Cursed Angels

by Edwards, Anna

  “Fuck me, Hunter. Just clear my mind and numb me.” For years, this man has given me what I need, and as his cock plunges into me, I cry out and claw at his back. The instant pain turns to pleasure as his hips slam against me, pinning me to the sofa.

  “That’s my girl.” His words wash over me, reminding me of the one man who left me. He chose to leave. My eyes close, and I see Archer. His smile, his eyes, everything about him. And as I watch him fade from my mind, it’s Hunter who replaces him, and I feel the tears trickle from my eyes as I say goodbye to the man I once knew because he’s gone. There’s no way I’ll ever get him back, and that rips my heart from my chest. It squeezes the breath from my lungs.

  He’s gone.

  And in his place, I revel in Hunter’s touch, kiss. And the way his cock brings me to orgasm. Again, and again.

  Chapter 6

  Archer

  “I promise you this won’t hurt. Just stay still. It’s just like watching your favorite film on the television. That’s all.” The doctor who stood over me gave me a headset to put over my eyes. I did as I was told because I didn’t really have a choice now. I’d made the deal with the powers that be, and I couldn’t escape my future. I would just have to accept what I was about to become because I knew she would be safe.

  “You’ve got my word. I won’t cause any problems.” I sit back on the comfortable chair and the video turns on. I watch it. Most kids would probably love this sort of thing. Blood and guts spewing all over the screen, but I know the true meaning behind it. The violence it will lead to. I feel my arm pulled out, and the pin prick of a needle enters it. That is when my thoughts of an innocent future dissipate. The boy with hopes and aspirations loses all that, and they are replaced with the overwhelming urge to be the best soldier I can. I’ll follow orders no matter what. I’m strong; I’m a fighter. I will deliver justice where it’s needed and death where it’s not listened to. I’ll follow my leader, the head of The Factory, for they know best. Gone is the boy Archer King once was, and in his place stands a conditioned soldier ready for war.

  “Damn it,” I groan and grip the top of my head. I feel like I have the mother of all hangovers. I don’t even remember drinking that much last night. Mind you, I don’t even remember last night. It’s then I feel the warmth of sunlight flow over my body. Er, I don’t get any sunshine in my bedroom at the compound. I dare to open an eye. Yes, I’m not in my bedroom. I’m in a charming, palatial room. It’s like one of those fancy rooms you see on celebrity home shows. The ones where the TV pops out of the bed and there’s a jacuzzi in the bathroom. I peer over at the end of the bed.

  “Fuck! There is a TV in there.” I get to my feet in an instant and am in the bathroom even quicker – quickly regretting it when the nausea of my hangover claims me.

  “Holy fuck, there is a jacuzzi in here,” I say to no one in particular because there isn’t anyone to hear it. I’m a twenty-six-year-old man, and I’m acting like a frat boy at his first party. Man, I can be a total moron at times.

  “Good morning, Mr. King,” an English voice calls to me from the bedroom. I lean back and look out the bathroom door, probably with a what-the-fuck look on my face. A butler in full livery stands there. He even has a tailed jacket and everything.

  “Good morning,” I offer in confusion.

  “It is a very fine jacuzzi, I’m told. I can run it for you now if you wish. However, you are wanted in the conference room in half an hour, so it would have to be used quickly, because the other members of the board do not like to be kept waiting.” He glides effortlessly to the wardrobe and pulls out a pristinely ironed suit and shirt for me. He turns and assesses me for a second. I’m standing there in only a pair of tatty track pants I’ve had for a couple of years now. Hey, they are my favorite and are not restricting in the place I need the most comfort. A man’s junk needs it’s breathing space.

  “I do not think you are a tie man. It wouldn’t be the right image for you. No, just the suit.” He purses his lips together in deep thought.

  “Just the suit?” I repeat. “Board meeting?”

  “Come on. In the shower. I’ll have breakfast brought up, ready for when you get out.”

  “Breakfast. Shower.” I sound like a complete idiot. But seriously, why am I in this room? Did I trip out last night on the marijuana and rob a bank or something?

