by P. G. Forte
He’d had her right where he wanted her then, completely under his control, like a wild horse who’d been bit-trained and broken.
"You’re gonna do what you want and then kill me anyway,” she’d said, in a hopeless little voice. “Aren’t you?”
As he gave the scarf around her neck a tug, he couldn’t help but smile. He couldn’t help but tease, “Am I? What do you think?”
Well, of course he was going to kill her, the silly bitch. That had never been a question. But whether it was fast or slow, that was yet to be seen. That would depend on her. At the moment, he was inclined to draw things out. She was proving so very much more entertaining than anything he’d had in a very long time. He’d almost hate to see it end.
“How’s this feel?” he asked, as he slid his hand into her pants and stroked her pussy. “You like that?” She shuddered at his touch. Tears twinkled in her eyes like tiny stars. He buried a finger inside her. “Or is it better like this?”
Her chin wobbled, but she said nothing. He felt a small frown furrow his brow. When he asked a question, he expected an answer. “Maybe you’d rather have my cock inside you?” He shoved a second finger in beside the first. “Is that what you’re waiting for? Huh? Is it?”
She thrust out her lower lip and pouted. “I don’t care.”
Not the answer he was expecting. “Oh, you don’t, huh? You must think you’re real tough, don’t you? How about dying, do you care about that?”
She started to shake her head, and then stopped when she remembered she couldn’t. “No,” she mumbled. “Life sucks, anyway.”
He stopped and studied her expression. Although her eyes had gone dark with pain they were also without guile. And without hope. Interesting.
He pulled his hand out of her pants, and pushed up her shirt. “Ask me to let you go.”
Her eyes narrowed down to starry little slits. She clenched her jaw and whispered, “No.” No? He lowered his head and bit her; not gently, just not hard enough to leave marks. She was a little on the small side, but so deliciously soft. He nipped at her again, just for the hell of it. “Ask,” he repeated.
“Mm-mm,” she whimpered, shifting her head from side to side, as far as the scarf would allow. Tears leaked down her face.
He gave the scarf a twist. “I said, ask.”
“Why?” she croaked. “You won’t anyway.”
“I might,” he lied, tightening the scarf again and again, to emphasize each word. “But. Only. If. You. Ask.”
She gasped for air, her eyes going wide as the panic set in. He had to let go of the scarf and grab for her hands when they suddenly became claws, stopping her before her nails could make contact with his skin. He pinned her wrists together, slapped her once across the face and took hold of the scarf again.
“So, it looks like you do care, after all, don’t you?” he asked, unable to keep the laughter out of his voice. He knew she was lying. They always lied. They always thought they could get away with saying anything.
She gulped back a sob, squeezed her eyes shut, scrunched up her face and waited.
He waited, too. Still wanting her to beg—or at least open her eyes. They looked so pretty filled with stars.
Time ticked slowly by, she began to shiver and then to tremble. Almost a minute passed, and then–
“Do it,” she whispered, teeth chattering, her voice so low and hoarse it was all but inaudible. “Do it. Do it. Do it.” She opened her eyes and glared at him. “Come on, you fucking freak. What are you waiting for? If you’re gonna kill me, do it now.”
He shook his head. “Uh-uh.” That’s not how the game was played.
She looked at him questioningly. Her chest was heaving again, her lips were parted, trembling, begging to be kissed. So he did. He lowered his head and took her mouth, thrilling to the taste of her. Until she uttered an angry little shriek and bit him.
He jerked his head back, tasting blood, feeling an entirely different kind of thrill as he hauled off and slapped her once more; releasing the scarf so he could take hold of her face. She whimpered in pain and began to cry in earnest as he lowered his head again.
He meant to bite her back, to teach her a lesson in manners, but her mouth was even sweeter now, with his blood and her tears combining on his tongue and he found himself lost in the flavor, savoring the taste. It had been a very long time since he’d sucked face with anyone. He’d never realized how much he’d missed it.
