Wicked Ways (Dark Hearts Book 1)

by Cari Silverwood

  My Mazda started in one try and I backed out the driveway to see a white BMW cruising up the street, and knew instantly he was inside. That he might have accomplices again made my eyesight blur – so scared I couldn’t focus.

  I accelerated, screeching tires, with my hands clamped to the wheel.

  If I went to a friend’s house, like George and Anya’s, would that mean they would save me, if they were home, or would I involve them in my mess?

  If a shopping center, who was to say he, or they, wouldn’t corner me somewhere?

  The police. It had to be that. My previous reluctance to talk to them about the incident made me decide to rehearse.

  I imagined in depth – every word, every motion, filling in some police form, identifying him. Shit. How could I?

  Reading the registration in the rear-view mirror was difficult since the car stayed a few vehicles back from mine. Maybe I should stop and see who was in that car?

  Fuck, fuckitty, hell and no.

  Nothing was triggered by me rehearsing in my head. No imperative command.

  I’d go up to the police desk and tell them, everything. All of it.

  The parking situation was horrendous – no spaces, anywhere. All the while, the white car followed, not closing in, not doing anything except trailing along behind me, street after street. It was as if a beast stalked me, sure of the result, patient.

  Fuck them.

  I swiveled the wheel and nailed the car into a parking space so small I scraped bumpers on the way in, wrenched open the door, and stopped.

  The gun! Fuck.

  The cops would have metal detectors at the door.

  I snatched it from beneath the jacket on the passenger seat then slipped it under the seat.

  That I heard amusement in my mind, not laughter, not sound, just...amusement – that frightened me.

  With difficulty, I shut down my panic. At the steps leading up to the double glass entryway, I slowed and walked up as if I had nothing on my mind except shopping or cooking dinner. The main desk for visitors was inside to the left, with several uniformed officers nearby, and all were armed. The terrorist situation was a plus. Normally they’d not have side arms. I strode toward them, waiting in a line behind an elderly man. Gray, balding, thin. By the time he was almost done reporting a misdemeanor, I could’ve drawn a diagram of his scalp and described every officer in sight. It was one way to distract myself.

  Then I felt him step into the building. In the back of my mind, I felt something akin to a presence popping into existence.

  He waited somewhere back there, not moving. My skin crawled with goose bumps.

  The hard rap of his footsteps told me he was a solid man wearing solid shoes. His cologne when he stopped just behind me said he was a particular man with his scent if nothing else.

  This was the man who had made me be still and not cry out while his friends fucked me.

  My eyes seemed to squeeze into my skull. Sight blanked out entirely for several seconds.

  “Good morning, Zorie. Don’t go anywhere, will you.” His voice froze me. Not a question. A statement.

  He knows my nickname.

  The old man walked away and the sergeant turned to enter some data into his computer. I needed to take that one step forward. Just that. One step.

  One. Fucking Step.

  But I couldn’t move anything more than my toes, even if they were curled up so tight it hurt – as if by using them alone I could propel myself forward.

  His amusement was there in my mind.

  His mouth brushed my ear as it had that other time. “Come with me.”

  My entire body thrummed into a state of arousal and I sighed, my eyelids lowering, as I tilted my head to allow him better access to my neck.

  “Are you okay, miss?” The sergeant was speaking.

  I met his gaze, smiled, because that was what my traitorous mind wanted, and said, “I’m fine. Thank you.” Then I turned, gave him one stare. That closed my throat down, then my mind, and maybe my heart stopped beating.

  A second later, he slipped his hand around mine and we walked to the doors and out into the sunshine.

  Outside was warm and glary. I had to take care not to trip.

  What was his hair color? The shape of his face? I couldn’t recall. Looking into the sun would have been less overwhelming, less frightening.

  Truly, there were no words to describe how it felt to have his large hand clasping mine. He could eat me whole, in one bite, and I’d not protest.

  Chapter 6

  Zorie

  He led me to his white car and ushered me in, his hand weighing mine down.