  “Come on, Mr. King, chop-chop.” The butler claps his hands together. “You must not be late for your first meeting.”

  “Ok.” I fold my arms in front of me and make no effort to move until I get some explanations. “What the fuck is going on?”

  The butler loudly tuts. “I thought the doctors would have at least told you.”

  “Told me what?” I interrupt.

  “About your promotion.”

  “Promotion,” I spit out incredulously.

  “Yes. You are now on the board of The Factory. One of the bosses. Congratulations.”

  My mouth drops open wide enough that a steam train could fit in it.

  The words that I’m now on the board of The Factory keep resonating in my head the entire time I shower, dress, and eat a delicious meal of smoked salmon and eggs on toast. They pound further as I walk through the opulent corridors of an area of the compound I’ve never seen before. It’s like a palace in here. How did I not know what was here?

  However, when I take my allotted space — a name written and placed on the big, round table before me in the boardroom — I’m pretty sure the words have caused a migraine. The door bangs, and a well-dressed woman walks in. Her tailored, pencil-skirt suit is designer. You can tell it by the cut of the material. Mind you, so is mine. Gucci or something like that. Brand names have never been my thing, although I must admit the suit is pretty comfortable. The woman must be in her late thirties. Her hair is cut to a shoulder-length bob and obviously dyed a deep crimson. No woman can have such vibrant-colored hair. It isn’t possible. But fuck, if it didn’t look good on her. With a purposeful stride, she comes to the head of the table, and a hurried assistant pulls a chair out for her. She sits, and a hush falls over the room. Whoever this chick is, she’s obviously important.

  “Welcome everyone, and welcome to the newest member of our team, Mr. King.” She smiles my way, and I offer one back. “My name is Rebekah Ward. I’m the chairman of the company. I’m sure this is a surprise to you, but I’ve always been a fan of your work. When Mr. Holland left, I knew you would make the perfect replacement. You will ensure that our profitable business continues for the foreseeable future. I have no doubt of that.”

  Something clicks inside me. I don’t know what it is, but I want to continue the business. I want to make it a success. I’ve been a part of this place since I first came to the orphanage as a child. I’ve worked my way up, so to speak. I’ve done the hard graft. I’ve been hungry. I’ve been beaten. It’s my turn to reap the benefits of the life I suffered through. The thought turns my stomach. I get the feeling rejoicing at my situation is not me. I should be sad, like I’m leaving something or someone behind, but I can’t remember what it is. A girl? No. Maybe? My head is really hurting now, and I rub it.

  “Are you all right, Mr. King?” the big boss lady asks me.

  “Yes. Just a bit of a headache,” I respond.

  “I think we’ve all been there. Part of the treatment, I’m afraid. You’ll be fine once you get started on the job. It’s ingrained into you now, what you have to do. You will be the perfect replacement, I’m sure.” She hums to herself. A little congratulations perhaps on a job well done. “If you need any personal help, just ask Jemina, my assistant, to bring you to me, and I’ll support you in any way I can.” She purses her lips together in a pout of hidden meanings. The air in the room turns thick with sexual tension. She wants me. I’m pretty certain of that. She may be an older woman, but hell yeah. She looks damn good, so why not? I’ve got a cock that likes to be sucked.

  “I will make sure I do that,” I purr back to her. Something cracks thro
ugh my chest, and it feels like my heart rips, but I take a deep breath and ignore it. Getting started with my job sounds like a good idea right about now. To rid myself of this headache and strange feeling.

  “I’m afraid we’ve had a couple of incidents of bad behavior in the children’s section overnight. Two children were caught in bed together. The girl has been dealt with.” She nods to a woman dressed from head to toe in an outfit which can only be described as belonging to a madam. She has her tits falling out, her face dolled up, and is currently running her leg up mine. Yep, definitely a madam or whore. I move my legs away from her. So not going there anytime soon.

  “Your first task, Mr. King, will be to deal with the discipline of the boy. We cannot allow this behavior. We have the best reputation in the industry, and we cannot allow that to slip. I’ve been told that we are having an inspection soon, so this must be stamped out now.” Rebekah motions to her assistant to step forward. Jemina has a small box in her hand and places it in front of me.

