Cursed Angels

by Edwards, Anna

  “That doesn’t make sense. The man is in his early fifties. If he wanted to travel, he’d fly,” I tell him with confusion furrowing my brow.

  “Exactly. Hence the reason we’re looking into it. As soon as I have more, I’ll call.” He’s silent then, and I wonder if it has anything to do with the fact that he misses me. Although I can’t feel anything for someone other than Archer, it’s not like I didn’t try, and Hunter was the only one who gave me more than I expected without asking for anything in return.

  “Thanks,” I say softly into the phone. I want to care about someone, but my mind and heart just don’t allow me to. I’m stifled. Stuck in the past, and I’m afraid I’ll never move forward.

  “And for the record . . .” His words trail off, then I hear the chuckle. “I miss that sweet cunt. Get it back here soon.”

  Without waiting for my retort, he hangs up, leaving me staring incredulously at the blank screen.

  Asshole.

  Chapter 4

  Archer

  I roll the sated slut off me and throw her onto the cold, marble floor when she wraps her skinny arm around me. Why do they always insist on affection after I fuck them? I don’t do cuddles; it’s too personal. I don't need it. I've always been on my own, and that is the way I like it. I just want someone to stick my cock in. And Jenny, I think that is what she said her name is, is just that — a willing hole.

  “Get your clothes and go.” I’m not always this blunt, but I had the day from hell.

  "Just a little longer, Arch?" She gives me the fluttering of her eyelashes. It never works on me.

  "Out." My tone leaves little leeway as to my meaning.

  "You're so obnoxious at times." She presses her lips together in a pout and picks her dress up from the floor. It has a great big rip down the middle where I tore it to suck on her double-D tits.

  "I'm a soldier; it's what keeps me alive. You're a whore. Opening your legs is what keeps you in the same condition. Don't get any illusions about this being something it isn't. You weren't designated a fighter, so you get to fuck all day instead." I raise an eyebrow at her in derision of her lowly status. If you don't have the strength to kill in my world, then sex is your only option. She dresses, and I pull on my underwear. The last thing I see before the dress covers her body is my seed spilling down her inner thigh. All the whores are given contraceptive implants and regular testing so that soldiers don't have to worry about where we stick our dicks.

  "Fucking bastard!" she screams at me.

  "And don't forget it." I turn my back to her. "Shut the door on your way out."

  The small and clinically decorated room shudders when she slams the wooden exit. Her heels click an angry path away from my home. It is only then that I let my shoulders relax.

  "Your body is so warm." I'm draped around Samara, holding her close to my chest while we watch a movie together.

  "So would yours be if you had spent all day running around an assault course." I chuckle, but I can feel the anger invade Samara's body at my statement.

  "They shouldn't make you do that. Just like they shouldn't make me do it."

  "It's ok, Dollface. I like the exercise, and I'm good at it. Plus, it's a lot better than the beatings I'll get if I don't."

  "You promise me we're leaving when you turn eighteen and you can take me with you?" She shifts so she can look me in the face.

  "I promise, and when we do, we won't ever look back."

  "Archer?" A loud shout and a hand on my shoulder bring me out of my reflection. Without a moment's thought, I twist and send the owner of the offending digits flying over my shoulder into the solid brick wall.

  "What the fuck, man?" Liam's voice enters my head through the foggy haze of the daydream.

  "Shit, sorry." I let go and allow my colleague to rub at his now sore arm.

  "Man, I was just coming in here to warn you that if you keep upsetting the whores, then you are going to have no one to suck your dick." He holds his hands up. "If you want your cock to shrivel up through lack of use, then be my guest."

  "I'm sorry." I shake my head. "I think I'm still a bit highly strung after Mr. Nelson."

  "I'm not surprised. The guy was a right loser. He deserved to have his brains blown out."

  Liam pulls a small cigarette holder out of his pocket and takes a joint out of it. It's our way of kicking back and relaxing. Neither of us are big drinkers as alcohol takes away the focus we need to fight. Weed calms the mind so we can concentrate on the tasks we are given. He lights the stick up, has a few drags, and then hands it over to me. I do the same, the rich smoke filling my lungs and lulling me into a false sense of security. I hand it back.

