Indulgence

by Liz Crowe

  “He took everything from me,” she went on. “He killed my entire family.”

  “You want help from me?” I scoffed. “If they'd have asked, I would've killed them too.”

  Mercy let out a strangled sob. “I know something is in there, X. I've seen it. I've seen it when I'm with you. When you fuck me. When you're inside me. I've seen it.” Her gaze met mine defiantly, despite the fear that shook her entire body. “Help me. Help me end Sykes.”

  It might’ve been desperation, or it might’ve been something else, but she leaned forward and pressed her lips against mine. My cock stirred as the tip of her tongue caressed my bottom lip, but it wasn’t the only thing. Darkness. She was darkness.

  I jerked backward, breaking contact and clutching my head, the gun feeling heavy in my hand.

  “X...”

  Snapping to attention, I pulled the tranquilizer out of my jacket pocket and shoved Mercy against the wall again. Her lips parted in a gasp as the air was pushed from her lungs and I struck. The needle pierced her skin and she cried out, batting her hands against my chest.

  As the drug took hold, her movements became clumsy, her eyes glazing over.

  “No,” she slurred, trying to push me away. “No, you can't...X...”

  As her eyes rolled into the back of her head and her body crumpled, I caught her in my arms, lowering her to the floor.

  What are you doing X? She won't feel anything now. End her. She's your ticket to freedom.

  Kill her.

  I straddled her comatose body as she lay on the floor, placing the gun on the bed. She really was a beautiful woman. A beautiful, venomous, snake. She’d lost a great deal of weight, her slimness bordering on unhealthy, but that was most likely due to the stress of her family’s murder, her attempted hit on Sykes and the subsequent months of trying to lay low.

  Black hair suited her better than her natural blonde. She was beautiful in her darkness.

  Leaning over, I curled my fingers around her pretty, pale neck and began to squeeze. She wouldn’t feel a thing. This was as gentle as I would allow myself to be with a mark. She was getting off easy.

  Her body jerked underneath me, an animalistic reflex warning her of danger. A warning that would go unheeded. I crushed my thumbs into her throat and felt the life slipping from her, feeding the monster inside me. Leaning closer into her, I pressed my lips against hers as they started turning a dull shade of blue.

  Vanilla. She smelt like vanilla perfume. Flowers. Beauty.

  My cock began to harden, pressing painfully against my jeans and my entire body tensed. Letting her go, I sat up sharply, hissing through my teeth.

  I never got off on killing. Never. There was one thing that I knew how to do and that was separating one need from another. Killing never came into my sexual world and vice versa. Blood never made my cock hard.

  Mercy Reid. Mercy fucking Reid.

  Shoving the gun into the back of my jeans, I hauled her limp body up and into my arms, unsure of what I was doing or where I was going.

  I never hesitated and I never failed.

  Not until today. Until I wanted to fuck her as the life bled from her eyes.

  Sick son of a bitch.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Mercy

  Alison Crawford was a lot of things.

  Alison Crawford was the image of perfection.

  Alison Crawford was dead.

  I was glad to go away to University. I was glad to get away from my overbearing parents and fucked up brother, Anthony. The stupid asshole that kept dragging our family’s name through the mud by getting caught up with criminals and thugs. He liked to play games, but with the name Crawford behind him, it made him a target and far from someone to be feared.

  Then there was me. I did what I was told and I followed orders like a good little girl. I let my parents mold me into a perfect image of themselves and their legacy. That was until my brother got to me and convinced me that forging my own path was the way to go. They controlled me too much, he said. I was nothing but a shell. Putty in their hands to be used and abused. What did I want?

  I wanted to be an artist. I wanted beauty, life…color.

  I loved my parents and they loved me, but they never really saw the person I was underneath. The person who I wanted to be. They just wanted the best for their only daughter and all that overbearing stuff? It was just the way they were brought up. A kind of conditioning that was passed through the generations.

  I loved my parents, but I wasn’t going to be like them.

