by Addison Cain
“You’ve had this coming for a long time and you know it, Lowell,” I add evenly. “When you agreed to play the part of the ‘sexy stranger’ to see what a night for me is really like, why it’s so goddamn hard sometimes for me to make money, I knew I had you right where I wanted you.”
Lowell rolls over onto all fours and looks up at us. “But… I thought…”
“That we didn’t know each other? It’s all part of the role playing, dumb ass,” I reply with a sneer on my face.
“Babe, why’d you kill Honey?” Stone asked suddenly.
“I don’t like the competition. She took a lot of Johns from me and pretended to be my friend when she thought they were too good for me or I need ‘a rest’,” I reply with a shrug.
“Makes sense,” Stone agrees.
“What to do with you,” I wonder, turning my attention back to Lowell. I gently shrug away from Stone’s grip and walk toward the young, handsome man with James Dean good looks and Robert Hansen intentions, and aim the gun at his head.
And suddenly, it hits me. I know exactly what to do with him.
“Let’s play a little game with him,” I say turning to Stone who’s patiently waiting for direction.
“Being?” he asks curiously.
“How about we chain him to the wall and let him rot in the fucking darkness like he did to you,” I say with a wide smile. “I think that’ll teach him not to shit where he eats.”
“This is why I love you,” Stone says, shaking his head and laughing. “On it.”
I keep the gun trained on Lowell as Stone roughly strips him naked, then drags him to the wall. He grabs him by the hair and slams his head back against the wall, placing the collar around his neck.
“Wanna give me a hand?” he asks, glancing at me over his shoulder. I nod and walk toward them, the gun trained on Lowell the entire way. If he gets any ideas, I’ll fucking shoot him dead and piss on his goddamn corpse.
When I reach them, I lean down and grab the chains that have been left by the wall and hand them to Stone, who quickly loops one through the hole in the back and then through an industrial sized loop that Lowell had inserted into the wall. Once he has his neck secured in place, he crouches down and places the large, metal cuffs around his wrists and again, loops the chains to hold him in place.
As soon as he completes his task, Stone leans toward Lowell’s face, growls and snaps his teeth at him. I giggle; sometimes he really gets into his roles and it takes me a while to break him out of them, but I’ve never met a more loyal person in my life.
“Hey; take that thing off your dick,” I say, suddenly remembering the prosthetic we made for him to wear. Because I know how Lowell likes to treat his new pets, it would only make sense to have him wear something to discourage him from wanting Stone more than the one time he actually did.
I never would have guessed that he likes dick as much as he likes pussy, I muse to myself as I glance at our new toy.
“How the tables have turned,” I say softly to him.
Lowell lets out a noise; something between a sob and a laugh, as he leans his head back against the wall and looks up at us.
“Alright. I get it; you’re pissed off, I would be too. Don’t you think this is taking it too far?” he asks, still attempting to steady his breathing.
“You really should shoot him. I’m sick of him already. Wait; do we have to feed him?” Stone asks, getting to his feet and pulling off the prosthetic. He tosses it at Lowell’s face, who turns away with angry tears streaming down his face.
“I’ll think about it, but I’m sure if he gets hungry enough he’ll find a way to get over to Honey Bee, don’t you?” I ask, giving him a meaningful glance.
“You are fucking wicked, Babe,” Stone replies with a laugh. “Come on, let’s go upstairs and see if we can make a home out of this shithole. I’m tired of looking at him and I wanna take a shower.”
He slips an arm around my waist and as we make our way toward the stairs, Lowell starts hurling angry insults at us. How we’ll never be anything more than whores, how we’ll get what’s coming to us, how people will come looking for him and Honey Bee.
And maybe he’s right. Maybe we will get what’s coming to us one day and maybe there will be a little search party for him and the Queen of Skid Row, but that day won’t come any time soon and when it does, we’ll be long gone by then looking for a new home in a new place.
That’s the thing about finding someone that’s as fucking crazy as you are; they’re always willing to play a game every now and then just to keep the romance alive.
The End
About Yolanda Olson
Yolanda Olson is an award winning and international bestselling author, she usually spends her time watching her favorite channel, Investigation Discovery. Occasionally, she takes a break to write books and test the limits of her mind. As an avid horror movie fan, she likes to incorporate dark elements into the majority of her books.
Author Page
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Used
Used
Cari Silverwood
A spin-off story from
the Dark Hearts trilogy and Wolfe
Copyright
Copyright © 2017 Cari Silverwood
www.carisilverwood.net
Editor: Nerine Dorman
All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book only. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials.
This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Warning
For mature readers only
This is a dark erotic series
and is written to be disturbing.
This book contains adult language and extreme sexual situations only suitable for adult readers.