  "So, did you hear about Mr. Holland?" Liam blows out a few smoke circles. The pretty rings float skywards before dissipating into the air.

  "No." I collapse on my bed in just my boxer briefs and nothing else. It doesn't matter though. Liam has seen a lot more of me today than usual.

  "He's gone out west."

  "West?" I sit up and reach out for the joint when Liam hands it back to me.

  "Yes. Up and left last night apparently. Nobody has a clue why."

  Mr. Holland is one of the associates of “The Factory”, the place in which I grew up. That wasn't its real name. It was “Emiliani Orphanage For Children.” They obviously thought naming it after the patron saint of orphans would give it legitimacy for the den of iniquity it really was. Mr. Holland is one of the headmasters who looks after the boys in the school. He's in his mid-fifties, and thanks to his job, a very wealthy man. He drives a sports car, has a mansion in the country, and holidays each year in exotic locations. As far as the government is concerned, he donates vast amounts of money to help look after the disadvantaged children in the orphanage. Nobody has ever questioned who he actually is. A vicious man, a bully to those he sees as inferior to him, and cruel beyond belief in the punishments he dreams up. I know there is something in the back of my head, something I'd seen once before that he'd done. However, I gave my mind over to being a soldier, and it has disappeared. I don't question it. I'm safer here within the confines of The Factory rather than out there on the streets where the monsters we fight against live.

  "What have the other bosses said about it?" I ask.

  "They said he is setting up another Factory out there." I pass the joint over again. The drug is mellowing me out already.

  "What's the point? I came from out west and was brought here. Doesn't make any sense." I shrug in confusion.

  "That's what I thought, but who am I to question the powers that be?" Liam lets out a stoned giggle.

  "I'm sure we’ll find out more soon." I join in his amusement.

  Before long, my eyelids start to feel heavy. It has been a long day, and my bruised and aching body needs to rest. The daydreams of the time I'd long since forgotten are also causing my brain to vibrate with a thunderous migraine. Why do I remember my time with Samara now? After eight years apart, I'd become what I needed to survive, a zombie of sorts, going through the motions and not realizing what I am. A killer, a coldhearted and calculating murderer when called upon. My eyes shut tight, and I drift to sleep.

  "This is all my fault." Samara presses the wet cloth against my back. I lay on my front on the bed with only my pants on. The sting of the water sends shivers over my inflamed and flayed skin. "I wasn't quick enough getting back into my room. I'm so sorry, Archer."

  It hurts to talk, but I need to comfort her. "It's all right, Mara, they've been looking for a reason to do this to me for the last few months. Ever since they caught me stealing the drinks for us at their party. It would've happened whether they caught you or not."

  "Don't say that. They should have given the punishment to me."

  "No." I jerk upright, and a spasm of sharp, shooting pain cascades through my adolescent body. I groan in agony.

  "Stay still. Please, Arch." Mara has tears pooling in her eyes. She is trying to be strong, but even though I cannot see it, I know what my
back must look like. Mr. Holland had taken a cane to me, for fuck's sake. Ten lashes with the Devil's walking stick. A specially made rod from a Hercules tree. “Hercules” told you all you needed to know about just how strong the thing was. I'm trying not to cry myself. I'm nearly eighteen, but still a kid. I haven't filled out in all the right places yet. The rigid, hard muscle is developing on my body. The gym they allow us to use when we turn seventeen helps that, but I still don't have a lot of bulk around my back yet.

  Mara leans over and presses a gentle kiss to the top of my shoulder. I welcome its comfort.

  "I won't let them do this to you again."

  I twist around so I can sit up and take my hand, cup it around her chin, and pull her sorrowful eyes up to face me.

  "I protect you, not the other way around, Dollface." I flash her my best grin so she still thinks I'm the happy boy she took as her best friend.

  "We need to look out for each other." She runs her hand over mine, our combined affection for each other sears me with a sense of calm.