  When asked for my keys, I found them in my purse and gave them to him. He gave them to another man.

  “Find her car. Drive it to my place.”

  The man walked away.

  The upholstery in here was as white as the outside paintwork and I placed my palm on it, fascinated, aware I was behaving as if in a dream, aware I should wake, and unable to because he had his hand on my thigh.

  Touch was everything.

  It brought me to the brink where pleasure simmered.

  “Away to where we discussed.”

  The car surged forward.

  “Put on your seat belt.”

  I clicked it into place, still looking no higher than my thighs where his hand had now ventured between. The rock and hum of the car did nothing to subdue the hunger his hand stirred.

  After some time driving, his finger slipped beneath my underwear and found a spot just to the side of my clit. “There. See how nice I am. Even though you’ve been such a little bitch, running from me, going to the police station. Do not come.”

  What?

  He brushed his finger straight over my clit. Struck by a riptide of sensation, I stiffened, mouth open, staring in disbelief at where his hand disappeared under the cloth. I could see the back of his hand, the tendons, the skin, but his fingers were hidden. They stroked, playing either side of the little button that was the key to my carnality.

  From the subtle pressures on my mound and the contours created in the lace, I imagined the position of each finger, and I quivered with expectation. Wanting this, so hard.

  If he moved even one finger in the right way, or said the right words, climax was a possibility.

  Was I a puppet? Thoughts and deductions were trickling in again. Whatever let him command me, I had to defeat it.

  “I can do this all day.” Again he teased my clit, brushing it feather light. My leg muscles tensed and I clenched my teeth, trying to stop myself from making noise, but I moaned anyway. Quiet, but it was a moan.

  He hadn’t withdrawn his instruction.

  “Don’t come.”

  His teeth clamped onto my ear lobe and at the same moment his finger and thumb grabbed my clit and squashed in.

  My scream was small but shrill.

  After several painful seconds, he let me go. His hand was removed, his teeth released my ear. Only his presence remained beside me, thigh to thigh. I gasped and slumped forward. That had been brutal. How could I ever have come from that assault?

  “We’re here, sir,” the driver called back. “There’s a vacant spot.”

  “Good. When the car stops, you, Zorie, are going to step out, turn, and look at me. Got that? Say yes, sir.”

  My reply was automatic. “Yes, sir.” Part of me was watching myself respond and was horrified.

  Part of me had awakened to the problem.

  How did you think logically when the devil had you?

  “You can look at me now, Zorie.”

  I looked. Thick, short, blond hair. Square jaw. Perfect lips. Blue eyes. A very handsome man. Wait...wait. I knew him, didn’t I? He had been at the restaurant in Darwin.

  “Now.” He reached across me and unlocked my passenger door, gave it a small shove. Distant city noises barged in now the sound proofing of the car was breached. “Go out there and look at me while you play with yourself.”

&nbs
p; Dismayed by his instructions, I only listened and looked.

  They’d stopped inside a park with green, mown grass and tables. Looking out my side of the car, I could see a picnic table and bench seat. The cool shadows of trees spread across the cars. Early in the day, but there would be people, the aware part of me concluded.

  “Out.”

  I shuffled across the seat, exited, and stood, stepping backward awkwardly until I found the edge of the gutter and had to step over it. I kept going until backs of my legs met the bench.

  He wanted me to masturbate in public.

  Not the devil. He was Prince Charming. Prince Charming Bastard.

  I hesitated and a devious smile arrived on his face. The man seemed too evil to be smiling.

  “I said, play with yourself.”

  My hand moved down but halted. My inhibitions won out. This was too appalling, too public. A young man was off to the far left eating a sandwich, idly watching.

  “The initial shock has worn off this one fast, Dirke. I’m fucking stunned.” The Bastard slid along the seat, no doubt to get a closer view. With his crooked arm settled on the back of the seat, he peered out at me.

  “Yes, sir, it has.”

  I wanted to ram something into both their faces...and I wasn’t a violent person.

