Cursed Angels

by Edwards, Anna

  My head twists and turns, trying to find the owner of the voice, but I can’t see anything other than darkness as black as midnight.

  “Samara?” I call. It has to be her. I can feel the rapid beat of my heart, and she is the only one who can elicit that emotion from me. She’s the only one who has ever been able to draw any feelings or affection from me. I’m all about business; emotions get you beaten. They're no good, and you should never have them.

  “She’s safe.” Dr. Hickson appears out of nowhere.

  “Where is she?” I demand with increasing menace.

  “Out of harm's reach for now.” The blackness of his eyes tells me that Samara is far from safe and is probably actually in the middle of danger. “You did well.”

  “What?”

  He looks down at my feet, and I move my head in the same direction as though it’s not entirely attached to my body but that of a puppet on a string. There’s a body there.

  “Who is she?” I ask in confusion.

  “Your first kill, of course. Has there been so many that you don’t remember? I thought everyone always remembered their first time. I know Samara will.” He laughs. It’s a chilling sound that rattles through my body. He doesn’t mean murder. I know that for certain when he places his hand over his groin and rearranges himself. “You’ve saved her for now. Shame. But it won’t last. Not until you give yourself to Miss Ward forever.”

  “What do you mean?” I bend down and look at the face of my first kill. It’s a young girl. I pull back her long red hair and scream when Samara’s lifeless face looks back at me.

  “Archer?” A warm touch places itself at my temple while the angelic feminine voice speaks. Its words are laced with trembling concern. “Archer?”

  I groan loud and long. I don’t think there is a part of my body that doesn’t ache, but it’s my head that is the worst. I feel dizzy, nauseated, and weak. I try to open my heavy eyelids, but that seems to need more strength than I possess.

  “Do you think he’s all right?” the voice asks, and I want to answer that I'm not feeling the best, but I can’t.

  “His body has been through a lot. I’m not a doctor, but I’m guessing the fact that he’s still alive means something,” a masculine tone answers, and I feel the hairs on the back of my neck prick. I don’t like this voice as much as the female one.

  “We should have gotten a proper doctor out to him.”

  “And say what? He’s a trained killer who had a chip in his brain, so we had to dig it out? We both know that he'd be back in Rebekah Ward’s hands, and we’d be rotting in jail if we even tried it. She owns the cops and medical facilities in these parts.”

  “What if there is an infection? What if we damaged something? Maybe this is how he will be for the rest of his life?” The female voice sounds genuinely concerned for me. I like her; I wish my eyes would open so I could see her. She’s familiar and comforting. The motherfucking headache I have is explained by the man’s comments though. They dug a chip out of my brain. What the fuck?

  “Would it be such a bad thing if he doesn’t wake?” the male voice asks.

  “How can you say that?” The female sounds distressed now. Her touch moves from my temple and squeezes my hand. Mara. Her scent floods my nostrils suddenly. Another sense has come back to me. Samara, the woman I love, but she’s dead? Did I see it in my dream? Damn it, eyes, open. I groan loudly in anguish, and the room goes silent.

  “Archer, I’m here. I’m here.” She holds my hand a little tighter. I can feel my mouth moving, as though I’m replying to her, but nothing comes out. This body is useless; it’s weak and vulnerable. Somehow, I know that I’ve always been strong before, and it angers me. “Hunter, he’s waking this time. His eyelids are fluttering.”

  “Don't get too excited, Buttercup. It could be another fit.”

  “No, it’s different this time.”

  The man sighs heavily.

  “He won't wake up as the boy you remember from your childhood. He’s done too much since then. He’s a . . .”

  “No,” she shouts at him. “Don't say it. Neither of us are the children from the past. I’m as bad as him.”

  “Our pasts have destroyed us all.” The man sounds defeated, broken, and even though I get the sense I want to kill him because the pain I’m in is his fault, I can't help but wonder what has made him that way. “I’m going to go fix us some food. Check on the intelligence; it’s been a few days since he disappeared. I’m sure they’re looking for him.”

  His voice gets farther away as he speaks. The touch against my hand leaves me, and I want to call out for her to come back.

  “Hunter.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thank you.” I hear the sound of a kiss. I want to scream mine, but again nothing comes.

  “I’ll bring you some food. When he does wake, he’ll need you strong to help him get better.”

  There are no more words spoken, just the quiet click of a door closing. I feel Samara’s presence come back to me, and she again entwines her hand with mine.

  “He’s wrong about one thing. I know you can hear me. None of us knows what you’ll be like when you wake, but at least it will be you controlling your thoughts and memories and not a piece of metal.” She laughs, it's small and nervous. “I always remember you talking about that film all you boys watched so often. The one where they controlled all those soldiers, clones. What was it called? Damn it.”