  “You may open it,” I’m told. This all feels familiar again, but I can’t place it. I run my hand over the shiny wooden box and flip the lid. It reveals a long rod, folded up to fit inside. I pull it out and join it to make a rigid cane. The punishment I must dole out is shown to me in the instrument of torture. My mind goes blank. I feel and think nothing. I get to my feet and dip my head to the others in the room.

  My name is Archer King.

  I’m a member of the board of The Factory.

  My job is discipline, and I will do whatever it takes to instill that.

  I have no life before this. I will have no life after this.

  All I am now is what you see. A man with a cane. A man of your nightmares.

  Chapter 7

  Samara

  Warmth surrounds me as sunlight streams through the window. But it’s more than that. A heavy arm is draped around my middle, and I crack my eyes to find Hunter’s calloused hand splayed on my stomach. His thumb runs circles over my flesh, causing my skin to erupt with goosebumps.

  Last night was a step forward, one I didn’t know I wanted. It’s been far too long, and I know Archer has probably moved on. I was a silly girl with a stupid crush. He’s no longer here, but Hunter is, and it’s only fair for me to give Hunter a chance.

  He may not have been my first love, but he can certainly be someone I grow to care for. And if I have to be completely honest, I already do. Rolling over, I find tousled chocolate hair and a handsome, rugged face in front of me.

  “Good morning, Buttercup,” he greets in a growl heavy with sleep.

  “How long have you been awake?” I question, shifting closer, needing comfort and warmth. Hunter has always offered me enough to keep me sane. He’s never pushed, until yesterday.

  “A while.”

  “And you didn’t wake me?” He smiles at my question, then opens his eyes. They’re glistening in the soft sunlight.

  “You needed rest. There’s only so much a girl can take, and I think you had your quota last night,” he offers. Releasing me from his hold, he shifts onto his back, placing his hands under his head. He trains his gaze on the ceiling, and I know there’s something coming. A foreboding feeling sits in my gut. “Listen, I shouldn’t have said—”

  “Yes, you should’ve. And I’m happy you did,” I tell him. Scooting closer, I wrap myself around his rigid, tightly packed muscles. My leg draped over his and my arm wrapping around his torso. I’m practically climbing him like a goddamn spider monkey. “I want you, Hunt.”

  He drops his gaze to mine, and I’m pretty sure he’s assessing me and my words under his intense scrutiny. “Then tell me, Sam,” he asks in a tone so gentle I find my heart squeezing with the emotion that barrels through me.

  “Hunt—”

  “I work on honesty and trust, Buttercup,” he says as his one hand reaches for my cheek, cupping it, his thumb swiping over my skin. “If you can’t give me that, then it’s done. We’re done. Work only.”

  “Hunter, it’s not easy for me to talk about. You know that,” I implore him. Going back there in my mind, to what I saw, it will break me. And it’s not that I’m scared. It’s that I don’t want to break in front of him.

  “Sam, I’m here. No matter what you say, I want to see the woman I care for, not the assassin you’ve turned into. Show me what’s in here,” he says, placing two fingers on my chest where my rapid heartbeat slams against his touch.

  “It’s ugly. There’s no other way to describe it, Hunter. There are some dark things in there, and if you see them, you’ll turn and walk away.”

  “What if I told you I won’t? I’ll make you a promise, Buttercup.” He looks at me with such urgency, so deeply, that it feels like he already sees the darkness I hide. “I want you. To know you, to learn who you are. You have to let someone in at some point.”

  “It’s been a long while since I revisited that place.”

  “Then lie in my arms. You don’t have to look at me.” He pulls me in, cocooning me in his warm embrace. “Close your eyes if you have to, but just let me in.”

  Inhaling a deep breath, I close my eyes, listening to Hunter’s heartbeat, and I start my story. And deep down, I hope my heart and soul will survive going back there.

