Penance_An Imp World Novel

by Debra Dunbar

  “But I like ’em naked,” Catcalls protested. “It’ll make it easier later when take them for a test drive.”

  The woman’s fingers tightened on my shoulder and she pushed me in front of her toward the cots. “You’re not going to be trying all nine in one night. And it takes all of five seconds for them to take off sweatpants and a T-shirt.”

  “We can make them strip for us,” Onions chimed in. “Then take turns fucking them. I get to go first.”

  “You can go first tonight, then someone else gets to pick,” Pockmarks said. “One girl a night, that way we don’t need to keep track of two of them. The boss will have our asses if any of them escape.”

  “I want the black chick,” Catcalls announced. Mess stiffened at the comment, remaining silent as she lifted her chin.

  “No, me first.” Onions looked us all over, hesitating on Pillow, then sliding over to me. “Red. I like redheads, and she’s got that pretty skin.”

  The demon woman sighed, turning me back around. “Can you try not to bruise and cut the pretty skin too terribly much?”

  “Yeah,” Pockmarks agreed. “She and the young one are going to be the headliners of the sale. Screw all you want, but nothing that’s gonna scar or that the demon can’t easily fix.” Onions went to protest, only to shut his mouth under Pockmarks’s glare. “Don’t do anything that jeopardizes our profits, or you’re out of the group. And out of the group means you’re dead in a back alley. Got it?”

  Onions nodded. “Okay, fine. But if she tries to scratch me or kick me in the nuts, I’m gonna hit her.”

  Pockmarks rolled his eyes. “Tie her up then, idiot. And hit her all you want. Just don’t beat her to death like that girl two months ago.”

  They beat a girl to death? My heart rate kicked up. They beat a girl to death?

  “That wasn’t me,” Onions turned to glare at Catcalls. “Slapping around is one thing. I’m not the one who gets off on screwing some half-dead chick.”

  Catcalls shrugged. “She had it coming. Besides, we had an extra.”

  Pockmarks pointed a warning finger at the guard. “You’re damned lucky we had an extra, otherwise the boss would have cut your nuts off for that one.”

  Catcalls licked his lips and eyed me. “Got an extra this time too.”

  “No.” Pockmarks’s command was sharp. “Only what the demon can fix. You get carried away again, and it’s your body we’ll be dumping in a back alley. Got it?”

  Catcalls glared sullenly at the floor. “Yeah. Got it.”

  “Her.” Onions grinned at me. “Now. Me first, then one of you can take a turn with her. Then maybe I’ll take a couple more before we bring her back.”

  The demon woman pushed me forward and Onions reached out to grab my wrist. The feel of his calloused fingers digging into my skin made me want to vomit. He pulled me along, and the other guards and the woman fell in behind him. At the door I glanced back to see the other girls staring at me—scared and relieved it wasn’t them. Onions yanked me hard enough that I felt the muscles pull in my shoulder. Then the door closed and I found myself out in the main part of the warehouse with three men and a demon.

  Chapter 7

  I tried to yank my arm free, struggling as Onions half dragged me across the warehouse. The towel slipped and fell, and the others hooted and cheered Onions on as he yanked me forward, smacking me hard on my ass when I continued to resist. He was taking me to where the line of offices stood, and I knew very well what was going to happen to me once he got me inside.

  Bile rose to burn my throat at the thought of what this man intended to do to me. I thrashed around but his fingers were like a handcuff around my wrist. If I could just get free, I could run for it—outrun the three men, evade the broomsticks, escape this room and race straight to someone who could call the police and rescue the others. In the back of my mind, I knew I couldn’t outrun these guys. They’d be on me before I could get the warehouse door open. And if they didn’t stop me before I got out, the demon would.

  And if she didn’t, I’d be running barefoot and naked through who-knows-where. They’d catch me before I got help. And when they caught me, it would be ten times worse. What the drivers did to Tasha would look gentle in comparison.

  They had an extra. And they’d killed one before. They could easily do so again and hide my body where it would never be found.

