Outlaws: A Romance Anthology

by Yolanda Olson

  But why would Gunther want to, and agree to, protect the village if he felt its people needed to be punished? Perhaps it had something to do with what he’d mentioned about the leader and the chosen being the only ones who knew the startling secret. It wasn’t the rest of the village’s fault they didn’t know the truth, if it was even the truth to begin with.

  “Something tells me that you’re still unsure of what I’ve told you,” Gunther says. “And yet, there’s a part of me that thinks the truth is setting in ever so slowly.”

  Ambrose sighs and makes his way back to where he sat on the floor in front of the fireplace. He wants to sidle up next to Gunther but wonders if he’d be crossing any lines. Let the big man come to you first, he thinks. He’ll ask for you when he wants more of you.

  “Gunther, I’m not sure what to believe. But, I’ll admit, it is suspicious. You will still defend the village from the beast though, correct?”

  Gunther groans and squeezes his eyes tight. “A promise is a promise, little runt.” He spits out the words as though it pains him to speak.

  “Then shall we leave now, or are we to wait for my sister to return?” Ambrose doesn’t mean to push the giant, nor does he wish to come across as impatient. But the village needs them.

  “You wait for your sister,” Gunther says, undoing Ambrose’s hands from their bonds. “I shall leave soon. But first…” He throws the rope to the side and undoes the buttons of his pants. The left side of his mouth curls upwards. “I’m going to need you to blow me.”

  Surprised by the sudden turn in the conversation, Ambrose grins and allows Gunther to take him by the hair once more and guide him to his cock. Swallowing his penis’ bulb first, then working his mouth down the rest, Ambrose bobs his head up and down, up and down and runs his tongue over the length of the shaft. Sucking harder, and slowing down the movement, Ambrose takes his time to lick, kiss and taste Gunther’s dick, and savors the tang of his pre-cum. His brother-in-law may be in control, but Ambrose blows him the only way he knows how.

  He nibbles Gunther’s cock gingerly, enjoying the way the older man’s thighs tense and quiver. His tongue circles the head, tickling the tip. He kisses his balls, emphasizing every sensation. At last, Ambrose takes him in his mouth whole, and sucks until Gunther groans and explodes.

  A few hours later, Gunther is clean, dressed warmly and armed with his axe. He kisses Ambrose on the forehead before he leaves and tells him to get into bed and rest. He has left clothes on the table for him to dress in when he wakes up. Ambrose wishes him luck and waits by the window to watch him walk away before putting on the clothes, climbing into bed and passing out cold.

  He awakens a hours later to the sound of light footsteps on the porch and the door being pulled open with a creak.

  Chapter Nine

  “Ambrose?” The voice is soft. Gentle. Familiar. It draws him from his dreams of nothingness back into reality as he opens his eyes to find his sister standing at the foot of the bed. “My god,” she says with a gasp. “It really is you!”

  Ambrose jumps out of the bed and into his sister’s open arms. The two hug one another and laugh and cry and laugh some more, both refusing to let go of the other.

  Eventually, after what seems like hours, the two pull themselves apart and take each other in. His sister looks older, more weathered. She’s still beautiful, but that glimmer she once held in her eyes has gone dim. Her hair isn’t as golden and sticks to her scalp. Her hands are rough, and her clothes splattered with dirt.

  “What are you doing here?” She asks. For someone who has been on the hunt for several days, she has returned home empty handed. Perhaps she had left the game she killed out of the porch to dry.

  “The village sent me,” Ambrose began. “They desperately needed the assistance of Gunther. There’s a madman on the loose. A beast, if you will. The violence needs to end.”

  At that, his sister’s face drops and her eyes glazed over. “I’m so sorry.”

  Ambrose wonders what his sister is apologizing for and wants to probe but stops when she bursts into tears. She has a lot to be sorry about. She should never have left him the way she did. She shouldn’t have run off without telling him her plans. Life had been awful without her. Ambrose had felt so neglected and unloved. And, although he is over the moon to see her again, and to see that she is alright, there’s still a part of him that’s mad at her for leaving in the first place. Maybe he will always be mad at her for leaving with Gunther. No, not leaving with Gunther. Leaving him behind so that she could live a life without him in it.

  He could yell at her and demand a better apology. He could storm out the door to the cottage and never look back without giving her so much as a reason as to why. But instead, he takes her hands in his and squeezes them tight. “I think it’s time you came home,” he said at last. The two hug once more.

  They navigate their way through the forest, Ambrose taking the lead. He passes by the tree with the blood stain shaped in the form of his hand on it and chuckles at the mania he’d experienced the last time he was at this very spot.

  He guides his sister through the demented grotto, keeping her occupied at all times so that she doesn’t look up and see the macabre bone display hanging overhead. The last thing he wants is for her to be worried. And the bones are the last things he ever wants to see again.

  They set up camp, this time with the fire blazing all through the night. It is cold, but the siblings sleep next to one another, keeping each other warm. Ambrose doesn’t fear the beast tonight, he doubts he ever will again. Gunther will destroy the beast. Will stuff the maniac’s head onto a pike like in the tales of his malice. The very thought of Gunther makes his cock twitch, and for the rest of the evening he cannot fall asleep, not even after leaving his sleeping sister by the fire to hide behind a thick bush and wank.