  "We do."

  "You need to try and get some sleep. Let me finish cleaning these wounds?" As I lay back down, I try to swallow down the vomit that threatens to spill from my throat. "Sleep, Arch."

  I drift off to the sounds of Samara singing me the same comforting lullaby, “Baby Mine”, which my mother did when I was young.

  "Pull him up!" The barked order has me jumping from the bed ready to kill. My legs give way though, and I collapse onto the floor in a heap. What the fuck? My whole body is freezing on me. I have no control over anything. I try to move my arms, but they disobey me. My eyes roll back in my head now, my vision hazy with clouded judgment. I've only ever felt this one time before, it was the night Samara left. I force my sight to focus on the men who now carry me over their shoulders. They wear the white coats of the creators. I'm in big trouble; will I survive this?

  Chapter 5

  Samara

  A low sound startles me awake, and I’m on my feet in seconds. With my mind still clouded in a sleepy fog, I try to make sense of the noise. It’s only when I glance around the room that I realize I’m not in The Warehouse, and the sound is coming from outside.

  Even after all the training I’ve had with Hunter and TJ, deep down the fear that wracks through my body still leaves me paralyzed. The vibration on my nightstand stops, then starts back up. When I pick up my phone, I notice a message from Hunter.

  Open the damn door, Buttercup.

  Frowning, I pad over to the wooden front door, which has a mottled glass pane fitted into it, and find a dark figure on the other side. The blurry image offers a hint of the man who for some reason has followed me to the town I didn’t tell him about. Even though he knew I had a dark past, I never offered up too much info because I knew Hunter would do something stupid like seek revenge without me.

  Without further thought, I pull open the door to find Hunter standing there with two large Styrofoam mugs of coffee and a box of what can only be my favorite breakfast. Jelly donuts.

  “Buttercup,” he smirks. Stepping by me without an invitation, he heads into the kitchen and sets down the box and two mugs.

  “What are you doing here?” I shut the door, turning to face him in the small space. His gaze roams the cabin, then lands on me in what could only be described as feral hunger.

  “Came to get my dick wet. Why else would I be here for you?” He shrugs, but I know he’s lying. I’ve learned how to read body language, trained with an eagle eye to spot a liar from someone being honest.

  “And you drove a few hundred miles just to fuck me?” I laugh, grabbing the one coffee cup, bringing it to my lips. “Somehow, Hunt, I doubt you’d need me for that. There are far too many girls who throw themselves at you every day.”

  “Maybe, but you’re the sweetest.” He winks, opening the box of sweet treats. He spins it around, allowing me to choose my favorite. One that’s dipped in dark chocolate with a strawberry jam center. “That’s disgusting,” he tells me, glaring at the sticky-sweet liquid all over my fingers.

  Dropping the confectionary into the box, I lift my fingers to my mouth, sucking off the jam, meeting his eyes that turn dark at my actions. A groan rumbles low in his throat at the sight.

  “You like taunting me, Buttercup?” He stalks closer, closing the distance between us. His hands grip my hips, lifting me onto the counter. I’m only dressed in an oversized tee, which he swiftly gets rid of. “Time for me to have breakfast,” he warns before tugging my thighs forward until I’m leaning on my elbows. He picks up the cream-filled donut, which is his favorite, and teases it over my mound. Without panties on, I’m sticky by the time he finishes.

  “Is this what you wanted?” I taunt, spreading my legs wider for him.

  His eyes, reminding me of someone I lost long ago, stare up at me from between my thighs. Then his rabid mouth is on me. His tongue dances along my clit, suckling the hardened bud into his hot mouth. Teeth grazing along the sensitive flesh send me spiraling into a lust-fueled orbit. My hips lift; my fingers fist in his hair as he devours my cunt like it’s his last meal.

  A growl vibrates from his lips to the lips of my pussy, to my entrance, and my clit. Everything is too much. My eyes are shut so tight I see white sparks behind my lids. I’m crying out, but not making a sound at all. My body convulses, my back arches, and I’m coming hard on Hunter’s tongue as he fucks me with it.