  “Stop fighting, bitch.” Onions twisted and pulled on my arm, nearly yanking it from the socket. The others laughed. Desperate, I dropped to the floor, a dead weight. Still he retained a hold on my wrist, tightening his fingers painfully. With a string of curses he went to pull me across the floor and stopped, looking over at Pockmarks. “See what I mean? Let me take a stick to her a few times so she’ll come willing.”

  “What, you can’t handle a little thing like that without a stick?” Pockmarks scoffed. “Open hand. And if she doesn’t get the idea, you can use your fist.”

  I kicked and pulled, desperately trying to get free as Onions dragged me across the floor. With a grunt, he tossed me through an open door into one of the offices, then closed and locked it behind him. I scrambled to my feet, my arm and shoulder aching, finger marks red and swollen around my wrist. In the seconds it took the guard to lock the door, I looked for a window, another door, or something to use as a weapon. There was nothing. The only way in and out was through the door Onions stood in front of. There was nothing in the room besides a bed, a small refrigerator, a few empty pizza boxes, and a coil of rope. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to escape.

  A hand gripped my hair so tight tears sprang to my eyes. I jabbed an elbow backwards and felt it connect. Onions let out a curse and hit me hard in the lower back. Everything blurred as pain bloomed deep into my back muscles and down my legs. I dropped to my knees, my head arched backward as he retained a hold on my hair. Then his palm hit the side of my head so hard everything went white. I tasted blood. He hit me again. And again. After the third time, I felt myself lifted upward and slammed onto the bed. My arms were yanked up over my head, tied with rough rope and looped around one of the headboard posts. I spat and kicked, struggling in vain to get free. When he was done with my hands, he put a knee on my stomach, resting his weight on me as he yanked one of my legs over to the side and began to tie it to a footboard bedpost. I gave up trying to get free and struggled to breathe, his weight restricting my air intake. One leg secure, he lifted himself from me and grabbed the other leg, pulling it wide to tie to the other footboard post.

  “Wildcat bitch. Embarrass me in front of the others, will you? I’m gonna screw you so hard you can’t see straight. Then I’m gonna carve my initials into that glowy skin of yours, maybe take a stick to you a few times before I let the other guys have a turn.”

  I inhaled, going cold with fear. My shoulder ached. The rope was chafing my bruised, swollen wrist. He had my legs spread so far apart that I was getting a cramp in my hip. My towel was long gone, and I was naked with my breasts thrust outward, and my arms stretched tight above my head. The guard unzipped his fly, the sound abnormally loud. Everything sounded abnormally loud—my breathing, the grunt he made as he stroked himself, the squeak of the bed as he climbed on top of me. I shut my eyes tight, tensed, and bit back a cry as he drove himself into me.

  I just needed to survive this, I thought as he pressed his hips down. Just survive this man with his overpowering onion smell, his ragged foul breath against my face, his weight pressing the breath out of me. Just survive the pain of him inside me, of his hand twisting my breast. Survive him, then the next guy, then the next, then all of them again as many times as they wanted to take me throughout the night. Survive the beatings, the cutting of my skin. Just survive until morning when they untied me and shoved me, bruised and filthy back into the other room where I could spend the day huddled under a hot shower trying to wash the feel of this man and the others from my skin.

  They’d pick someone else tomorrow. One of the other girls would need to endure this. One of the o
ther girls would be tied down to this bed and repeatedly raped until they’d had their fill. They’d be hurt, their arms twisted, their legs spread to their limits. They’d smell the horrible fetid odor of this man, hear his raspy breath, feel him spill into them as he came, shuddering and grunting like a pig.

  Something fierce and bright bloomed up inside me. I was more than this body. There were parts of me these men could never touch, never soil. Do what they will, they wouldn’t see me broken and humiliated.

  But my girls… They were mine. They were my girls, and these filthy swine couldn’t have them.

  My skin burned, like I was too close to a sudden burst of flame. The guard slumped on top of me, his weight crushing the breath from my lungs. I was wet, and not just between my legs either. Had someone thrown a bucket of warm, slimy water on us?

  And why did the bucket of water smell like copper pennies?