  The next day, the two hike for a good few hours before they reach the meadow and see the rooftops of their hamlet in the distance beyond. Ambrose takes his sister by the hand and leads her through the long grass. He sings her a song, and after a few moments, she sings along with him. Then, she cries.

  When they reach the hamlet, the township is quiet. There are no voices that raise up from open windows or doors. No one is in their yards or outside milling about the dirt roads or even congregating in the town square.

  Where is everyone? Ambrose thinks, a strange feeling creeping into his gut. He wasn’t expecting a hero’s welcome, but he at least expected his neighbors to be around to greet him when he returned. Where had they all disappeared to? Unless…

  The strange feeling intensifies, and he finds it difficult to swallow. What if Gunther had been too late? What if the beast had slaughtered everyone in town before he could arrive to defeat it head on?

  Palms prickling, beads of sweat gathering on his brow and an ill taste curdling in his mouth, Ambrose bursts into house after empty, abandoned house searching for any possible sign of life. But no matter how hard or far he looks in the little hamlet, life evades him entirely. There is no one left.

  He wants to scream but wonders if perhaps Gunther hadn’t led the people to safety, back to the city center, then intended to return and destroy the beast without any unnecessary casualties. Yes. That makes sense! Gunther is wise, far more intelligent that intimidating now that Ambrose knew him intimately. That’s exactly what he would have done.

  “Have you found anyone yet?” His sister’s voice startles him and brings him back down to the current moment. “Is there anybody here?”

  Ambrose smiles with as much reassurance as he can muster and shakes his head. Putting a hand on her shoulder, he squeezes. “No one is here, but they’re probably all safe. Gunther no doubt told them to leave so that he could tackle the beast all on his own.”

  His sister’s brow knits together, and she shrugs off his hand. Ambrose cringes, wondering if he has upset her in any way.

  “You fool,” She says, her words punctuated by sobs. “Gunther didn’t tell them to do
anything.” She wipes her eyes with her dirty sleeve and balls her hands into little fists. “Gunther has been dead for five years!”

  TO BE CONTINUED

  About Jason Hes

  A visionary, a man, a reification of the most contradictory and illusive darkness in our collective unconscious … keeping the thug life alive. Jason Hes is a Johannesburg-based author who lives with his cat and loves to write dark romance, paranormal and horror stories. Follow him on Facebook at @JasonHesAuthor.

  Other Books by Jason Hes

  Our Immaculate:

  http://bit.ly/immaculate001

  Malus (Carnaval des Ténèbres #2):

  http://mybook.to/Malus

  His Best Interest

  Petra J. Knox

  Chapter One

  Priscilla

  One of the things I hated most about myself was my inability to be assertive. Being more of an observer than a doer all my life, I had plenty of opportunity to watch how it was done. My mother, of course, being the queen of getting her way, never lacked in example of how to be aggressive. For some reason or another, I just didn’t have it in me, not by a long shot. I couldn’t imagine myself standing up, pointing at a person, a concept, a venture, and saying, “that is mine, give it to me.”

  I envied that trait. I stood in awe of it.

  But I also cowered under it, especially when it was used on me. I’d bend like a reed in a field, surrendering my will, all my thoughts silenced as if they’d turn to stone.

  How funny that I’d end up married to a Love, a generation of men and women who were the epitome of self-interest, drive, enterprise. What they wanted, they got, and in the end, they got it ten-fold, with more to spare. Meanwhile, there I was, bending myself until I touched the ground.

  In a way, I guess my submissive nature served me so far in my twenty-two years. According to society, being meek, kind-hearted, and docile were prized attributes when coupled with beauty, which I was lucky to have been born with in spades. Tall, slender, blue-eyed, dark-haired, heart-shaped face. Beauty had carried me all my life, placing me in the top contenders of every contest my mother entered me in, starting at the tender age of five.

  I had hated every minute of it, but I never complained.

  Again, my meekness was my weakness.

  I was my mother’s doll, bending and posing into whichever position she commanded.

  She would grit her teeth and whisper in my ear as a camera flashed. “Smile, Priscilla!”

  And so I smiled.

  My mother wasn’t mean or anything like that. I knew she loved me. Plus, she was all I had. My father died when I was two, leaving his fortune to my mother, who was thirty-three years younger. I’m not sure if she was in love with him or not when they married, but she never married again. It was my life that she lived through, molded, planned, and executed.

  It was at a fund raiser that I met Dylan Love. I was nineteen and had just finished high school—valedictorian, full scholarship to Selvin University, an all-women’s school, where I’d learn how to be a high society wife—and it was summertime. As Miss Chester City, I was presenting an award to the city council’s Children of the Future. The event was held under a massive tent that shaded the wealthy. White linen tablecloths, champagne, catered five-star food, and a band—the whole nine yards.

