When the Dark Wins

by Addison Cain

  Caia

  The gathering watch me cry. The heat of the blood that drips from between my legs scorches me.

  “Please,” I whimper. It’s almost inaudible, but he hears me. I know he does. But all I receive in response is a chuckle.

  “What do you think, ladies?” he questions the onlookers. The two women who were earlier dressed in beautiful evening dresses have the material bunched up to their hips with their legs spread wide and two boys who look to be my age between their thighs. The men who were seated beside the women have their gazes locked on me. Their hands move over their thick erections as they grunt and smirk.

  “Why don’t we test her ability for pain? If I’m going to spend ten million on a toy, I’d want to make sure she can handle a bit of rough,” one man offers me a wink that recoils my stomach. The incisions on my stomach already burn with the puke that’s dripped from my chin, but when one of the women finds her release, she grips the boys head, and just like in the movie they’d forced me to watch, she pulls a sleek blade from the holster on her thigh and slices through his neck as if it’s a hot knife cutting through butter.

  Revulsion shoots through me when I’m impaled with a thick handle of a blade that was used only moments ago to trail blood red lines over my white flesh. My eyes flutter, I’m weary. This is far too much for me to handle.

  I glance at the white-haired boy.

  He shakes his head sadly as he watches the scene unfold. He told me I was weak. If I cried, only worse would happen and he’s right. Well, he was right because I’m losing consciousness.

  The men were here to get off from the pain they inflicted.

  Another girl is brought in, she is younger, smaller, but the two large men didn’t care. Once more, I was hooked up to a vibrator that offered pleasure, pressed tightly against my mound as I watched the gruesome scene before me.

  The girl is pretty, she giggles as if she’s high. Perhaps she is and doesn’t even realize she’s about to be killed. I open my mouth, but I’m quickly stopped by the large ogre looking man. There’s a harsh material that’s shoved into my mouth and I’m choking on the fine filaments of hair, and the taste of metallic residue. I’m certain it’s blood, but what makes me retch is the fact that I know it’s not mine.

  “Shhh, little one, tonight you’ll see what it is we really do here,” the ogre tells me proudly. The girl is bound to the table before me, her legs are spread wide and I watch as one of the women walks up to her. It’s the same one who just killed a boy.

  She leans in, inspecting the girl as if she were a painting at the Louvre. Her fingers trail down the smooth porcelain flesh of the young girl. When she reaches between her legs, she nods. Prodding the girl’s opening.

  A giggle falls from the girl’s lips and I know for a fact that they’ve given her something. There’s no way she can be happy with her body on display like that.

  “Is she to your specifications?” The old man grins like the fucking Cheshire cat.

  “She is, I’ll need this done tonight,” the woman responds. I don’t know what is happening, but the girl is bound to the table and as the older man places a silver scalpel to her stomach, he presses down and crimson floods the table immediately.

  “How far along is she?” The second woman questions as she rises, pulling the boy that was between her thighs along behind her like a dog on a leash.

  “Two months, it’s just the perfect amount of time,” the man in the white coat informs her.

  “Good, then we’ll take whatever you can salvage.” I’m tortured with the device between my legs as the man in the white coat begins his incisions to the girl’s body. Below her belly button, I stare in horror as he slices through her flesh easily.

  She’s numb, because there are no screams, no cries or whimpers from her. She doesn’t feel anything. Her body is limp as he lifts a layer of her stomach and shoves his hand into her.

  That’s when she starts gurgling. It’s a vicious sound, her body convulsing and one of the men who was merely observing rises, shoves down his zipper and pushes his cock into her mouth. Her throat bulges obscenely as the scene is set before them as if they’re watching a porn video.

  My own body responds to the vibrator on my clit, but my stomach heaves. My head is once again cloudy, foggy as confusion sets in. My scream is muffled by the cloth, my body tightens and pulses as an orgasm wracks through me as I witness the man in the white coat pull the womb from the young girl and I realize they were talking about her being pregnant.

  How far along is she?

  Two months.

  The perfect amount of time.

  Drake

  Today is the end. I can feel it in my bones.

  “I thought you said she’d be dead,” River whispers from beside me. I’m so numb, I don’t even notice the scene before me. I sit like the mechanical robot he’s turned me into.

  “I did. I lied.”

  I feel his gaze on me. It’s burning through my flesh, turning my body tense and rigid. He’s the only person I’ve ever allowed to come near me. To touch me. After what I’d been through, I no longer enjoy the gentle caress of another, and I don’t offer it either.

  That doesn’t mean I haven’t fucked my dick into some of the corpses. Those who are cold and rigid. I can’t handle warmth any more. It’s not who I am. I’m a monster and as the girl’s womb is ripped from her body, I feel nothing.

  I sit.

  I watch.

