RAZORBLADE
CANDIES
Book 3
THE
WILD
Kyle M. Scott
All rights reserved.
Text Copyright2016©Kyle M. Scott
First authorized digital edition.
No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without the permission of the author. All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
This book was written using UK standard dictionary. Some spellings may differ from US variations.
For my Dad.
Truly a man of the wild.
Thanks for all you taught me.
I love you to bits, old man.
1
Amber let the pain sink in.
She owned it, took it into her being as though it had always belonged there. The blood that trickled from the angry gash on her head felt bitterly cold as it ran in a tiny stream down her cheek to kiss her on the lips, red and terrible.
With a flick of her tongue, she lapped at it, savouring the taste; her eyes never leaving those of her captors who, for the first time since the bastards had kidnapped her and dragged her out into the deep of the woods, looked utterly bemused.
“Perverts!” Amber spat blood at the closest of her kidnappers, the thin, gangly one they called Cole. He flinched as it sprayed his face and quickly rubbed the mess off with the sleeve of his shirt flannel shirt.
“The fuck is wrong with this bitch?” Cole asked.
“Beats me, man,” said the second, Scott, through a tobacco-stained leer. “Looks like we might have a goer on our hands, here. This could be fun!”
The third captor, a tall, chiselled blonde who went by the name of Finlay, remained quiet, just as he had done the whole time since this ordeal had started.
He’d been the one who’d bagged her. It was clear from his demeanour, and the way the other two communicated with him, that he was also the leader of the pack. He was stronger, more able than the other two, and in his eyes there shone the hint of something approaching intelligence.
Whereas the other two assholes looked like they’d hopped straight out of that old Burt Reynolds movie, Finlay looked relatively normal by comparison. Were it not for the filth that clung to him like a second skin, or the sour smell of sweat that wafted from him in waves, he might have looked almost…attractive.
Not a common trait among the rednecks that the local ladyfolk pushed out of their wombs at an alarming rate.
Still, good looks or not, he was no less of a sick fuck than his genetically cursed company, and no less dangerous.
Perhaps more so.
How could she have been so stupid?
Amber had only left her campsite for a few moments, and she hadn’t gone far. A minute’s walk at most from where her friends, Lyn and Claire, were sat by the tent; Lyn strumming her guitar while Claire belted out her best vocal rendition of the old classic, ‘Mr Spaceman’ by The Byrds.
The music…that had been what sealed Amber’s fate.
Had her two companions not been kicking out the jams with such unabashed fervour, their humble little camp site may have not attracted the attention of these sick sons of bitches.
It had, though, and that was that.
There she’d been, squatting low as she could with her shorts around her ankles, relieving her bladder beside a bush and intently watching an earthworm slither its way around the roots of a great redwood, when out of the blue, they’d come.
Cole, Scott and Finlay.
Three of the most clichéd rednecks ever to climb out of a bargain basement slasher movie, minus the leader’s good looks. The smell had preceded their arrival seconds before they were on her.
She’d barely gotten a chance to meet Finlay’s eyes before he was forcing a burlap sack over her head while she toppled onto her side, piss running down her leg as she hit the forest floor.
She’d opened her mouth to scream, but it was too late.
The last thing Amber recalled of her first meeting with ‘the inbred brothers’ was the warmth of her own urine on her bare leg and the sudden sting of pain as the sick bastards smashed her over the head with god-knew-what.
Then, darkness; a timeless void.
She’d dreamt of her Mother.
They’d been walking through a field in the warming heart of summer, resplendent with flowers of every colour and hue to be found in the spectrum of light. Her mother had held her hand with tender care, leading her toward a destination unknown. There was no fear, no apprehension as they moved through the liquid contours of the dream. She’d felt safe. Comforted. Happy to be alive. And then…
Reality.
Reality fucking sucked.
Despite all she’d seen in her life, Amber was hardly a negative-thinking person. She saw herself as a positive gal, through and through, but it was hard to maintain your air of freewheeling good cheer when you were pulled from a perfectly serviceable dream into a reality where you were bound to a redwood by a thick rope, with blood seeping from your pounding skull, while three filthy, alcohol saturated assholes leered at you like stray cats ready to lap at the cream.
In such a situation, a little negativity seemed wholly acceptable.
And considering the predicament she found herself in, it was only going to get worse.
Much, much worse.
Amber pushed the rising dread deep down inside where it screamed for release. She ignored its call, understanding that if she was to get out of this shit with her body and her mind still intact, there was no time for fear.
Fear was a powerful ally in many instances, but not in this one. Instinct was a friend, but friends could turn on you, and the panic that bubbled just beneath the veneer of her fury could easily spell her undoing.