He pulled back, after a moment; just enough for her to see his eyes, to know he meant it as he warned her, “I wouldn’t try something like that again, if I were you. Not unless you want things to get rough.” He cocked his head to one side as he thought about it. “Do you? Huh? Is that what you want? You want to play rough?”
He shouldn’t do it. It would mean leaving marks that might be hard to blame on the boy. But the thought was so tempting. She was so tempting. And, if that’s really what she wanted–
“No,” she mumbled, trembling again, still crying softly. “No, I don’t. I don’t.”
Ah, well, too bad. He felt a trace of regret. If he had the time, he could teach her to like it. He could teach her to please him. He could teach her so many things...
But that was life for you, wasn’t it? Never enough time for all the things you wanted to do. He liked the trembling, though. He liked that a lot. And, he really couldn’t remember anyone ever trembling for him before. He’d been missing out on something special.
He lowered his head and took her mouth again, and he liked the way she gave in to him, this time. He thrust his tongue between her teeth, just daring her to bite, half-hoping that she would, but she behaved herself, only gagging a bit as he plundered deeper with his tongue.
Then it was time to move on. He lifted his head and shoved up her shirt, baring her breasts once again. Her skin glowed in the moonlight with an unearthly pallor, as though she were already dead. He shifted further down her body, cradling his head on her chest as he imagined that she was dead; that it was dead flesh he was suckling, that it was Death herself at whose tit he was nursing. It was a beguiling fantasy, and one he gave himself over to thoroughly.
He’d let go of the scarf somewhere along the line and she’d begun to cry again, but quietly enough that he felt no need to interrupt himself to deal with it. In all likelihood she’d tire herself out soon enough, and, as long as she was quiet, she could cry all she wanted.
“Stop it,” she whimpered finally, in a fretful little voice. “Oh, God, stop it. Stop it, please.”
“When I’m done,” he answered calmly, as he switched breasts and started in one the other one. It was stupid of her to rush him—it would all be over too soon, anyway. She’d be dead before she knew it. But there were still several hours before daybreak, and he had no reason to be done with her before then...
Silence descended over the room. The CD had ended, Gregg realized, chagrined at how far his mind had wandered, at how distracted he’d let himself become. That was a problem, but one that was easy to fix. As everyone began to blink and stir he made his way back to the front of the room. He patted Cara’s head as he passed her. She looked up at him and smiled.
He smiled, too, as he made his way to the podium to give his sermon. Tonight, he promised silently. Tonight was a good night for a lesson. It might be good for a lot of things, for that matter. He looked back at her and winked. It just might be the perfect time to finish what he’d started.
* * *
Adam was already in the apartment when Sinead finally came up to bed. In fact, it appeared he’d been there quite a while. She eyed the empty wine bottles lined up on the bar and then gazed at him uncertainly. “Hi. Is everything okay?”
He scowled at her, staring as though she’d lost her mind. “Is everything okay?” he repeated in scathing tones.
Sinead sighed. All right, so he was mad. And, yeah, there was maybe a reason for that. She could have turned him down a little more gently, she supposed. But he’d caught her off guard, w
hile she’d been thinking of Gregg, and it had all been too much.
Sinead felt the baby squirm inside her—as though it, too, was frightened. Her hands fluttered nervously over her stomach. For practically the first time since she’d known Adam, Sinead felt afraid. It’s okay, he’s not going to hurt us, she assured the baby, silently; all the while praying that she wasn’t mistaken. He’s not like that. Really, he’s not.
She’d known too many men for whom inflicting pain was a sport—starting with Gregg and including both her husbands. But not Nick and not Adam and…okay, maybe there’d been a couple more in there, somewhere along the line, who hadn’t been too bad. It was still hard to shake the fear, though. And, damn it, Adam knew it, too.
Or did he? He doesn’t know everything, does he? He doesn’t know about Gregg…
Should she tell him, she wondered, still staring at him, uncertainly. Should she try and explain?