  Winter break was meant to be my first time home since leaving for University four years ago. I’d graduated a week before, but had somehow won a scholarship to do my Master’s Degree in Fine Arts. I was going back to study, because going home to tell your well-to-do parents that you had no job lined up after your expensive stint at one of the country’s best Universities, would go down real well.

  I sat on a train, the darkening countryside flashing past the windows. I was so lost in my own thoughts that I jumped when my phone buzzed in my coat pocket. Glancing at the screen I saw it was a text from my mother. 5pm. Don’t be late. The train would get into the station at four thirty and it was a ten-minute taxi ride from there to home. I wouldn’t be late.

  There was a cough across the aisle and I glanced up, catching the eye of the young man who sat there. He threw a newspaper onto the seat next to him and smiled at me, his blue eyes the first thing I noticed. Well, apart from the fact that he was pretty hot.

  I was looking for a way to piss of my parents and at twenty-three, I should probably be past that kind of juvenile behavior, but a little fun never hurt anyone.

  The man smiled at me, his lip curling. He was interested. Good.

  He stood, straightening his coat and crossed the aisle to sit next to me.

  “What’s your name?” he asked with a grin.

  “Alison,” I replied, shifting in my seat so my knee pressed against his. “And you are?”

  “Damien.” He raked his gaze over my body and smiled, obviously liking what he saw.

  “Where are you getting off?” I asked.

  He laughed, his thoughts obviously going to a dirty place. “The next stop.”

  “I was hoping you would say in me.”

  His brow furrowed for a split second before he licked his lips. “That sounds even better.”

  An announcement blared over the speaker calling the next stop and I raised my eyebrows. Standing, Damien held out his hand and I grasped it in my own. He helped me to my feet as the train swayed and I stumbled against his chest. Arms circled my waist to steady me and I laughed. He was a head taller than me and had a firm chest and strong hands. I wondered if he had a cock to match.

  I picked up my bag from the seat opposite as the train pulled into the station. We stepped out onto the dark platform together as other passengers disembarked, passing us in their haste to get home. Winter was well underway and would be a tough one this year. Winter sucked the marrow out of life, what with getting dark at four in the afternoon.

  “My car is parked across there.” He pointed to a suave looking sedan in the corner of the car park.

  Nodding, I let him lead me across the asphalt. Okay, so maybe I was being a little stupid letting a stranger lead me to his car in the dark. He could take me anywhere and do anything to me, but since I’d struck out on my own, I’ve lived life a little more on the edge than any sane person would care for.

  Pushing me gently against the car, Damien pressed his body into mine, forcing my legs apart with his knee. I dropped my bag and fisted my hands into his jacket, pushing through layers of clothing until I found skin. Lips crashed into mine as he swiped his tongue into my mouth, kissing me with as much flair as a wet fish. This was not at all promising, but I was kind of aroused and it would be better than finding a quiet place to finger myself to kill time.

  “Get in the car,” I said, shoving him off me. “Fuck me in the back seat.”

  “You sure? I
don’t live far.”

  “I’m sure.”

  The indicators flashed as he unlocked the car, popping the back door open and sliding in. Immediately, he began unzipping his trousers and pulling out his cock. Getting in beside him, I closed the door and slipped my hand around his dick, palming him to full erection. He groaned, rolling his hips upward.

  Curling his hand into my hair, he pulled me in for another kiss, and then tried to force my lips onto his cock.

  “I want it in my pussy,” I said. “Maybe I’ll suck you later. Maybe I’ll suck you when I can taste my cum on you. How does that sound?”

  “Fine by me,” he growled.

  Shoving me across the middle console, he ripped my jeans and knickers down to my knees, my bare ass sticking up in the air.

  “You’ve got a pretty ass, Alison,” he murmured.

  “It would look better with your cock in it,” I replied, moving back to rub against his erection.

  I waited as he rolled on a condom, fisting his balls in his hands. As he positioned the head of his dick against my pussy I smiled in satisfaction as he slid inside me, wondering how my mother was coping with me being late. Having a meltdown probably. Fucking good.