  I feel a pulse in my dick. I’m hard. Turned on by the depravity. Because he made me that way. He’s forced me, just like he’s forcing her, Caia, to feel desire at the sick deeds. Only, she doesn’t know why.

  I do.

  I know all his moves. And soon, I’ll make sure that he takes his last breath. I won’t do it quickly.

  No.

  I’ll revel in the slow torture of his filthy flesh. Those pieces of him he finds pleasure in, I’ll ensure they’re burned while still attached.

  How beautiful it will be.

  The bright orange flame that dances along the wrinkled old skin of his cock. I’m lost in my violent thoughts, so I don’t notice when he has Ivor drag Caia over to the table that the dead girl has just vacated.

  It’s only when her muffled screams seem to jolt me into action that I realize I’m moving. My feet are racing to her, watching as he brings his scalpel down onto her smooth stained and bruised flesh. There’s a man fucking her throat, violating the tight hole that I want.

  I realize then that I want her.

  I need her.

  “No!”

  My father’s gaze snaps to mine with a fury I’ve never seen before.

  He smirks, pressing the cool metal against her pretty face. Her beautiful cheek is soon oozing crimson liquid, the color of Merlot that I have at the dinner table.

  “I knew you were a fucking pussy,” my father grunts. There’s a cock of a weapon, the click of a barrel and I lose all sense of what I’m doing. It feels as if my body is slowing down when I reach her.

  I grasp her hand, pulling her from the metal table and onto the floor. Her throat is turning blue, the convulsions wracking through her are violent and the pungent stench of puke falls onto my chest as she expels the drugs they’ve clearly injected into her.

  It’s then that I see it.

  Behind her.

  The man who was using her throat like a cunt pulls the weapon and its only seconds before I register the shot. It sears through her, into me and I cry out in agony when I realize I’ve just lost the first thing I ever wanted to care for.

  The only thing I wanted to nurture.

  And her limp body is now on top of me.

  Is this the end?

  Acknowledgments

  First off, I have to thank Jennifer and Addison for the opportunity to be a part of this anthology. You ladies are amazing and to be working with you on this project means so much to me. Thank you!

  To Maggie, thank you for shuddering through my story and polishing it up and m
aking the dark words shine. It was a pleasure working with you.

  To my ladies for trusting me and taking the plunge into the dark and reading the early copies of my story, thank you! You’ve always trusted me and each time I push you just that much further and each time you love my characters and beg for more.

  To Michelle, thank you for all you’ve done to support me, and for loving Drake, he’s yours. Always and forever! x

  To the bloggers and readers who’ve taken this dark and depraved journey with all of us, thank you! You are why we’re here, so thank you for the support, the love, and for trusting us by dipping your toes in the worlds we create.

  About Dani René

  Dani is an international bestselling author and proud member of the Romance Writer's Organization of South Africa.

  A fan of dark romance that grabs you by the throat and doesn't let go. It's from this passion that her writing has evolved from sweet and romantic, to dark and delicious. It's in this world she's found her calling, growing from strength to strength and hitting her stride.

  On a daily basis, she has a few hundred characters, storylines, and ideas floating around in her head. From the feisty heroines she delivers to the dark, dominant alphas that grace the pages of her books, she promises light in a world filled with danger and darkness.

  She has a healthy addiction to reading, TV series, music, tattoos, chocolate, and ice cream.

  Do you follow me? If not, head over to any of the below links, I love to hear from my readers!

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  Books by Dani René

  Stand Alones

  Ace of Harts

  Love Beyond Words

  CUFFED

  Fragile Innocence (A dark ménage romance)

  Taboo Novella’s

  His Temptation

  Austin’s Christmas Shortcake

  Kingston (Four Fathers Book 2)

  Carina Press Novella’s

  Pierced Ink

  Madd Ink

  Broken Series

  Broken by Desire

  Shattered by Love

  The Backstage Series

  Between Love & Fire

  Between Lust & Tears

  Between Want & Fear

  Forbidden Series

  From the Ashes - A Prequel

  Crave (Book #1)

  Covet (Book #2)

  Sins of Seven Series

  Kneel (Book #1)

  Whisper (Book #2)

  Indulge (Book #3)

  VII

  A Sinner in Virtue

  A Sinner in Virtue

  Eris Adderly

  Copyright

  Text copyright © 2018 Eris Adderly

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The Valley of the Shadow

  The windows of The Yellow Rose were a light at the end of a tunnel. So many floating lanterns above a night horizon in what had once been the southern panhandle of the American state of Texas.

  Buckeye Wheeler shifted her mail truck into second gear and cornered onto the dirt road that led her to the house of Lust. It was the last stop on her route for the night and her shoulders drooped in relief. The Rose had a solid reputation; she could probably even leave her pistol in the cab.

  A guard shack sat to the left of the drive, but the man inside shot her a wave without bothering to stop her or even stand. Her truck was a familiar enough sight in this part of The Vice.