  Perversely, all the watching was turning me on, or maybe it was just his effect on me? My lower lips were swollen enough that I felt them part and my wetness seep through onto my panties. My disloyal body was performing that instinctive dance of tingling chemicals and nerves, in preparation for sex.

  I clenched my hands into fists.

  “Let’s try specific. You need that, Zorie? Need some little dirty details? Pull up your dress and pull down your underwear until I can see your cunt.”

  I wouldn’t. I’d turn and walk away and...

  And nothing.

  The driver watched. Expectant. Like he knew I’d do this and had seen women do it before.

  I knew the first man from the restaurant. Maybe the driver had been there too.

  And what else did I expect?

  Slowly, unable to do anything but obey, despite the alarm screaming in the back of my mind, I gathered my dress upward, baring my thighs. Then I found the sides of my panties and slipped them down, an inch, here, there, then a couple more inches, until the air cooled my slit.

  No. I couldn’t do this. But having lowered my panties, my hands stayed there, touching the cloth.

  “Spread your legs some more.” His eyes were insect bright. “Touch your cunt.”

  Bastard. I was panting, but whether that was from my arousal or my useless attempts to resist I wasn’t sure. I squirmed my feet wider and the heels of my sandals crushed grit on the concrete.

  If anyone reported this, I’d be arrested.

  When I laid my finger along the groove between my lips, it was drenched by the moisture from my pussy. A bead of sweat trailed down my temple. My thumb pressed on my clit, and I held it there, savoring the building sensation, commencing the first step on the well-travelled path to orgasm.

  Only I’d never done this in public before. The young man, on the seat to the left, paused and lowered his sandwich. Hurriedly, he yanked out a phone.

  “Do you like this, Dirke?” He angled a brow, while still watching me.

  The driver’s lips quirked into a dirty smile. “Yes. Thank you, sir.”

  “You’re welcome. Stick your finger inside your cunt, Zorie. This is punishment. I know you can tell what you’re doing. Run away again and I’ll make you do worse. I’ll make you do things your mother told you never to do in private let alone out here.”

  The young man was filming me, his sandwich lying forgotten on the bench beside him.

  “Do it,” he repeated. “Stick your finger in your pretty little cunt. Look at us while you do it.”

  Horrified, I found my hand obeying. I paused with my palm over my mons, covering myself but at his nod and the glitter in his eyes, my fingers cruised along my cleft. The back of my hand brushed messiness in the crotch of my panties.

  “You’re dripping, girl. Dripping cunt juice in public. You dirty thing.” He grinned. “Remember as you do it that I did this to you. I made your pussy get sloppy wet. I want this to almost, almost, make you come. Finger inside yourself...now.”

  As I obeyed, my toes curled, and my cheeks heated in a blush. Embarrassed, mortally embarrassed, but I was still doing this. My finger delved into my pussy up to the first knuckle, and the bump of my clit was under my hand. I found myself licking my upper lip, because, admit it, this felt good, better than good – it felt amazing.

  Resisting was only slowing things, making the public degradation worse. I should get it over with.

  I plunged my finger in, full depth, hearing the sounds as my lubricated walls were squeezed aside. Spearing into myself stormed my mind into a nirvana-like state. I teetered on my feet, huffing, groaning.

  “You’re not coming I hope, Zorie? Answer me.”

  Eyes fixed downward, hunched over my hand, I shook my head, and breathed out a soft, ashamed, “No.”

  “Good. Now.” He cleared his throat. “Damn that’s hot. Now to show you what you’ve got to look forward to. I can control you like a remote-controlled fucking toy. Hear me? I can do what I want with you. Struggle against me and things will not go well for you. Zorie?”

  “Mmm.” I nodded, stuck there being shocked by repeated ripples of pleasure, with my pussy squeezing hard onto my finger.

  “Count to five, out loud, fuck yourself twice, then pull out your fingers and show me them. Go.”

  God. No.

  But I did it exactly as he’d said to. The longer I took, the more I’d be on film. I counted to five, then fucked myself.