  His fingers dig into my hips painfully, and I cry out his name when my orgasm slams into me like a tidal wave, knocking me off the shore until my body shudders with a tsunami of emotion and desire.

  I don’t know how long I lie there on the counter with my legs spread and the man I’ve known for the last four years eating me out, but when I lift my head, he’s standing between my legs with a smirk of satisfaction on his handsome face.

  “I guess you missed me,” he says nonchalantly, his lips still glistening with my arousal.

  “You’re insufferable,” I bite out, righting myself.

  “And you’re utterly delectable.” Hunter leans in, his lips brushing along mine, and I get the scent of me on his mouth. “Are you happy I drove all the way here now?” he questions against my lips. His voice is tender. There’s too much emotion in the room, and I have to push him away.

  Hopping off the counter, I pick up my coffee and take a long gulp.

  “You know, Sam, one day you’re going to have to stop pushing everyone away,” he tells me easily, and I know he meant to say him.

  “Why? You thinking of proposing, Hunt?” I giggle, stepping by him.

  His hand grips my arm, spinning me around to face him. “You need to stop pushing me away. How do you know you can’t love when you don’t give it a fucking chance?”

  Every time we’re together, it’s the same thing. He asks me why I can’t give him more, and I turn and walk away. Normally, the guy is the one walking away, but right now, it’s me pushing and him pulling. My body is still tingling, still needy for him, to be filled by Hunter.

  “Is he ever coming back, Samara?”

  Spinning on my heel, I raise my hand, my palm making contact with his stubbled cheek. “Fuck you, Hunter!”

  “Yeah, you’ve done that,” he retorts. Grabbing his coffee, he makes his way to the door, and that’s when it slams into me, knocking the breath from my lungs.

  “Wait!” I’m at his side in a second. My hand on his bicep, gripping him like he’s my lifeline. He has been. For years, he’s been there, through my broken heart, my dark needs, and the fucking agony I’ve caused him because I just can’t love.

  “I’ve been waiting for far too long, Buttercup,” he murmurs, not looking at me. Instead, his gaze is trained on the door before him.

  There were many days I wondered what was wrong with me. I knew I was broken, but this is ridiculous. A man like Hunter doesn’t come around often. He’s sweet, romantic at times, and we have amazing chemistry in bed, but deep down, I know I’ll never love him. I’ll never be able
to give him my heart.

  “It’s time you decide.” Only four words, and he walks out the door with his face still drenched in my scent.

  Turning to the kitchen, I take a look at the counter and wonder what would happen if I ran out to stop Hunter. Would he stay? Would I ever be able to not love Archer? And even as that question flits through my mind, I know the answer. No. And as much as I care about Hunter, I know I’ll never love him. But even as the answer screams at me, I pull open the door and race out to the red SUV sitting in the parking lot. His engine is running, and I stand in front of the truck.

  “Get out of the way, Sam,” he says, sadness dancing in his eyes. I’ve done that. I’m not good for him, but he still came to me. He took a chance, and I’m not going to let him leave like this.

  “Get out of your truck,” I tell him, folding my arms in front of my chest. His eyes narrow. He watches me for a moment before killing the engine. “Please.” I watch his chest rise and fall at my plea. The man is a cold-blooded killer, and even though he can’t have my heart, I’ll give him everything else.

  He exits the vehicle and rounds it to stop beside me. “You’re a psycho,” he tells me, and I nod.

  “I know.”

  “Let’s get you inside, I don’t want others seeing your sexy little ass.” He chuckles, lifting me over his shoulder, and stalking back toward my cabin. Once inside, he sets me down and crashes his lips to mine. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, licking and tasting me. A moan falls from my lips, and he swallows it.

  “Hunt—”

  “Don’t. Just don’t.” He lifts me by my ass, and his erection presses into my stomach. Seconds later, I’m on the sofa with Hunter’s body cocooning me. “Just give me your body. If I can’t have your heart, then at least let me make you feel good. Let me in, Sam, please?” This time, he’s the one pleading. Begging for me.