It was my turn to become stone, my jaw clenched tight and spine snapping straight. Gina was innocence personified, sheltered somewhat from the evil that was her sadistic father. I was just thirteen when I met Charlie who was two years my senior, he’d seen me at my absolute lowest, witnessing the degradation of my abuse first hand. There had been no thought when his dark eyes rose to find me chained and bent over a kitchen table, my step-father wildly thrusting into my ass, he’d simply reacted. With bloodshed. Murder and death formed our bond, and mutual respect kept it intact. When I met the little Gina, I was full of wrathful hate, and the compassion she bestowed on me wormed its way into my unforgiving heart, reminding me there was still kindness and innocence to be found in this ugly world. She had been four years younger than me, just a slip of a thing. If it hadn’t been for her and her brother, I wouldn’t have survived to see fourteen. Helping Charlie hunt down the men responsible for her disappearance was not a hardship. Bringing Algis in bloody and beaten would be a pleasure. As one of the men who helped orchestrate her “sale,” his death was only a matter of how, and Charlie would ensure it was long and painful.
“Like you, she deserves vengeance. Unlike you, she is unable to attain that for herself.”
Beauty was silent, her twisted mind taking in my words, considering them, and eventually accepting them. With a nod, she wiped her mouth on the back of her hand then stood. Long, pale blonde hair fell over one shoulder, and inviting, innocent eyes fell on me. She looked like a fucking porcelain doll, but when those pouty lips turned into a smile, it almost knocked me out of my chair. She was sin personified.
“I think it’s time to see Algis.”
12
BEAUTY
Charlie Decena. I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to meet the man. Although he might have some morals and drew the line at child exploitation, he was willing to sit back and allow women to be abused and used in the vilest of ways. If I ever came face to face with the man, I wasn’t sure if I’d cower in fear or shoot the bastard. Hart was obviously fond him, their relationship more than boss and employee. They had history, dark history. I doubted Hart would ever tell me the story, but the fact Charlie had somehow saved him left me feeling oddly thankful. It was confusing, and shaking my head, I dislodged all thoughts of the ominous gang leader.
Instead, I allowed my thoughts to move in another direction. As much as I wanted to ignore them, too, I needed them to tap into the place inside me that was wicked and dark. Like snapping beasts emerging from the gloom, the memories pushed forward. Each one more rancid and frightening than the last.
“Fuck my friend, and if you fuck him good, I might allow you to eat from the bowl tonight.”
“Suck my cock, but if you use your teeth, I will shoot you in the head and fuck your corpse.”
“Look at her bleed, Matis. It’s the most exquisite art I’ve ever seen.”
“You’re nothing. Not a girl, not a woman, not even a human being. You are a slab of meat for me to stick my dick in. And when I’ve had my fill, I will kill you slowly and feed your flesh to the dogs.”
By the time I came to a standstill at the dungeon doorway, I was seething with rage. My chest rose and fell with short breaths, my fists were clenched tight, my jaw was ticking, my lids were heavy. Algis’ gaze rose to mine, and immediately dismissed me, searching over my shoulder for Hart.
“Did you find what you were looking for?”
The warm press of a hand to my lower back moved me forward, and Hart stepped to one side. He looked so strong and confident. His wide shoulders pressed back, chin held high, sparkling eyes set on Algis. Slipping his hands into his pockets gave him the illusion of indifference, but the way his muscular body was tensed, his biceps clinging to the tight material of his shirt, the clench of his jaw, he was a hair’s breadth away from unleashing hell. And I was the only reason he was denying himself. This was my vengeance, and it was going to be sublime.
“I have someone working on it,” Hart purred, and my attention returned to Algis.
“Then let me the fuck down.”
“That’s not my choice, Algimas. You see, your fate is not in my hands. It’s in Beauty’s.”
“What the fuck?”
Stepping up to the wall of whips, chains, and floggers, I examined all the paraphernalia, remembering how each item was used on me. How I begged from him to stop, how I pleaded for mercy that never came.
“We had a deal,” Algis roared from behind me.