Adam continued to frown furiously for an instant longer, and then, without warning his expression changed, his face softened as he dropped his gaze and mumbled, “Yes, of course it is. Everything’s fine. I’m just... tired. That’s all.”
Tired? Sinead’s eyes flew around the room. Tired from what? From doing magic, from casting spells? Would she even know if that were the case? Would there be any signs to tell her?
“Well, it’s been a long day,” she suggested, hopefully. That could be it, couldn’t it? All this magic... it could just be imagination. Please, let it be imagination.
Adam nodded. “I guess everyone’s left?”
“Yes,” Sinead answered. “Finally.” She wished she could ask him if he’d been casting spells to influence her moods, but only if the answer was no. Because if it wasn’t— She’d have to leave him, wouldn’t she? She couldn’t stay with any man who’d steal her free will. Not even Adam. Beloved, please, tell me it isn’t so?
Adam frowned again. “What about you? Are you feeling all right? You look... worried.”
“Of course not,” Sinead lied, shaking her head and trying to smile. “What do I have to be worried about?” Just because there’d been only two men in her life who could get into her head, her dreams, her soul; two men with an unhealthy addiction to the supernatural—and one of them was a psycho? “I guess I’m just tired, too.”
Adam studied her face, as though trying to decide if he believed her. At last, he nodded. “Okay, well, maybe you should try and get some sleep.”
“What about you? Aren’t you coming to bed?”
“Sure,” Adam replied, making no effort to move. “I’ll be along in a while.”
“Okay,” Sinead mumbled, as she fled into the bedroom. Not wanting to know what he might be up to in the meantime, not wanting to see it. Just praying it was nothing unnatural.
She closed the door behind her and, stood for a moment, with her back pressed up against it, looking around the room, trying to fight down the sense that she was in a cage, that the walls were slowly closing in to crush her. For the first time since she’d moved into the mansion, she felt trapped here.
Please, Adam, she whispered in the silence of her heart. We have everything we need to be happy. Don’t ruin things for us now. Please...
* * *
Cara glanced at herself in the bathroom mirror as she got ready for bed. I look pale, she thought, as she lifted her hair away from her face and studied her reflection. Her face was the color of too little sun, too little sleep. Too little blood. Had she gotten too pale? Or was this the way Gregg liked her to look?
Pleasing Gregg was important. Keeping him happy was what kept her happy... or, reasonably happy, anyway. She knew there were ways of being happier, and certainly other people seemed to manage that. She’d just never been able to find it for herself.
As she lowered her hands, the scars on her wrists caught her eye. There were all sorts of ways of being happy, she supposed. And there was just no guessing ahead of time what would do it for a person, no telling what it would take to turn someone on. That was people for you, just one surprise after another. Usually, one disappointment after another, as well. But then, when you thought about it—that was life, too, wasn’t it? All surprise and disappointment, one after another; no knowing, no guessing what would come next.
Like the night in the graveyard, when she thought she would die….
Life’s a bitch, then you die.
That single thought had been running through Cara’s mind, pretty much non-stop, ever since Gregg had first trapped her against the stone top of the crypt. Since he’d twisted his scarf around her throat, smiled, and said, “It’s no joke. I’m gonna fuck you ‘til you’re dead.”
Life’s a bitch, then you die.
Yeah, that pretty much summed things up, didn’t it? Because it wasn’t like the day hadn’t been total shit to begin with, or anything. First the school had caught fire with Seth’s sister trapped in the basement. For a while, it had looked like none of them would get out of there alive, and right now, she was wishing they hadn’t.
Afterwards, there’d been all those cops asking questions—and she’d have bet anything that she’d catch the blame, that someone would think to accuse her of setting the fire in the first place. It was what usually happened, wasn’t it? She got blamed for everything. And if that had happened tonight, if her luck had stayed true and they’d locked her away while they tried to prove she was guilty—well she wouldn’t be here, now would she?
So much for luck.