  Damien’s balls smacked against my thighs as he thrust home, burying himself balls deep. He pulled out to the tip, ramming in again and finally I was getting somewhere.

  “Yeah, that’s it,” I purred, feeding his ego. “Fuck me there.”

  He began fucking me hard, his skin slapping against mine, stroking my clit with one hand, while the other clamped down on my hip. The car filled with the musky scent of sex, the windows beginning to fog.

  I reared back into him, meeting him thrust for thrust and my orgasm slammed into me hard and fast. Not half bad for a guy who kissed like a wet fish.

  There was a grunt as he came, filling the condom with his orgasm, his hands caressing my ass cheeks.

  “So, can I get your number so we can do this again?” he asked, pulling out. Shit, the guy didn’t miss a beat lining up his next cheap fuck.

  Falling back onto the seat and yanking my knickers and jeans back on I smiled up at him. Not bloody likely.

  “Nice fuck,” I said, opening the car door and getting out. I spied a waiting taxi by the entrance to the station like it was a getaway car waiting to whisk me away from the scene of the crime. “But no thanks.”

  I slammed the car door closed, leaving the guy with his trousers around his ankles and a condom still firmly on his mediocre cock. Nice fuck, but it didn’t blow my mind. Hell, I’d already forgotten his name.

  I opened the back door of the taxi, throwing my bag in before me. I gave the driver the address, ignoring his raised eyebrow. Crawford was a name well known in these parts. Money bred gossip and all.

  Fifteen minutes later, I stepped out of the taxi and slipped the guy a twenty, telling him to keep the change. Staring up at the house, which was an old country manor that had been renovated just after my parents got married, I saw that all the lights were on. I was an hour late, but that was neither here nor there.

  My footsteps crunched on the gravel drive as I made my way to the front door, readying myself for the barrage of abuse that would spill from my mother’s lips. Was that any way to treat your daughter who you hadn’t seen for four years? Was that any way to conduct a reunion?

  Stepping up onto the landing, I instantly noticed that the front door was ajar, which was strange. Not thinking much of it, I shoved the door open and my heart stopped. My fingers went numb as my bag slipped from my grasp, falling to the floor with a thud.

  Anthony was slumped against the wall, a hole in his head. A smear of red trailed down the paintwork behind him, while his lifeless eyes stared across the hall into the lounge. In front of him was my mother lying face down in a pool of her own blood.

  Sticky, congealed, rancid blood.

  Stepping forward, my entire body beginning to chill, I saw my father dead on the lounge room floor, a hole in his head too.

  They’d been shot. Bam. Right between the eyes.

  The air smelt like copper and smoke. Blood and gore. Death and destruction.

  I wanted color in my life…I wanted beauty.

  And all I got was a beautiful corpse.

  Later the police told me that if I’d been any earlier, then I’d be dead too.

  A selfish fuck had saved my life.

  Whore.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Mercy

  I felt like I was drowning.

  Darkness clung to my mind as I struggled to the surface, trying to drag me down. It would be so much easier to just give in.

  It was the best sleep I’d ever had in my life and knowing it was unnatural, knowing it was X who jabbed me with something, made it all the worse.

  Why was I waking up? Why wasn’t I dead?

  That was the stupidest question I'd ever thought in my life. I was still alive so he could do horrible things to me. I fell for the monster and now I was caught in his lair. He knew the truth and who knew what was coming to devour me.

  I’d tried to be dark. I’d tried to be like him, like Sykes. He killed my entire family in cold blood and he had to pay. I wasn’t on good terms with my parents, and fuck…I hadn’t seen them in four years, but to come home to a welcome stained red… My family might’ve been a lot of things, but they didn’t deserve to die like that.

  I wanted to put a bullet into Sykes head and see how he liked it. Bam. Right between the eyes.

  The door opened, swinging inwards and colliding with the wall with a bang. I jerked on the bed, the drug haze wearing off even more. My arms met resistance so I pulled harder, making something bite into my skin. Rope… My arms were over my head, tied to the bedposts and I kicked, only to find my legs were bound as well. I was completely naked and spread-eagled. I was at his mercy.