The bastard she’d just spat on, Cole, moved forward until his face was nearly touching her own. She withdrew as far as she could, repulsed, till the back of her head met with the hard bark of the giant tree. The sour tang of cheap liquor stung her eyes, as Cole opened his stinking mouth, stuck out his tongue and licked the blood from her cheek.
He moved slowly, clearly enjoying her discomfort.
Amber thought of slugs, slowly trailing their slime along behind them, and felt herself close to gagging.
Cole’s saliva clung wet and cloying on her skin. She closed her eyes tight, as though she could block out the disgusting fucker’s violation.
No use.
Wasn’t happening.
Fuck it.
With a quick thrust forward, she lowered her head and butted Cole in the nose with the top of her skull.
The dull crack that followed sounded like all the angels in heaven, singing just for her.
It was beautiful.
Even more beautiful was the childlike wail that Cole let out as he stumbled backwards, clutching his shattered nose while little jets of blood spurted from between his fingers.
That had felt good.
She knew she’d have to pay for it, but Amber hadn’t ever been one to control her rage. Fear, yes, but her temper had always gotten her in trouble, and now, it looked like it might just get her killed.
Stupid, Amber…so stupid!
“Fucking cunt! She broke my nose!” he howled, turning to Scott for support.
Scott, clearly the middle-man in this group, shrugged his shoulders and upended a bottle of Moonshine towards his mouth. Half of the alcohol made it to his desired destination, the rest poured down his unshaven cheeks and onto his filthy lumberjack shirt.
He let out a disgusting belc
h as Cole spun around towards Finlay, apparently seeking a touch of sympathy.
“Finlay…did you see what that bitch just did to me, man?!”
Finlay looked up from the fire, unconcerned by his squawking friend’s dismay.
“Yeah, I saw it,” he drawled. “The fuck you want me to do about it? Can’t you see I’m busy, here? How about you stop fucking around and gimme a hand?”
Cole scowled like a child. The wiry little bastard looked like he might cry.
Amber let herself enjoy the moment, and smiled. Cole, noticing her expression, stumbled towards her, pressing his face against hers.
“You ever try any shit like that again, I’ll cut your cunt up for sandwich filler, d’you hear me, bitch?”
There it was again.
The panic.
She didn’t want to admit it, but reality was getting the better of her. Cole’s words were painting images in her mind of things best not thought of.
Stay calm.
Don’t panic.
Think.
Think.
Think.
Clair and Lyn…
They’ll send for help.
Or come looking.
Please don’t let them come looking. They’ll just end up like me. Let them be smart. Let them go find help. We weren’t camped far from the tourist route. There’ll be park rangers…cops…somebody!
Have to stay clear.
Have to stay with it.
Don’t lose your shit.
The only way to stay alive is to stay calm.
And control your temper!
Just hold on. They’ll come. They’ll bring help.
They won’t abandon you.
Amber closed her eyes, allowed herself a moment to breathe. Fear and rage boiled in her guts, threatening to overflow like scorching lava. When her head felt a little clearer, she opened her eyes, and took in her surroundings.
She was still in the woods; that was obvious.
But how far into the woods had they taken her?
She had no idea how long she’d been knocked out by the blow to the head, but it couldn’t have been too long, could it?
Raising her head, she peered through the canopy above. The sunshine still burned, but the gentle kiss of twilight was already seducing the heavens. The familiar pink and purple wash that heralded the coming night was upon them.
And Amber had been kidnapped at dawn.
That was…what…twelve hours ago?
More?
Jesus, she could be miles from help.
She could be miles from anywhere.
For the first time since coming around to wakefulness, the full reality of the situation hit Amber hard. She was alone, in the middle of nowhere, tied to a tree by three fucking hillbillies whose intentions were unthinkable.
This is bad, she thought. This is very fucking bad.
No one is coming for me.
2
The fire was lit now, and despite her growing sense of terror, the meat that Finlay held over the hungry flames smelled wonderful. Why wouldn’t it? She hadn’t eaten all day.
She licked her lips, almost tasting the meat on her parched tongue. The men gathered around the small campfire, talking amongst themselves in hushed tones, as they bit into the hastily prepared steaks.
She considered asking for a piece, but resisted, not wanting to draw any attention to herself. Instead, she set about testing the strength of her bonds as the men went about their feast. They drank and laughed and joked, yet underneath it all, Amber senses a simmering current of something else.
There was a bristling tension beneath their bravado. Something lurking behind their attempts at fun. The rate at which they downed the moonshine, and the lack of relish they took in imbibing the drink told her that they were drinking less for fun, and more for courage.
Yes…she was sure of it. They were scared.
Not a good sign. Not good at all.
Amber reckoned they were gearing themselves up to do something that, in some way, invoked fear in them.
She shuddered at the thought of what their behaviour meant, and turned her attention back to the rope pinning her to the great redwood.
It was wrapped around the tree at least three or four times, and the rope was perhaps two inches in diameter.