Then, there’d been Seth. Who she’d wanted forever. Who she’d hoped might someday come to care for her, too. But, oh, no, she should have known that couldn’t happen. He just had to pick tonight, didn’t he, to tell her he was in love with someone else? And, okay, sure, he was just being honest. But who in the hell needed that much honesty?
Now... there was Gregg. Who was going to kill her. Eventually.
She just wished it could be soon.
She’d meant what she’d told him. After everything she’d been through, she wouldn’t even care. She wouldn’t. If he’d just get it over with! If he’d only stop touching and sucking and biting and poking and lying on top of her. Shit!
He had to stop touching her. He had to get off of her—right the fuck now! “Stop. Please, stop,” she begged, when she just couldn’t take any more; when even the slight breeze that had begun to blow was enough to sting her skin; when even his voice made her cringe.
“When I’m done,” he replied, not even pausing a second to consider her plea.
When he’s done? She’d stared up at the sky, while her nerves went to pieces. When he’s done? Well, fuck that.
“Let me touch you,” she offered; ready to say or do anything if only he’d stop. “Let me suck your dick.”
He raised his head and looked at her. She could tell he was surprised.
“I mean it. Honest. Whatever you want, just tell me and I’ll do it.”
“Whatever I want?” he repeated, speaking slowly, trying to gauge her out, she supposed.
“I’ll make you feel good,” she promised. “I’ll get you off, I swear. Just let me up, and you’ll see.” Oh, please let me up.
“Get me off?” Without warning, Gregg’s face turned dark. “What– you think I have problems with that?”
“N-no, of course not,” she stammered. “I can feel you, you know, through your pants? I know you’re ready. I just want to touch it.” She could feel his dick, all right. It was big, it was hard, and touching it was just about the dead last thing she wanted. But, better that then to have him touch her.
If he told her no, if he touched her again, she would scream. That’s all. She’d scream so loud, he’d have no choice but to kill her, right on the spot, just to shut her up.
Life’s a bitch, then you die. Life’s a bitch, then you die. Life’s a bitch– Oh, please, God, let me die. Right now!
“All right.” Gregg’s eyes narrowed as he continued to study her face. His lips curved upward, in a faint, ironic smile. He reached for the sc
arf and knotted it around her neck. She tried not to wince as the silk slid against the bruises on her neck. “But, don’t get any ideas about running away.”
“I won’t,” she promised, sighing gratefully as he finally, finally rolled off her. She closed her eyes and just lay there, soaking in the relief. Oh, thank you, God. Thank you, thank you, thank–
“Hey,” he said as he tugged on the scarf. “What’d you do—go to sleep, or something?”
She opened her eyes and clambered to her knees. He was leaning back on his elbows, holding the end of the scarf—like a friggin’ leash—in his hand. Watching her.
She shook her head. “I was just... taking a break.” She was just trying to decide how to do this, without giving him a chance to touch her. If the scarf was a little longer, she could kneel between his feet; far, far away from his hands, but as it was–
“A break?” Gregg laughed softly. “I’ll tell you when it’s time for a break. Come on, get busy.”
“Okay,” she nodded. She scooted a little closer and reached for his pants.
“Wait a minute,” he said, stopping her again.
She looked at him in surprise. Oh, God. What now?
He seemed to be fishing for something in his coat pocket. “Before you do that– Here.” He pulled his hand out, and tossed something at her. “There’s something else I want—even more.”
Something else? She caught what he threw her without thinking, and then stared at the object in her hand. “A pocket knife?” she said, gagging a little, feeling sick. Her stomach turned over and she would have thrown up, right then and there, but she’d had nothing to eat all day—except some Jell-O at lunch, so she had nothing to hurl. She squeezed her eyes shut as terror seized her again. Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Oh, shit. It had been bad enough when she thought he’d just choke her to death. If he was gonna start taking pieces first– “Wh- wh- what am I doing w- with th- this?”
“Open your wrist,” he replied, his voice chill and matter of fact. “I want to drink your blood.”
Ewww. She stared at him, open mouthed. “Wh- wh- wh- what?”