  I blinked my eyes open to a haze of red mist. When it cleared I found that I was splattered with blood. The guard’s body was heavy on my chest, his legs sprawled, his dick still inside me. I shifted as much as I could manage, to try to get him to roll off me enough to breathe. He slid slightly to the side, his head lolling off my shoulder. Inhaling, I gagged at the smell of blood and burned flesh.

  Had he cut me, carved his initials into me as he’d promised to do? Burned me? I hadn’t felt it, but he must have nicked me during sex—and nicked me good if all this blood was any indication.

  “Get off,” I hissed, bucking my hips and wincing at the sharp pain the movement brought. Wiggling, I managed to get him to move enough that I could take a deep breath. Idiot. Was he drunk? He hadn’t smelled drunk, just of onions. Maybe he passed out after he came. I had a sudden vision of a fainting goat, and bit back a horribly inappropriate laugh. Then I turned my head, realizing as I did so that I hadn’t smelled the oniony-aroma of his breath since I’d opened my eyes.

  One look at his face and I started shrieking. He was covered in blood, as if it had come out of his very pores, and where his eyes used to be were smoking black holes. His mouth was open in a silent scream. My screams were not so silent.

  No one came running to my aid. They probably thought Onions was doing something horrible to me. So instead of screaming, I started yelling for help. Then I realized that probably wouldn’t bring them either, so I started yelling “he’s dead” over and over as I twisted as much as I could, trying to get this dead, blood-soaked body off me.

  That finally brought them, but they couldn’t get in because the idiot had locked the door from the inside. I had visions of me trapped in here forever with a decomposing corpse while they banged on the door, asking if Onions was okay, and telling him to come unlock the door so Catcalls could have a turn. There was some muffled cursing and then silence. I managed to get Onions off me, the top half of him dangling from the side of the bed, his lower half still draped across me. At least my efforts had removed his dick from inside me.

  Was that weird? I was covered in blood, tied naked to a bed with a corpse half on top of me, and my biggest worry was getting his dick out as soon as possible. I shuddered, more revolted by the way it had slid wet and limp from between my legs than this cadaver lying on me. His blood was far more acceptable than his ejaculation. It was that I wanted to shower off, not the blood.

  The door handle jiggled and turned. It opened, and Catcalls stood in the opening, his hand over his mouth.

  “Get out of the way, you idiot.” Pockmarks pushed by him, only to stop and mimic Catcalls’s motion. “Fuck! What did you do?”

  I stared at him in astonishment. “You think I did this? I’m tied to the bed in case you didn’t notice.”

  “There’s no one else in here,” Catcalls choked as he said the words. “No windows or closets or other doors. This one was locked from the inside. How did he… How did he…” The man turned and started to retch.

  Pockmarks strode into the room and turned Onions over. The dead man fell completely off me onto the floor, face up.

  “His eyes. What happened to his eyes?’ Catcalls babbled, on the edge of panic. “It’s like some kind of internal combustion or something. Like he blew up inside and burned out his eyes.”

  “Go get the demon.” Pockmarks’s voice was hard and cold, but I heard the sharp edge of fear in his words. Catcalls vanished, reappearing a few minutes later with the woman. She breezed through the door, tiny and elegant with enough presence to bend an army to her will, but even she stopped abruptly and clasped a hand to her mouth when she saw Onions.

  “I didn’t do it. I’m tied up,” I babbled. “He was……he did…and my eyes were closed because he was gross and it hurt, then I felt something wet and his weight and when I opened my eyes…”

  They ignored me. Pockmarks pointed to the dead body. “Did you do that?”

  He wasn’t asking me; he was asking the demon woman.

  She tilted her head still looking down at the dead body. “Did I do what?”

  “Kill him? He was behind a locked door, fucking a tied-up, naked girl. No other way in. No other way out. No one else in here.”

  “I don’t teleport. It’s not one of my skills.” She finally looked up at him, her face impassive. “And I was with you in the other office the whole time. What are you suggesting? That I cloned myself and snuck under the door crack as a wisp of smoke?”

  “Well, he certainly wasn’t killed by a human. Look at him. He wasn’t shot or stabbed or beat to death. Looks like… I don’t know what it looks like, but it ain’t natural.”

