t realise is the more she struggles, the more turned on I’m getting.

  As I reach the apex of her thigh, I marvel at how smooth they are—how smooth I remembered them to be. “Scarlet,” I whisper again, closing my eyes as I take in the smell of her.

  With one quick tug, I rip her knickers away from her body. She starts to struggle more, screaming and thrashing wildly in my arms. For a moment, a part of me wonders what the hell I’m doing. I think that this is Mercy and not Scarlet. If it were Scarlet, she wouldn’t be thrashing so wildly, trying to get me off her now. But then, the other, larger part of me—the rational part—knows this is Scarlet, and I am positive Scarlet will want this from me just as much as I want it from her. Maybe she’s just gotten better at acting the part of a rape victim. She always was kinky like that.

  “You really are struggling, aren’t you, Scarlet? Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll be pumping it inside you in no time.”

  I watch as her eyes go wide and she searches the door. “No one’s coming to help you,” I say, laughing. “It’s just you and me … the way it’s supposed to be.”

  As I let go of one of her wrists to undo my jeans, she starts relentlessly punching me—over and over again. It fucking hurts, but at the same time, I love it. It’s only when I release the monster, palming it in my hand, that she screams louder, shouting for someone … anyone to come and help her.

  Placing my hand over her mouth, I shush her. “People will hear.” She rewards me by biting my hand. I scream out, but laugh when I manage to release it from her grip. “Kinky little slut,” I say, grabbing her other wrist and holding it in place. With my body, I push her forward until she’s lying flat on her desk. She’s wild, thrashing her head around. It’s just how I remember Scarlet.

  My beautiful Scarlet.

  My hips instinctively flex in her direction, seeking out the warmth of her pussy. I feel I’m there, but when I try and push forward I’m met with resistance. “Are you not wet enough yet, darling? I always got you wet.” I let go of her wrist to reach down between her legs. I find her sweet spot and try circling it—just how I remembered her liking it all those months ago.

  With her hand free now, she starts punching at my back, screaming at me to get off her. She’s breathless. I know her body’s giving her away. She wants this as much as I do.

  I keep circling as she keeps thumping, over and over and over again. I get so angry and turned on by it that I no longer care if she’s ready or not.

  Grabbing my cock, I position it at her entrance and thrust hard inside of her. She screams, and I groan, closing my eyes.

  Fucking bliss.

  Sweet fucking heavenly bliss.

  She’s just like how I remembered. Warm, tight, pulsating, hungry. It’s everything it was and more.

  With my eyes still closed, I relish the feel of her beneath me again. She’s still playing the game, still struggling, still screaming, but for every minute that goes by that no one helps her, it gives me renewed energy.

  I start to move, thrusting deep, but when my balls tighten—already ready to come, I stop a moment. Fuck, it’s been too long. So long that it’s only going to take two strokes, and I’ll be done. I don’t want to come yet. I want this feeling to last as long as I can make it.

  It’s like I’m having an out-of-body experience. Then, I hear screaming. I hear shouting. And I can also feel her struggling. She jerks beneath me, causing another wave of pleasure to shoot up my spine. I start moving again, thrusting hard. Once. Then twice. I can already feel I’m ready to come again, but this time, I can’t stop it. This time, it’s completely taken over me.

  My balls tighten in anticipation. I can feel myself about to blow when two sets of arms pull me off her. I roar, fucking anger pulsing through me. I struggle as the arms hold me down, but I’m so strong that I manage to break free. As I look up at my prey, she’s crying and trying to pull her skirt down. I run to her, yanking her arms away from her skirt.

  “Mine!” I growl, not caring that these fuckers are coming to get me. No one gets in the way of me and Scarlet. “Mine!” I scream again, ripping at her skirt to try and get my rock hard dick back inside of her. I only just manage to get the tip back there again when I feel a blow to my head.

  The world turns black.

  Scarlet

  “Where the fuck were you?” I scream at the police, wondering why it took so long for them to get here. Vera is with me, arm around my shoulder as she comforts me. I’m upset that he did this, but I’m even more so with myself. I should have known this would happen. I just thought that when I gave the go ahead for Vera to call the police that they would be here in time.

  “There was an accident about six kilometres away that caused a traffic jam.” He looks at my dishevelled state. I’m at least decent now and sitting on the couch, but my stupid fucking nasty grey skirt is all ripped in a couple of places. I wouldn’t mind so much, but it’s because Reid did it.

  Again.

  My hatred for that man reaches new heights. I know he’s been going fucking cuckoo lately because Akilah’s been keeping me informed. When he told me that he’d had a drink and thought he was heading my way, I had been prepared for him. I just didn’t realise he’d turn up bloodied and ready to rape me just off the bat like that. I thought he would tell me crazy, stupid things. What I hadn’t counted on is him using the fact that he hasn’t been able to get it up since me as an excuse to tear his way inside of the woman he knows as Dr Mercy.