Hart replied, but I ignored their exchange. Finally, my eyes came to rest on what I knew would be my first instrument of torture. A flogger of mesh chain with heavy ball bearings woven into each tendril. Pulling it down, the delicate chink of the chain sounded so much sweeter than when I was hanging from the cuffs. It was heavy, but the weight not uncomfortable as I approached Algis.
“When I get free, I’m going to cut off your tits,” he hissed.
My arm drew back to swing the flogger, but I stopped before letting it fly and glanced toward Hart.
“Perhaps you could select some music?”
In the smile he gave me was something akin to pride. After a moment’s scrolling through his phone, he placed it to one side, and from the device came a gentle tinkering sound. My brow creased, wondering what he’d chosen. After all, it was he who told me this was an important part in the process. The sound was quick to disappear though, and an edgier beat took its place.
“Mad Hatter, by Melanie Martinez. Do you like it?”
With a nod, I murmured, “this will do.”
Then I swung the flogger, and it slapped hard against Algis’ flesh. His entire body became taut with pain. Bringing it back, I swung again, hitting his ribs, stomach, thighs, and dick. The grunts of pain were nice, but they were a little too uninspiring for me. Taking one last look at the bright red welts forming on Algis’ body, I wandered back to the wall.
A poker stick with the sharp burn of electricity built into it caught my eye. Taking the long, rod-like device from its hook off the wall, I studied how it worked. Smooth plastic grip, a long pole structure, a ‘U’ shape fork at the opposite end. Thumbing the switch, I flicked it on. There was no indication it was working, but I knew it did. Algis was meticulous with his instruments of torture.
“You stupid fucking whore. I’m going to kill you slowly, make sure you feel that pain for fucking months before I give you death.”
Pressing the stick into his ribs, Algis roared with pain, his body quivering with the jolt of electricity. Magnificent.
“Kalė!”
Spittle flew from his mouth, and though I had no idea what he’d just said, I knew it couldn’t be nice.
“You may call me, mistress,” I crooned, the exact same words he’d used on me all those years ago.
“I’d rather eat shit.”
Glancing down at the excrement below his feet, my smile grew. “That can be arranged.”
Not wanting to touch that mess, though, I lowered the electric fork to his cock and pressed it into the flesh there. His screams were pleasing to hear, so sweet and tortured. For a brief moment, I wondered if perhaps I was just as sick as him. Maybe I was, but I hadn’t always been this way. Before me had been pure, gentle Lucy. Algis ruined her.
The cords in Algis’ neck were tight, his head was thrown back in agony, and his body pulsed with the current. Pulling the stick from his flesh, I watched as he sagged with relief. He didn’t deserve relief, I was never gifted it. I poked him again and again, until the dry crusted blood on his neck caught my attention. Blood, we needed more of that. Dropping the prodding stick, I moved to the surgical table and picked up the knife Hart had given me yesterday. Bringing it reverently to my chest, I paused, a gleam from the table grabbing my attention. A scalpel lay on a black velvet cloth, along with other surgical looking instruments. Placing my knife down, I picked up the scalpel. It was brilliant, so sleek, so sharp, so pretty. It was extraordinary how striking a blade could appear when standing on the other side of it. Mov
ing back to Algis, I smiled again. His breathing was coming fast, short, and sharp. A sheen of sweat coated his waxy skin, hawk-like eyes bloodshot, tears squeezing out the corners.
“You’re a crazy bitch,” he spat out with a rasping voice.
“Thank you.”
It wasn’t a compliment, but I was going to accept it as one, because he could have called me a whore or a fuck toy or a slut. Crazy was so much better and far more accurate. Raising the scalpel to his chest, I pressed the blade against his skin, watching it depress with elasticity before piercing the flesh. A bead of blood pooled and dripped into his wiry chest hair.
“Call me mistress,” I whispered.
“Not a fucking chance.”
Perfect. Pressing harder, I sliced him open, his low growl soon becoming a pitiful wail. Blood coated his flesh as I continued to cut, starting at one side of his chest, and after several minutes, finishing at the other. Standing back, I took in my work. The word beauty was carved into his body for all to see.
“I think this means I own you,” I sang.