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Chapter 1
Years ago, I caught an infection that made me into an apex predator of certain females.
I was a mesmer, a collector – a man with all the right gifts. I could make them do anything.
Within reason? Someone might ask me, if I ever took questions.
No.
Anything.
And yet... Used. That was how I felt when I thought of Red.
She was coming. I would’ve known even without Wolfe’s emailed forewarning. I could feel her, as if the wake of the jet plane she rode in sifted essence of her over me, essence of her femaleness, her sodden cunt, from miles away, high in the atmosphere.
When I spoke a word or whispered my fingertip down the undulations of her spine, how wet she’d become. I remembered this well.
I’d hidden. She’d found me.
A soldering iron applied to the surface of my brain couldn’t burn that day away – the day in Cuba when I met Wolfe and I met Red. Hot, sun-bleached air, and my power sparkling new.
Her real name? I’d forgotten it. Why bother asking, reading her passport, when she’d do anything for me, despite knowing nothing about me?
The first time I detected her, she smelled incandescent... like gold, like power, like money, like every barbaric, sadistic, perverted sexual act one human being could do to another.
I wanted her. Still did.
If I had her, the world would never be the same. She gave my monster permission to do things.
The paradox of a man who loves control being in a pe
rverse situation.
Cuba had been days after my fiancée left me on the eve of our wedding. Arranged for months. The invited had travelled from the UK and Sweden. Chaos spawned from her whim. She loved another. Hilariously devastating.
After the infection, the mesmer revelation, I cared nothing for her or her whim.
I’d thrown her cellphone in the sea.
Now? Red was up there, flying to me, probably to kill me.
I shifted my back on the deck chair and eyed Vitor where he played with one of my girls. She swayed, hands cuffed and caught in ropes attached to the ceiling of the patio. Below, the sea sloshed against the pylons. Beyond was blue water, a far and beautiful curve of sea, lined by beach and the square dots of houses. The mostly naked girl, clad in shreds of lingerie, rocked back and forth, jarred and made to squeak as he screwed himself into her ass. I kept Vitor happy with fucking and a second-hand power over what was mine.
Blood was dribbling down her inner thigh.
Years ago, becoming jaded had seemed ridiculous. I had my town by the sea, I had my collected ones, but the girls grew dull with use and I had my moments of morality.
Red...
Wolfe said he’d broken something in her to give me access to her head. Wolfe could grab almost any girl. To me and to most mesmers, only some females were susceptible. Red was different.
He’d snapped something inside her and it’d stayed snapped. Before releasing her, I tested her. There’d been risks with letting her go but Wolfe could go fuck himself. He wanted me to keep the little CIA agent and make her vanish so she couldn’t chase him. Since I was a novice mesmer, he thought I’d be eager for my first. And I had been. I was also smarter and stronger willed than most men.
My way had worked. Until today. Why else would she chase me except to kill me?
Three years had passed since Wolfe handed me the facts.
“You will be a monster, unless you’re careful.”
I didn’t want to be a monster controlled by an infection.
As a lawyer, logic took precedence. I lived control.
I took steps. Rigorous and repetitive steps.
Red was coming.
She was my talisman, my potential key. I’d pushed her away because I feared the unlocking. In a way that meant I feared the key but I hadn’t deduced that straight away.
Fear was a mind killer. I detested my own fear, even if I loved inducing fear in others.
I was comfortable, here, in my South American town, but I could be doing more. The world tantalized me.
If Red returned, I had that choice again to turn the key or throw it away.
I’d thought back then it would trigger me and make me worse if I kept her, my little redhead.
Keep, kill, maim her beyond the point of wanting her? Talk to her?
One of those needed doing. Red’s plane swept overhead, roaring toward the nearest airport. The contrails from the engines prettied the sky.
I rose from the chair and strolled into my study. All the doors to this upper story were rolled back exposing the rooms to the breeze and the morning sun.
This was my ritual. It kept me in check and sane.
All of these things before me reminded me of that day when I was barely a mesmer and could recall what it was like to care for others, to empathize. Twice daily, I forced myself to remember.
Knife.
The written story.
The unsullied blister pack of capsules. Wolfe had given me that – a drug that could help dull the power and the aggression. I hated drugs. Artificial shit.
The photos of her after I had her, and before.
Who needed luxury settings when you had your first collected girl?
I remembered the alley between tall buildings.
One photo of her freshly brought to heel. Eyes wide, pupils dilated, her back to the grubby brick wall. Tongue in mid-sweep across her red lips. That dark yet sexy pantsuit with the thin red tie. Her neat short hair. I could see the swell of her breasts beneath the cloth, and her hips.
Red hair. Red lips. Red tie.