That shit could hold an elephant in place.
Her arms were pinned at her side, but she could move her hands a little. It would do her no good, though. The pockets of her denim shorts were empty. She tried shuffling a little, but only managed to tighten the ropes around her waist. Her breasts hurt where the rope dug into her.
It was useless.
She was in a world of shit, and for the first time in her life, it seemed there was no way out of it.
This time, she thought, you’re shit out of luck.
Luck…
That had always been her friend. She’d seemed blessed with a built-in failsafe. No matter what the situation, and she and her friends had been in a lot of dire situations over the years, she always seemed to come out on top.
Not easy, when you’d spent two tours in the soul-scorching sands of Iraq, dodging bullets while you patched up bleeding, screaming soldiers and your friends dropped around you like flies.
Flies with huge, bloody bullet holes in their heads.
If they had heads at all.
She’d made it through that shit. They all had. Together. They’d witnessed bloodshed and horror, brutality the likes of which the media would never dare show the folks back home, and they’d come back to the USA with something nearing sane minds, and that was the luckiest thing of all.
These camping trips…they were their way of reclaiming their country. Of re-integrating themselves into the earth and spirit of America. They took to the woods any chance they got, and once there, they never looked back.
They were Queens over their kingdom, all of them.
Amber…Claire…Lyn.
Or at least, they had been.
Now, though, Amber was all alone, caught at the mercy of three perverts riding a nervous high as they worked themselves up to doing something awful.
She had a good idea what that ‘thing’ or ‘things’ may be.
And out here, deep in the Californian Redwoods, no one would hear her scream.
She’d let her guard down, and she’d paid for it.
Wasn’t that always the way?
When you felt most safe…that’s when the devil came calling to drag you screaming into whatever Hell took his fancy.
So much for luck…
3
The sharp shards of light that had sliced through the canopies above her head and penetrated the gloom of the woodland had faded now, as the velvet curtains of dusk slowly closed on the Californian noon. Amber gazed up through the thick wall of green above. As she watched, a bird soared overhead, effortlessly free. She longed to join it up there in the sky, far away from the nightmare that would surely come soon.
The forest around her seemed to whisper terrible promises, as the natural light of day was cast aside to be replaced by nothing but the soft firelight of her captor’s camp.
She watched them as they ate, feeling her stomach grumble as they feasted, and her throat grow more and more parched as they drank from their makeshift bottle of moonshine.
Talk amongst the men had grown quieter in time with the setting sun. Even more keenly than before, Amber sensed a tremor of nervous energy pass from man to man like electricity passing through conduits.
For a gang of moonshine-soaked rapists and potential murderers, they sure seemed to be lacking in any real enthusiasm.
This was not how this shit went down in the movies.
Shouldn’t they be whooping and hollering and comparing dick sizes by now? Arguing over who would put what, and where?
This seemed all wrong.
It couldn’t be the fear of being caught out here with a girl tied to a tree. They’d been plenty loud earlier on in the day, when the sun shone brig
ht. So why now, with far less chance of being apprehended as the day dwindled down, had they fallen so still?
Her questions only added to her growing panic. It wrapped its claws around her senses and squeezed tighter with each beat of her heart.
The soft, purple hue that lay over the forest, in this last hour before full darkness overwhelmed the woods, should have been beautiful.
The stillness of the forest as the birds sang their final songs for the day, the gentle breeze that inspired a hypnotic dance in the branches above her head, the sheer sense of humility and oneness that such a location inspired…it was majestic, bordering on the divine.
How awful, Amber thought, to have her last hours and minutes spent here – her favourite place on all the Earth – in fear and dread, and with three sick thugs for company instead of her beloved Clair and Lyn.
She wondered where they were. How they were doing.
Amber wasn’t a praying girl, but she prayed right then. She prayed they were safe, and that whatever happened to her, they’d find some comfort and peace in time.
She closed her eyes, beginning to understand that somewhere deep inside her, she’d already began to accept that death was close. So very close.
Her dark reverie was broken when Finlay lifted himself from his squat position by the small fireside, and made his way toward her.
As he navigated the increasingly gloomy environ, both his companions watched him intently.
There it was again, nestling behind their eyes…
Fear.
Finlay moved closer. A small smile touched his lips as he stopped directly in front of her. It looked forced. Fake. A human equivalent to the fanning of a peacock’s feathers.
He seemed to be buoying himself up.
But not for her benefit…
For his own.
Amber’s stomach, already cramped by the slow onset of hunger, seemed to shrivel and wither as he met her eyes.
She held his stare, nonetheless.
For a few seconds, no one spoke.
Then Finlay cleared his throat, swept his lank, blonde fringe from his eyes, and rested his hand on her shoulder.
The Wild: A Campfire Tale (Razorblade Candies Book 3) Page 1