  She lifted her hands. “Why? Why would I kill him? He stank, and wasn’t particularly smart as humans go, but he wasn’t worth the effort to kill. And in case you’ve forgotten, I can’t kill any of you. Can’t kill you. Can’t injure you. Can’t seduce you and take your energy or your souls. It. Was. Not. Me.” She looked me in the eyes. “And clearly it wasn’t her, either.”

  Pockmarks snorted. “I know it wasn’t her. One of your demon buddies, maybe? Did someone track you down and decide to free you?”

  “Well then, my demon buddy killed the wrong human.” She folded her arms across her chest. “This dead man does me no good.”

  Pockmarks stared down at the corpse for a moment, then headed for the door. “I’m calling the boss.”

  The other two followed and Catcalls closed the door behind him, leaving me alone with a dead body, blood cooling and congealing on my skin along with sweat and other bodily fluids I was even more grossed out about. I heard Pockmarks on the phone, heard their footsteps as they walked away.

  I drifted in and out of sleep, completely losing track of time. My arms were going numb, which meant my wrist wasn’t throbbing as painfully as it had been. The cramp in my hip had faded, but I was pretty sure it would come roaring back once I was untied and was able to actually move my legs. They’d left the light on in the room, which meant I could see the cold, sticky blood on my body as well as the corpse on the floor next to me. The shock was beginning to fade. I was cold, desperate for a shower, and even though I didn’t seem to feel hunger, I knew that I needed to eat. The other girls might have gotten dinner, but I hadn’t. That mini fridge was tempting me from the corner of the room, making me imagine all the leftovers it might hold. Pork fried rice? Pizza? A wedge of smoked gouda? A six pack of Bud Light?

  Finally, the door opened, and I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or scared. I decided on relieved, figuring no guy could possibly want sex enough to screw me next to a corpse while I was covered with blood.

  It was the demon woman. She walked in, closing the door quietly behind her. I kept my mouth shut, wanting her to untie me, but worried that she might have something else in mind. If she really was a demon, she might not mind about the blood or the corpse.

  She didn’t untie me. She didn’t even look at me. Instead she crouched down next to the body, her hands emitting a silvery glow as she ran them over Onions’ face. After a few seconds, she sat back on her haunches and stared down at the dead g
uard.

  “Dar?” she whispered. “Ni-Ni? Ni-Ni? Ni-Ni, is it you? Did you finally come for me? If so, then I hate to say you’ve killed the wrong human. He’s not the one who summoned me.”

  She fell silent. I held my breath, not wanting her to notice me. Who had she been talking to? Had Pockmarks been right? Was there another demon, one who had snuck in and killed Onions while he was raping me? If so, why hadn’t the demon killed me as well? Or better yet, rescued me?

  The woman sighed and stood. As she turned to leave, I overcame my fear and spoke.

  “Ma’am? Lady? Can you untie me? Please?”

  She stopped and turned slowly around, seemingly surprised to see me still tied to the bed.

  “Please?” I begged.

  She looked over her shoulder at the door.

  “Will you get in trouble?” I asked. “I know they think you might have had something to do with this guy’s death. Are you worried they’ll beat you if you let me go?”

  Her eyes flashed. “They wouldn’t dare.”

  I hid a smile and tried to look wide-eyed and innocent like Kitten. “Please?”

  She sighed and walked over, undoing my arms first. My circulation returned with a vengeance and I held back a cry as the pain screamed along my nerve endings. My legs were worse, and I sat on the end of the bed, worried I wouldn’t be able to stand. I felt her fingers brush the hair from my face. Something sparked in the air, and I leaned into her hand, turning so my lips brushed her palm.

  “How badly did he hurt you?” Her voice was gentle as her fingers stroked my cheek.

  Surprisingly I felt fine. My face where Onions had hit me didn’t hurt. My arms and legs were as if I’d never been tied to a bed for hours. Looking down at my wrist, I saw nothing but unblemished, creamy skin—no rope burns, no bruising from being dragged across the warehouse floor. Had she healed me? Fixed my injuries as she had Tasha’s and Pistol’s? If so, then why hadn’t I felt the horrible pain the others had when she’d “magicked” them?