  And he did tear his way inside of me. For a moment, though, as he was circling my clit, the old Scarlet came to the surface, allowing me to feel the pleasure it gave me. As much as I hated Reid, I knew that feeling pleasure was a damn sight better than feeling how disgusting I knew he would make me feel otherwise if I fought what little good he was trying to bring me.

  So, I did allow it. A momentary lapse back into the old me allowed me to relish the moment with him again. It was only for a few seconds. As I felt myself slip, a flash of David and James came into my head, however, and that brought me back into the here and now with a massive thump. It was then that the fear crept back in. It was the same fear I used to have when Richard came into my room all those years ago when I was a teenager. The same fear I had when I came home from school, knowing he would want to take me again—just like he had the day before and the day before that. I remember Mondays had been worst as most of the time, he would never be able to get to me at the weekends. I learnt to hate Mondays with a passion. Those were the days when he was rougher, hungrier.

  In the moment that the fear came, an enormous amount of anger came with it. I fought, but I knew it was a futile endeavour. Reid had somehow managed to gain the strength of about ten men. It was like watching him going into a trance as he laid me down, pushing himself inside of me.

  I began to feel lost. I didn’t know what to do. But then I remembered a trick I had learnt from all those years ago with Richard.

  I blanked out.

  I went to that special place I knew to go to when it felt like I couldn’t handle what was being done to me. I allowed my body to go numb along with my mind. Reid was on top of me, grunting, moaning, and thrusting, but it all became like a distant sound—a distant going on that I wasn’t a part of.

  “Dr Mercy, I need to take you to the hospital,” one of the Spanish policemen tells me.

&nb
sp; I snap my eyes to him, shaking my head. “No. I’m fine.”

  He frowns. “But, señorita, he hurt you.”

  Yeah, and I’m going to hurt him even more!

  “I don’t want the hospital or the police involved. He needs help. He’s had some sort of psychotic episode. He’s dangerous and needs urgent psychiatric treatment.” Even Lopez told me what a hellhole it was—that it was like putting him in a Spanish version of Shutter Island. I think he even called me a sadistic bitch. He’d smiled when he called me that.

  “But, señorita,” he complains again.

  I hold my hand up to stop him. “Contact Chief Lopez from the Guardia Civil. He’ll know all about this. I’ll speak with him and only him. Now, please … just go. I need to be alone for a few minutes.” I turn to Vera. “Can you escort them out?”

  She gives me a look I can only describe as pity—pity for a victim. I’m tired of being a fucking victim. In truth, I have only myself to blame for chasing after Reid and seeking my revenge. It’s come at a cost, but I’ll fucking take it if it means Reid will suffer for the rest of his life in return.

  I watch as they reluctantly leave, and all I can think about now is David and how devastated he will be when he discovers the extent to which Reid has violated me. He’ll be positively murderous. For those reasons, I can’t tell him. I know I can’t. Once I walk out of here today and close the door to this part of my life and leave it behind me, I will have to keep what happened here locked up with it.

  And so, I take a few minutes before I call Lopez, and I allow myself to cry. I allow a steady stream of tears to escalate until I am sobbing uncontrollably for all that Reid has done to me—both in the past and in the present. I mourn the fact that he was able to render my carefully constructed defences temporarily useless, thus turning me into the helpless, victimised child I started out as rather than the nearly invincible survivor bent on justice I have become for those few minutes he had me pegged to my desk. What he put me through was indescribable, and I continue to cry until there are no more tears left to shed. I cry until the anger resurfaces.

  The hurt.

  The pain.

  The suffering.

  The desire for revenge.

  This is what I am here for. I came seeking vengeance, and I am ready to complete my mission. I roughly wipe the tears from my eyes, take a few deep breaths, and pick myself up from the sofa. I gather all my things, and once done, I take a look around the office I have only had for the last week or so and smile when the truth hits me:

  Reid may have won the battle twice.

  But I am about to win the motherfucking war.

  Reid

  It’s been six days since I ended up in this fucking hellhole. Five of those days, I’ve been drugged, assessed by doctors, drugged again, and assessed by even more doctors. I got so pissed off that on the third day, I lashed out at one of the doctors, causing a load of men in white coats to come in and give me a shot.

  A psychotic break. That’s what they’re calling it. I had a psychotic break brought on by the fact that I can’t come to terms with what I did to Scarlet.

  She’s dead.

  I know that now. In the last couple of days, after apologising to the doctor, I’ve been allowed to be lucid enough to realise what I did. In my own mind, I had convinced myself again that Mercy was Scarlet. I had raped—again—just like I did with Scarlet.

  I convinced myself—hell, I still convince myself—that it was her. She smelt the same, she felt the same, and her pussy was just how I remembered it with the exception that it was tighter. But I realise now that it was tight because she didn’t want me there. She was tight because she was trying to fight the fucking monster inside of me.

  And I am a fucking monster. No doubt about that. She made me into a monster. I’m sure of it. I know it sounds crazy, but I still wonder if it wasn’t her all along, orchestrating this whole thing for me to wind up where I am.