  Hers wasn’t the only vehicle in the cleared lot next to the two-story Victorian. There were two meat-haulers, both armored, which meant their owners had money. The larger passenger sedan looked like it might even have solar.

  Alongside the fancier transports was a pair of horses hitched to the bare-bones chassis of a truck, well over a hundred years old. Fat fenders and a smiling grille amid a patchwork of paint, but those were the sort that held up.

  Buckeye rolled up next to three more horses—these saddled and tied up to a rail—and cut her engine. A man sat on the tailgate of the horse-drawn truck, the orange firefly of a lit cigarette buzzing around his face. She didn’t recognize him, but he gave her a nod when she stepped out into the night.

  Her boot soles gritted hardpacked earth on the way to the double doors on the back of the mail truck. People might have called it a ‘panel delivery’ back in the day, but that would have been before the Delineation. Nostalgia from her grandparents’ time. Another world.

  Four variously-sized envelopes and a thin square package about the length of her forearm made up the last of her deliveries for the next three days. The moon was rising over a dust cloud in the east—she was exceedingly late—but after this, Buckeye could take a day of rest before she had to head back to the post.

  Louder music than usual bumped and hooted from The Rose, its security shutters rolled up, windows open to the starry sky and flat nothing of the surrounding land. Laughter and boozy song—and a variety of other sounds from the upstairs rooms—bubbled into the mix as she mounted warped wood steps to the wide, wraparound porch.

  Functional LED lamps flanked the front entrance, which stood ajar behind a screen door to reveal a brightly-painted entry. Buckeye made an impressed face at all this: The Rose had to be doing even better than she’d thought for fancy shit like that.

  She rapped on the aluminum door frame with her knuckles and called out in a carrying voice over the music, “Maggie! Maggie B!” Tiny moths battered the porchlights while she stood, waiting.

  From deeper in the house, a feminine voice echoed in relay. “Mags! Mags! Someone’s at the door yellin’ for ya!” There was a muffled crash, and a round of swearing from some other person. Buckeye snorted amusement.

  An interior door opened, flooding even more raucous noise out into the hall that ran alongside the stairs. A familiar form swung into view and hollered back into the room she’d just left.

  “You’re gonna be yellin’ for me in about a minute!” the woman lobbed back. “And get your feet off that fuckin’ table! It’s about a jillion years old. It’s gonna turn to dust if you even look at it funny.”

  Attention and brassy voice turned to the mail carrier hovering outside the door. “Hey! Bucks!” A grin split the woman’s face. “Didn’t think you were gonna make it tonight.”

  Maggie Bone, right arm of The Yellow Rose, came to the front door and pushed it open. Buckeye stepped out of the way.

  “Overheated south of Plume Wash. It was either wait it out or waste water. And that was at noon, so …” She shrugged, letting the obvious speak for itself. Pulled the package out from under her arm and paired it with the envelopes before handing the lot off to the other woman.

  Maggie’s bosom threatened a full attack from over the top of a grommeted leather corset while she flipped through the mail, gleaning whatever she could without opening anything in front of Buckeye. Dark reddish-brown hair sat half atop the woman’s head, and half hanging in ringlets onto exposed shoulders, the kind of fussy style a person could only get away with working in a house of Lust.


  Rest of us gotta get filthy.

  Fancy hair and fuck-me clothes were just a distraction, though. An affect the woman enjoyed. Anyone smart enough to survive in this part of The Vice knew better than to try pulling an ounce of shit on Miss Maggie Bone. Plump curves concealed an armature of wrought iron and fucking barbed wire.

  “So what’s all goin’ on tonight?” asked Buckeye, nodding to the din in the background.

  “Oh, you ain’t heard?” Maggie looked up from the mail, brows lifted. “Rhoda’s retiring. This here’s my first night in charge of The Rose. We’re havin’ ourselves a little celebration.” The woman’s smile curled.

  “Miss Rhoda’s hanging it up?”

  “Yup,” said Maggie. “Decided she was too old and too tired. Gonna go live in New Francisco with her family. And I don’t know if you know this”—she tilted her head forward, conspiratorial—“but Rhoda’s kids own the fucking Poppy, so she’s gonna be sittin’ fat and happy for the rest of her life.”

  Buckeye fairly gaped. There were houses of Sloth everywhere, but if money was no object, The Poppy served the best highs anywhere in the VT. At least according to its reputation.

  “Well congratulations!” Buckeye said, thrusting out a hand. Maggie shifted her parcel to the other arm and they clasped palms, pumping a couple times up and down in festive warmth.

  “Thanks!” Her smile was bright. “This your last stop? I hope?”

  “It sure is.”

  “You ain’t got anywhere else to be, why don’t you come on in?” Maggie said, stepping aside from the doorway. “Use the bathroom. Wash some of the road dust off you. Have a drink.” The last offer came with a glitter of mischief from green eyes.