  After the finger-fucking, I held up my hand. My pussy felt dreadfully empty. My glistening fingers cooled in the light breeze.

  He whistled. “Look wet, Dirke?”

  “Yes, sir. Do you want to get her to suck me off in the car, sir?” His voice was thick with hope.

  The man chuckled. “Not this time. Take a rain check. Come back in here, girl. Hold your dress up and leave your underwear down.”

  Walking to him, with myself still exposed, I felt as female and fecund as a fertility goddess. A strangely good feeling lurked among the abysmal ones.

  “My name is Reuben,” he told me, shifting along to make room on the seat. He buckled me in then curved his hand between my legs. “Sit still.”

  Then he fucked me painfully hard with two then three fingers, making me gasp and whine. But I didn’t move. That was the most painful part. I couldn’t move. “I own you now. I own your mind and all your fucking holes. You need to understand that. Okay?”

  With his other hand, he used a hold on my jaw to turn my head toward him and he slapped me.

  What a malevolent man he was.

  Cheek stinging, I nodded. The drive of lust was there but I was also torn up by anger and sadness, and I wished I could figure out how to spit.

  “More. Say thank you, Reuben.”

  After five or six seconds, I ground out the words. “Thank you...Reuben.”

  “Well. Well.” He shoved his fingers in again, to very deepest, his mouth twisting when I winced. “That was hard for her to say, Dirke. This one’s feistier than most. I think...I think I’m going to have fun with you.” He smirked. “You’re...interesting.”

  It seemed my mind was open to him, but not completely. If so, maybe I could hide my true self? I must wait until I worked this out, then I could get justice for what he had done to me. And justice also for what he was about to do, because right now, I didn’t have the faintest idea how I was going to shake myself free.

  Until that time came, I would have to endure his perversions.

  Chapter 7

  “Never have I dealt with anything more difficult than my own soul.” - Al-Ghazali

  Zorie

  Dirke drove straight to his house and I caught sight of the street name
as well as the number: 323 Aberjule Close.

  Now I knew. I tucked away the knowledge, praying I’d get to use it to prosecute his ass...have him killed or wiped off the face of the earth.

  The house was a modern complex of irregular rooflines – white paint, plus stonework and steel – impressive and surely in the quadruple millions in value. The garage doors unfolded and shut with the purr of a well-made mechanism. Lights flickered on. The man was rich, far more than I was, and I’d managed to build a small portfolio of rental properties since my parents had died. Lecturing alone would never have brought me this far.

  Had he earned his by honest means?

  Reuben came around to my door and opened it. “I can see you’re thinking too much. I’ll answer some of your questions. Come.”

  He walked away, expecting me to follow and I did. Resisting every command would exhaust me.

  “You arranged for breakfast, Dirke?”

  In the middle of opening the door leading from the garage, the driver nodded, eyeing me as he did so. “Yes, sir. For all four of us. Texted him while you were in the police station.” His smile was flat and assessing, and I knew, sickeningly, he was imagining doing things to me. I needed to run, now. And couldn’t.

  “Madoc was curious about your new acquisition, sir.”

  New acquisition? That clinched it. He did this regularly. What happened to the women after he was done with them? How could I not fear when there were so many uncertainties?

  “Was he? Dirty bastard. And I didn’t even have her then.” With his hand between my shoulder blades, Reuben guided me through the door. “Shoes off, Zorie. You’re barefoot from now on.”

  “We both had no doubt you’d get her.”

  Fuck. They were discussing me like I was meat, an object, a thing. Every molecule in my body was cringing and I could do nothing. I took off my shoes and left them beside the door, then followed the two men.

  The dining area was as spacious and light as the rest of the house. High ceilings, ivory and light gray walls. Immaculate. Everywhere was modern and perfectly clean with neat accents of black and stainless steel. A large chandelier, above the long table, resembled a weird, shiny kraken welded from discarded steel. It was scary and no doubt worth a heap of cash, with tentacles that might reach down and grab you while you ate.