CIA? I saw only a thing I could have.
Have. Keep. Fuck.
Outside, Vitor made whacking noises as he slammed into the girl. Seagulls screamed. The girl gurgled and gasped incoherently like an animal caught in a delicious trap. My nostrils expanded, smelling the sex. My cock livened, swelled.
The monster pumped with searing rawness in my veins, same as it had then. It desired all of me. Sometimes I could almost see it – sucking on me, flowing like raw and bloody sex in my veins. I wrapped my hand over my forearm and felt the swell of muscle, the bump of my pulse. I was a bigger, bulkier man than I was then – a mesmer side-effect.
The monster could never be allowed full rein. I wanted to remain me.
Hence my ritual.
What if I didn’t need it anymore?
I fingered the second photo of her – kneeling on the pavement, her head angled up, my cum splattered on her face and dribbling from her swollen mouth.
Wolfe: “Take her, put semen in her, touch her, make her orgasm, and you will have her fully.”
I’d done that.
She couldn’t tell tales about us. Couldn’t orgasm by herself.
I’d kept her a few days but I’d not let her or myself come again, just to prove I could be that restrained. Then I let her go with a smile.
I’d leaned on the corner of the hotel and waved. Bye bye.
So smart, I’d thought. Restraint was my answer.
And the ritual.
Carefully, I drew the knife across my arm. The pain yanked the room into startling focus. I bled. Red leaked through the hair, dripped onto the timber of the desk top. I’d heal from this quickly. I picked up the worn pages, the small digest of that day, to relive what it was to be Isak Bain, a man who cared.
The girl outside groaned then screamed in climax, for the third time. I blinked away the monster. Mechanically, I touched the photos, the knife, the capsules, then I mouthed the words. I only read a few of them nowadays, and it was enough.
“It was a bright day in Cuba when I first saw Wolfe and I first saw Red...”
This was my shrine to the day Isak Bain went bad but stayed a little good.
The girl was sobbing and I matched the rhythm of my words to her sounds.
When I finished and stood, she lay curled on the stone. Vitor was taking down the ropes. Her breathing was still rapid, she was mottled and striped with red, but she was fine. I clicked my tongue.
“Vitor, take her downstairs. She’ll get sunburned there.”
Chapter 2
I flew in, went through customs, and hired a local taxi within an hour of landing. With my innocuous luggage in the trunk, I was on my way to where he lived. I knew his name, couldn’t think it without fearing retribution. I couldn’t think it without feeling ill.
As we drove down from the hills surrounding the town, it unfolded like some perfect, pop-up children’s book. Small and peaceful, on the surface. The vast and sparkling blueness of the sea overwhelmed me more than the cuteness of the houses.
If this was the last thing I saw before I died, at least it was pretty. Such dark musings.
A dull gnawing in my stomach reminded me of the stupidity of my plans.
I pressed the back of my hand to my mouth, smearing lipstick. I rubbed off the marks on my skin with a tissue until all of it was gone. Cleanliness was close to innocence.
Could you become innocent after being dragged through the dirt? Not that he’d done much to me physically – it was having someone inside my head that bothered me. It’d left a stain, a dirty, stinking, life-wrecking stain.
Most of this trip was arranged and planned. Being downgraded to an analyst hadn’t deprived me of the ability to get things done. I’d manipulated the system and would get fired and arrested if I returned. When.
Who gave a fuck? Except it limited my free time here. The agency would catch up with me soon.
Years of agonizin
g lay in my wake.
I had the names of illegal gun dealers but hadn’t been able to arrange a weapon, and I couldn’t kill him up close.
Those years...
No lovers. No orgasms. No intimacy. Crying myself to sleep because I could tell no one what had caused my so-called breakdown in Cuba.
That first time I encountered a mesmer in the US...
Luckily, he’d died before he could do anything except brush across my mind, adding another microscopic layer of grime to what the other man had left. I took it as a warning and hired protection for when I wasn’t at work – briefed my bodyguard on possible actions if I did anything odd. I took other precautions, as a suspicious, over-paranoid agent might do.
Then...nothing.
No one came near me and no one obstructed my search for him. A fingerprint on my handbag was my treasured clue and I’d used it to find him – Isak Bain.
After three years of looking, the database had coughed up a match. A routine police investigation in a South American country, to rule out the innocent, had been picked up by NSA scans. His print was one of those tested and discarded, because he was innocent. As if he could ever be.
The taxi thumped over potholes, rattling my luggage.
I inhaled and let my hands rest in my lap. All I had to do was get a long gun, stay distant, and kill him before he realized I was here. The CIA had taught me to shoot and I’d enhanced my combat skills over the three years since, anticipating this day.