  I was waiting at the side of the stage for my turn at the podium, practically melting from the humid ninety-degree heat, when I looked over to the front table. Seated among four of the best-looking men I’d ever seen in my life, was Dylan Love, although I had no idea who he or his family was at the time. With short, chestnut hair, light eyes, and a devilish grin, Dylan captured my attention like a moth to a flame. When he winked at me, I felt it all the way to my toes, my body growing even more hotter. I had quickly looked away, I remember, but had smiled, giving myself away at the attraction I had felt for him.

  Later, after making his way over to meet me, he had begged me for my name and phone number, but the latter I didn’t give. My mother kept me on a tight leash and owned my every waking moment. With his hands in his pockets, he only grinned, saying we’d meet again.

  I didn’t think much of it as the weeks went by. I had so many things I needed to get done before going away to college, not to mention my duties as Miss Chester City. But when my mother came to me one day, saying that she had no idea that Dylan Love was interested in me, had asked about me through her mutual friends, I remembered his promise of meeting me again.

  What the Love family wanted, they got.

  Mother was over the moon. The Love family, she said, was old money, and everything they touched was pure gold. She fully supported our courtship, which was only a few months before Dylan and I announced our engagement.

  Two years later, after both of us finished college, we were married. A big to-do that everyone in the country had seemed to be invited to. Trenton Love’s youngest son, Dylan Randolf Love, marrying the beauty queen from Chester City, Priscilla Montgomery.

  I was now a Love.

  Ironically, my marriage lacked that very thing.

  It was this thought that kept circling inside my mind as I waited patiently for Dylan to get back on the line. He had put me on hold minutes ago, refusing to just call me back, even though it was him that had called me.

  I looked out the window of my little office and noticed the storm clouds building up over the horizon. It was going on four-thirty in the afternoon, and since I didn’t have my car—it was at the garage, something about the transmission—Dylan had driven me to the Pavilion this morning, saying he’d pick me up around five.

  Obviously, based on the phone call, he was going to be late.

  “Hey, babe. Sorry ‘bout that,” he said hurriedly over the line.

  “That’s okay. Everything alright?”

  Lightning flashed in the apex of the bulbous black clouds, and I blinked, waiting for the thunder to follow.

  “Oh, yeah, everything’s fine. Listen, I’m going to be a little late. Scott has a property he wanted me to see, so I’m over on the other side of town. We’re almost done, though.” He sounded distracted and was talking fast, but I knew it was from the high of a new real estate prospect. Love Enterprises, being a multi-faceted financial institution, had its own property finance department, which Dylan and his older brother, Tom, were head of.

  Dylan always got hyper when working on new projects.

  I turned away from the window and looked at the grandmother clock on the wall, its golden filigree timepieces showing it was surprisingly five minutes till five. Had he had me on hold that long?

  “Okay, then I’ll just wait for you.” The papers on my desk, the stacks of this morning’s mail, winked at me in wait. “I have plenty to do here.”

  “Excellent. Seriously, though…” his words sounded closer, pressed up against the mouthpiece, “Sorry about this. I won’t be long, promise.”

  I smiled. “Okay. Love you.”

  “Love you too, babe. Gotta go.”

  “Bye.” Putting down my phone, I heard the thunder. The lightning had struck eleven miles away.

  Exactly the number of months we’d been married.

  “Hey, Priscilla?”

  I spun around in my chair and turned toward my door. Jessica, the only soul including myself that worked here at the Pavilion, leaned against the door frame. Both of us were charity organizers and co-ran Love Charities. She and I had been friends since college, both of us each other’s brides’ maids.

  “Hey, Jess. You on your way out?”

  “Yep. I want to get ahead of that storm that’s blowing in.” She gestured to the window, and both of us stared at the ominous sky.

  It was going to be a bad one, from the looks of it.

  “You better leave soon, too, Priscilla. Is Dylan picking you up? I’d give you a ride but—”

  “No, that’s okay.” I sighed and faced her again. “He’s coming, just going to be late. Not too late,” I added quickly, seeing her frown. I waved
a hand at the stack of work on my desk. “I have plenty to do to kill time.”

  “How are things?” she asked, her eyes softening. She knew Dylan and I were having some kind of problem, but I kept things vague whenever the subject came up.

  The thing was, I didn’t know if there was a problem or not. I had no clue what was normal in a marriage, what to worry about and what to just put down to “settling in” after the honeymoon phase had passed. Or worse, whether or not it was just me feeling inadequate for no reason.

  I shrugged. “We’re alright, I guess. He’s just busy.”

  “Miss him, do you?”

  Nodding, I smiled. “Guess so. Feels like I never see him for more than twenty minutes before he’s up in his office or going back to town to the other office. I’m sick of going to bed alone.”

  A flash of lightning, followed by a clap of booming thunder, made us jump.

  “Gees, that was close!” Jessica said after I squeaked. Then we both laughed.

  “Well, nothing I can do about your busy husband, but…” Her grin had a devilish look to it. “I do have something that could keep you company. Got it today during lunch. I’ll be right back.”

  Oh dear. Knowing Jessica, who was always dabbing in the trend of the week, she could pop out with a small endangered species in a cage. Whatever she was going to show me could be anything.

  With that same grin on her face, she came back inside my office and handed me a small, pink boutique bag. “Here. My gift to you. I’ll go out and get another one tomorrow.”