“Do your worst, slut, but it won’t change the fact I had your virgin pussy, ass, and mouth.” There was no doubt he was in pain, but the fight in his words pissed me off.
Memories attacked my mind, and I brought my hands to my head, pressing against the pressure of the violence trying to escape. Throwing the scalpel aside, I grabbed a long, thick, heavy rubber baton and began swinging it at Algis’ body. His laughter was quick to fade as I swung and swung, the blood from the wounds on his chest splattering, the slap against his flesh comforting. The grunts and groans were satisfying, but not nearly as much as his limp body when I finally moved away. I wanted to end him so bad, to watch him take that last breath. Then I wanted to sit back and watch his lifeless form burn while I roasted marshmallows in the flames.
Glancing to the corner of the room, I found Hart sitting on a leather sofa, his long legs sprawled out before him, one hand resting on the armrest, the other rubbing at the dark hair on his jaw. He shook his head, just once, as if hearing my thoughts. No killing. Letting out a long sigh of disappointment, I didn’t miss the smirk he tried to hide behind his hand as I returned to the wall of instruments. Grabbing the nipple clamps that hung from a long, thick chain, I returned to Algis.
“I hated these,” I murmured, as I squeezed one of the clamps with sharp metal teeth.
Reaching forward, I attached one to his right nipple, then left. Algis moaned, and I wondered if it sounded anything like the pained moan I had let out when he used them on me. Gathering the chain that hung to his groin in one hand, I pulled. His flesh jerked forward with the clamps, and I grinned as Algis’ moans became screams. More beautiful cries. These weren’t like normal bondage clamps. They were sharp, and the teeth bit into your skin, holding like the jaws of a vicious animal. I pulled and pulled, until one nipple tore free, followed quickly by the other.
Those screams disappeared, even though his mouth was still agape, eyes wide with shock, and I missed the sound immediately. Racing to the table, I picked up my knife and returned to his abused body. I wrapped my hand around his flaccid cock, pulled it taut, and placed the knife against the shaft. Before cutting, though, I looked to Hart.
Shrugging, he said, “I’ve heard of many men surviving castration. I’ll make sure he gets to Charlie still breathing.”
Hearing what I needed, I looked back to Algis. He looked beaten, bloody, and ruined. It wasn’t enough, it would never be enough.
“Call me mistress.” Leaning in close, my hair whispered across his abused flesh, the white strands stained red. “Or better yet, say you’re sorry.”
“Fuck. You.”
His words were faint, but I didn’t miss them. Pulling his cock even tighter, I sliced through the flesh with the knife from his kitchen. Those lovely cries were back, and the depths of pain laced within them were soothing to my soul. Slicing through the organ wasn’t as difficult as one might think. Somewhat like slicing through a thick, tough, raw steak. Blood coated my hands, sprayed over the shirt I was wearing, and down my legs. With a final slice through a stringy substance that might have been nerves, I raised the organ for Algis to see. He was delirious with pain, the whites of his eyes blood red, spit dripping from his mouth, tears running down his face. This here was real beauty.
With one hand, I tugged his mouth open, then stuffed his dick inside it. Half-hearted muffled groans pulled another smile to my lips as I took a few steps away. This was what I’d dreamed of, his destruction, his pain, his humiliation. The monster inside me purred, my memories faded, and my shoulders pressed back. Something close to happiness filled me like an empty cup beneath a flowing faucet. Looking toward Hart, I found he had shifted. He was still sitting on the sofa, but his legs had spread wider, his once relaxed body taut, his hand resting over the obvious hardness behind his zipper. Sharp cheekbones were flushed with color, his lids hooded. Lust, I’d seen it enough times to know it. Turning, I moved to the sink and carefully washed the blood from my hands. Killing a man filled me with happiness, yet Hart filled me with something else.
Trepidation?
Wonder?
Fear?
Algis was blissfully silent as I passed him, skipping across the room to stand before Hart.
“You’re aroused?” I asked, my hands going to my hips. Hart gave me a single, short nod. “You get off on pain.” I knew men like this. Algis was a man who grew lustful with pain.
“Not just any pain, not your pain. His pain. He deserved your vengeance, and it was fucking beautiful.”