  X stood in the darkness of the hall, watching me struggle, watching my naked body writhe in panic as I realized what he’d done and how hopeless my situation was.

  The room was lit in a soft orange glow from a lamp on the bedside table, the scent of leather and male sweat heavy on the air. It smelt like X and I suddenly realized where I was being held. He’d taken me home. This was his apartment. It had to be.

  Stepping into the light, X stared down at me, his gaze traveling over my breasts and down to my most private parts, which were exposed in front of him. His expression was completely passive and not knowing what was going through his mind absolutely terrified me. Somehow I knew that this wasn’t the X that had fucked me over Weiss’ desk. It wasn’t the X that had shown that rare sliver of tenderness in my bed. It wasn’t the X that had let himself fall asleep next to me.

  This was X the hitman. X the monster.

  He was shirtless; all he wore was a pair of jeans and a manic glint in his eyes. My heart thumped painfully in my chest and I jerked against my restraints again.

  “X,” I gasped. “Please…”

  At the sound of my voice, he sprang to life and rounded the end of the bed, stalking like a predator. I was his prey, stuck in his web. I knew it was going to hurt. My natural reflexes began to kick in and I pulled desperately at the rope, like I’d suddenly developed some kind of superhuman power and break free.

  He shoved his jeans off, revealing his erection and I shivered, not understanding what was happening. Was he going to fuck me to death? Was this normal for him? Was this how he operated?

  He straddled me, pinning my hips underneath him and his cock pressed hot and hard into my stomach. He drew in deep breaths as he watched the fear begin to take over my senses, overwhelming reason. I bucked underneath him, trying to break free, but it only seemed to excite him even more.

  “That’s it,” he murmured. “Struggle, Mercy. Fight me.”

  He leaned over, grasping my wrists, covering my body with his.

  “Do you want to die?” he asked, trailing his lips across my cheek.

  “No,” I moaned, my body fighting against my better ju
dgment. I was aroused. I was fucking aroused like a sick fuck.

  “Why not? You were so willing to break into another man’s house and point a gun at his head.”

  “I wanted revenge.”

  “You didn’t have the stomach for it, Alison.”

  I jerked against him, but he just tightened his grip, thrusting his cock against my clit.

  “Don’t call me that,” I moaned. Fuck, I was aching. My wrist and ankles burned, my throat felt raw, but most of all, I ached right between the legs. The kind of ache that could only be sated with sex. Sated by X fucking it out of me with his cock.

  “Why not?” he asked, his voice calm and empty. “It’s your name.”

  “Alison is dead,” I spat defiantly.

  “Dead?”

  I glared up at X, trying to dispel the fear inside me. “D.E.A.D. Dead.”

  He stared down at me, his lips mere inches from mine, and regarded my expression. There was a tense silence as I awaited my fate, teetering on the edge of something dangerous. How was he going to do it? How long would he draw it out before he ended me?

  “Why did you do it?” he asked.

  “Do what?”

  “Choke.”

  Choke? He must mean the moment I stood above the man who’d murdered my entire family and couldn’t pull the trigger. That was my ultimate failure and having X know it was like pouring salt into an open wound. He knew I was weak and that was something he could manipulate. I hated that he knew.

  I stared up at him defiantly, pursing my lips. I’d never tell.

  “Do you fancy yourself to be a killer, Alison?”

  I bucked underneath him, the rope burning into my wrists. “Don’t call me that!”

  “You couldn’t pull the trigger.”

  “My name is Mercy!”

  “Do you want to be like me…Mercy?” He ran his lips along my jaw before licking at the shell of my ear. “Do you want to know what it’s like to have blood running through your fingers? Do you want to know what it takes?”

  Despite myself, a sob escaped my lips and X began to laugh.

  “You have to give up your soul, Mercy,” he murmured, his breath hot against my face. “You have to give up everything that makes you good. Can you do that?”