  And I’d hardly be surprised if that was the case. This is—by far—worse than any prison I could have ended up in. During the day, I live with crazy talk. Men walk around the halls and threaten to kill me because I look like Jason Voorhees from Halloween. This one guy said it, and now they’re all convinced I’m him. When I tried asking how I could look like him when he wears a mask, the guy that convinced them said not to look at me or I’d stab them in their sleep.

  And at night. Fuck me, the screams at night. It goes on and on and on until my head bursts. I keep conjuring up scenarios in my mind that the men in white coats have them tied to a table as they perform torture methods on them. I know it’s all bullshit, but I still can’t stop myself from imagining it.

  The only person I miss and now can’t stop thinking about is Mercy. For the last six days, I’ve been begging and begging them to contact her and ask her to come here, so I can apologise. I know she’s not pressed charges, and I can’t understand why she’s protecting me again. After everything I’ve done to her, somehow, she still cares.

  “You got a cigarette?” I ask my inmate, Charlie. That’s another thing I’ve taken up since being in this hellhole. It allows me a few minutes of calm away from the madness of this place. When he scoots up further along his bed, his eyes dart in every direction but mine, and I say, “Hey, Charlie. I was talking to you. Got a cigarette?” When he starts frantically playing with his fingers, I get up. He still hasn’t answered me, and he’s still avoiding eye contact.

  Once I reach his bed, I lean forward. He scoots up further. “What the fuck’s going on? Why won’t you look at me?”

  “Donald said not to. He said you’ll stab me in my sleep.”

  Donald’s the fucking troublemaker who’s convinced everyone I’m Jason. I sigh. “And where do you think I’m going to get a knife from in this place? Besides, I can’t be Jason. Jason wears a mask.” I try reasoning with him, but just like all the others, it doesn’t work. “Fucking crazy bastards,” I mutter under my breath. Then, I think of something. “Okay, Charlie, I’ll tell you what. If you don’t give me a cigarette, I will turn into Jason and stab you in your sleep tonight.”

  That gets him up and running towards his little cupboard. Shakily, he gets out a cigarette and hands it to me without looking me in the eye.

  I start laughing, and as I do, one of the wardens comes in, knocking on our door as he does. “Valentine, you have a visitor.”

  My heart rate picks up. “Who is it?” I ask, hoping and praying it’s her.

  He shrugs. “I don’t know. Some hot doctor. I don’t remember her name. I just remember her legs.”

  Mercy came. She fucking came for me.

  I don’t waste any more time. Tucking my cigarette in my tracksuit bottoms pocket for now, I follow the warden out to the visiting room.

  As I take the walk down the hall, I feel the smile creep up. My first genuine smile since I came into this hellhole. But then, as suddenly as it had come, it has disappears as I remember what I did to her. My poor, innocent Mercy.

  I just hope she can forgive me.

  Scarlet

  Reid had been kept in a high security psychiatric ward for the last few days, and I had been revelling in it ever since.

  “Officer Lopez, you know I can’t hand out client notes. It’s against data protection and client privileges, etcetera.”

  Lopez smiles as he leers his greedy little chalk-like eyes at me. “I can always get a warrant.”

  I smile, liking that he’s going along with my joke.

  All my notes are already waiting for him—including some taped conversations that I’m sure he’ll find very useful. To be honest, out off everything I had planned, I certainly hadn’t planned on Lopez. He’s just an added bonus. Ever since I tipped the police off about the money and drugs, I’ve had Lopez right where I’ve wanted him. He’s been doing most of the hard work. Planning all this and executing my plan hasn’t been easy.

  But having Reid right where he belongs has been worth every single agonising second of it.


  Not only did he take my life, he also stole my half of the money. I was so pissed off that he had it that I would rather slimy Lopez have it instead of Reid. At least this way he got a glimpse into what it was Reid had put me through.

  “Here,” I say, pushing forward all of the stuff he needs.

  He looks down at me before looking up. “What about the warrant?”

  I smirk. “Oh, come now,” I say, flashing my eyelids at him. “You and I both know you already have one. I’m just saving you the bother of showing it to me.”

  A deep rumble sounds in his chest as he walks forward. “You are a very clever, señorita.”

  “Soon to be señora,” I say, showing him my engagement ring that’s now on the left finger—exactly where it should be.

  “The lucky bastardo,” he answers, rolling his R.

  He bends down, picking up all I have on Reid. Most of the notes I wrote are crap. Those remaining notes are what I will take with me as soon as I lock this place up and say goodbye. I hadn’t planned on being in this office again, but I knew that Lopez would want to finalise everything, and I certainly wasn’t going to meet him in my apartment. That had already been taken care of anyway. All that’s left is just the handing over of the keys once I’m done here.

  “So,” he says, still standing in front of me, “what will you do now?”

  I shift in my seat before getting up and grabbing my bag. “I got what I came for. Now, it’s time to go home.”

  “And where might that be?” he asks, checking out my breasts. This time, they’re all on show. No pretences anymore. No more stupid frilly shirts and long, boring skirts.

  “Ah, come now. You know that I’m not divulging that.”