My gaze lowered to the bulge in his pants, and before I could think too deeply about what I was doing, I removed my bloody shirt and straddled Hart’s thighs.
13
HART
Majestic. There was no other word for it. Her revenge had been glorious, the wild way she methodically destroyed Algimas, stunning. With every hit and slice, I grew harder and harder. Not once did she falter, she was perfect. Now, as she straddled my legs, her naked body on display, blood sprayed down her legs and a few flecks on her cheeks and tangled in her hair, I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Tentatively, she reached for my zipper.
“You don’t need to do this,” I choked out, my hand stopping hers.
Pausing, she looked me in the eye. “This isn’t about need . . . it’s about want.”
Never a more poetic phrase. Careful fingers pulled the tongue of my zipper down, and I groaned loudly when she reached in and pulled my cock free. Had I ever been so hard?
“This part of a man has always been used to hurt me,” she confessed, her fingers timidly exploring my length. My eyes just about rolled back in my head, my desire simmered so close to the surface it would only take a few strokes to bring me relief.
“I would never hurt you, you have my word.”
Offering a small nod, Beauty began to caress me, her grip firm as she rose to the tip, twisting just slightly before returning to the base. While her very touch was the epitome of heaven, if we were to continue, we needed lubrication. One glance at the spread lips of her pussy splayed so prettily before me, and I knew she was wet.
“Use your pussy and ride my cock.” Her hand stilled and fear battled for dominance in her big, blue eyes. “I won’t enter you. You’re in control here. Just slide along my cock and get yourself off while you get me off. I want to see you come, beautiful.”
Ever so fucking slowly, she moved, positioning her pussy right over my dick that lay rigid against my stomach. Lowering herself, I groaned out loud this time as her wet heat reached my tender flesh. When she moved, an experimental slide, my head fell back onto the sofa. It felt fucking incredible. It wasn’t long before her confidence grew as she rocked her hips in a seductive dance, her breasts swaying above my mouth, the nipples beautifully peaked. I managed to keep my hands firmly at my sides as she slid back and forth along my dick. I don’t think I’d ever had a woman take me in such a way, and there wasn’t much that could beat sinking into a wet c
unt, but fuck if this didn’t come close. Faster and faster she moved, sliding over me, her wetness creating the sweetest friction. My orgasm was already beginning to build, the familiar tightening in my balls, and I wanted to stop it almost as much as I wanted to feel it. Beauty took the option from my hands as she gripped my cock, pumping me hard as she rocked furiously, her rhythm lost to passion. I came hard, my body becoming rigid, my mind numb as my heart tried to explode from my chest. As the rush began to fade, and sense returned, I watched Beauty throw her head back, her lips forming the most perfect “O.” Her long, throaty moan spoke of her enjoyment as she continued to rub her pussy against my cock while her body trembled.
Fucking glorious.
It took a few short moments for her to return from the bliss she’d rocked herself to, and when she did, she slumped forward. There was no fear as she pressed her naked body against mine, her head resting in the crook of my neck. Unable to resist, I brought my hands around her and pressed one palm to her back, the other tangled in her hair, holding her close to my body. I wanted her as close as I could get her. No, not wanted, needed.
The smell of my seed and her arousal perfumed the tainted air in the dungeon. This had been a poignant moment of regaining control for Beauty. She’d unleashed her monster and purged some of that hate and anger that was coiled around her heart. Climbing onto my lap and bringing us both to orgasm had been the perfect way to sate our blood lust. I’d told her she was a puzzle piece that didn’t fit anywhere. I was wrong. She was my motherfucking missing piece that I didn’t even know was lost. Eventually, Beauty pulled back a few inches. A tear slipped over her lashes, rolling down her pale cheek and falling from her chin. Raising a finger, I wiped it away.
“No tears,” I gruffly ordered.
Breathing deeply, she nodded, holding back the onslaught I knew was brewing so close to the surface. Call me callous, but I couldn’t face her tears, they’d slay me. Noticing the blood on my palm, I chuckled.
Beauty: Part 1: Blaire's World (Beauty's Duet #1) Page 9