  “I was thirteen when I arrived at that place. The large foreboding mansion that saved me from a life on the street, but it also changed me in ways no child should witness. I was a loner, kept to myself, until a girl came up to me in the second week. Rosalie. Her sweet nature and kind words held me in her orbit. She was fourteen, with long blonde hair and soft blue eyes.”

  My throat is thick with emotion as I recall my once best friend. She was like the sister I’d never had. Hunter’s hand strokes my back in calming trails, up and down. I take in another deep breath and continue.

  “For six months, we spent every moment together. They didn’t care what we did as long as we did the chores assigned to us. We were mostly on kitchen duty. Helping the chefs make the meals. It was there I met . . .” My words trail off, and I wonder how to talk about Archer when my heart still aches for him.

  “It’s okay, Buttercup, I know he’s part of your past,” Hunter assures me, and I nod against his chest.

  “We became thick as thieves. The three of us would play together, work together, and we’d share secrets about what we wanted from life. For three long years, it was just us. And . . . and then one night, on my sixteenth birthday, I learned what The Factory really was.”

  “I’m here,” Hunt tells me, his tone soft and calming.

  “Archer and I, we went looking for Rosalie. She didn’t meet us on the roof where we’d planned. We were worried about her, and as we roamed the darkened halls, we came across a closed-off staircase. We’d always been warned to never go down there, but of course, being the curious rebels we were at that age . . .”

  “You went downstairs,” he says, and I nod.

  “I . . . we heard talking, three men and a woman. No names, just them discussing what to do about the new doll as they called her. Then I heard the muffled screams, as if someone was being hurt but their mouth was covered by something. It chilled me right to the bone. Felt like ice had been shot into my bloodstream.”

  Hunter’s touch grounds me as I recall the moment I saw Rosalie. She was fourteen. A beautiful girl who would have passed for a princess. She had most of the boys trying to get into her panties. At the time, we thought it was funny. We knew about sex and how it happened, but the way we grew up taught us that if we so much as went near the opposite sex in that way, we’d be whipped.

  I recall one of Archer’s bunk buddies got a lashing that caused him to lie in bed for a week. He and one of the girls were caught kissing and touching each other. The sight of his bloodied back ensured that we would steer clear of any sexual contact.

  Although, later on, Archer and I found ways around it. We didn’t go farther than him touching me between my thighs. I was sixteen. He was eighteen. We both would’ve been punished
severely.

  “Buttercup?” Hunter’s voice drags me from the memory of Archer’s fingers inside my pussy, stroking me until I bit his shoulder to keep from screaming out as I had my first orgasm.

  “We rounded the corner. Hidden in shadows, we saw Rosalie bound by thick leather cuffs to a bed. I almost screamed to her, but Arch held me back. And we . . . They had stripped her naked.” My throat tightens as emotion grips me in a feral hold. Threatening to cut off my air supply.

  “One of the men took a dildo . . . I didn’t know what it was at the time, but the phallic object looked horrific. There were studs in it. I only noticed them because they glinted in the low light.”

  “Jesus.” Hunter’s rough tone tells me he’s as horrified as I am, as I was.

  “He forced it inside her, and her screams echoed through that small basement even though she was gagged. The sound stole my breath. I’d never heard such painful screeching before.” Shutting my eyes, I hope to shove the images from my mind, but nothing can. There’s no way I can ever rid myself of the memories.

  “What about the woman? What was she doing there, torturing a child?”

  “She stood by. Watched with her arms folded. The man . . .” I try to swallow the lump forming in my throat. “He violated her with it, and I guess the pain killed her.”

  “Fuck.” Hunter’s hold on me tightens as he pulls me into his arms. I realize I’m crying when he swipes at my face. He plants a kiss on my head, holding me like a child. “We’ll get the fuckers. I swear to you, Sam, we’ll fuck them up so badly,” he murmurs in my ear.

  I can’t move. The pain of remembering only seems to shatter me further. Hunter’s caring and consoling makes it difficult to stop crying, so I don’t. I allow all the pain I’ve hidden, held inside for so long, to finally break free.

  Chapter 8