  Star Wars I want to scream at her. They didn't control the stormtroopers with chips, but it was close enough. They trained them from a young age to be soldiers. It was one of the only films we were allowed to watch.

  “Anyway,” she continues, and I picture her shaking her tangential thoughts away. “I don't know if you’ll remember anything. In some ways, it would be better if you don't. You left me. I was raped and mutilated, and I know the Archer I fell in love with would destroy himself over that thought."

  Raped? Mutilated? I feel my mouth moving again. I want to ask her more questions, but nothing is coming out. My dream, or was it Hell?, comes back, and Dr. Hickson appears in the vision I have. I feel a sense of great delight wash over me. I killed him; I sent that bastard straight to Hell in a blaze of agony. I strapped him down to a table; I remember it all so vividly now. His cries as I sliced his vile dick and balls from his body and stuffed them in his mouth to keep him quiet. I ripped open his chest with a sharp knife and cut his black heart from his body before throwing it on the fire. I killed him because he was the one who sanctioned what happened to Samara. He promised me if I did as he asked, he would let her go. That’s how the chip was inserted into my brain. Memory after memory comes crashing back with a vengeance. I scream out in pain as I see every face that I killed, again and again, weak men, damaged women, frightened children. I arch my back off the bed and thrash wildly. My hands fly up to my head, and I try to tear at the edges of my memories to rip them from my brain.

  “Archer.” There’s panic in Samara’s voice. “Hunter!” she calls, but nobody else comes. “Archer, I’m here.”

  I shout again. My throat is raw from lack of use.

  The visions stop instantly when warm lips are pressed against mine. Compassion, kindness floods through me, and I sink back down on the soft bed not moving.

  “Mara.” The word leaves my lips. Another sense finally recovered. “Mara.”

  “I’m here.”

  I will my eyes to open, and this time they do. Light floods into the periphery of my irises and across to the depths of my black pupils. In the center is an angel. She’s framed by edges of the light that illuminates her from behind.

  “Mara.” I try to push myself up, but my weak arms buckle.

  “Shh,” she hushes me. “You’re frail. Just rest.”

  “I killed so many,” I gulp out in distress.

  She leans forward and presses her forehead to mine. Our eyes meet, and she captures my gaze with the honesty and warmth in hers.

  “I know.” A tear d
rops from her eye and lands on my cheek. “I know.”

  Chapter 21

  Samara

  Silence falls around us. It’s heavy with sadness, guilt, and agony from the memories that are assaulting him. When the door behind me clicks open, I don’t move. I’m still holding onto Archer when I feel Hunter’s presence behind me.

  He doesn’t say a word, merely sets down a tray with water, two steaming mugs of coffee, and what looks like sandwiches. He also sets down my knife, the blade glinting in the faint light, and I know he’s telling me it’s there if I need it.

  But I don’t.

  I don’t need it.

  What I want is Archer.

  Hunter turns to leave, his footfalls heavy as he walks up the steps and leaves us in the basement alone. I know he’s hurting, seeing me with Archer, but he also understands we need this time alone.

  “You need to see. You need to look at me, Archer,” I tell him, wanting to show him the result of him leaving me. Now that he’s my Archer, I want him to know.

  I rise, keeping my gaze locked on the man from my past. My childhood love. The first boy I ever kissed, the first boy to ever touch me, and the first boy to steal my heart.

  “Mara—”

  “Just look.”

  I reach for the hemline of my top, pulling it up and over my head. My breasts fall free from the material. I feel the heat of Archer’s stare. His eyes, burning me like flames licking my skin.

  “You’re still perfect,” Archer murmurs from the bed as he pushes up, sitting with his back straight, as if at attention. Shoving my jeans from my hips, along with the panties, I step out of them, showing him the body that he hasn’t seen in far too long. Offering him a view of the scars left behind. The flesh that was tortured by cruel men, women — people who I was supposed to be able to trust.

  “I’m far from perfect, Archer. You walked out and left me in there with those monsters. I know it wasn’t you, but . . .” I sigh, not knowing what to say anymore, how to express the pain still so fresh in my mind.

  “I know I hurt you. Not physically, but emotionally. I should have fought for you, but they—”

  “You’re right,” I tell him, interrupting him with my words. “You should’ve fought, but I should’ve known they’d done something to you.”

  He reaches for me, his fingertips tracing the scars on my stomach, just below my belly button. The contact causes me to shiver. The pain may not be there anymore, but it’s in my mind, taunting me.

  He grips my hips in his strong hold, pulling me closer, making me step between his spread thighs. He lifts his gaze to meet mine.

  “I love you, Samara,” he murmurs. Leaning in, he presses a kiss to my stomach, then all along the scars I’ve lived with all my life. He worships me gently with his lips, moving off the bed, down to his knees, and I feel the heat of his breath between my legs.

  I tangle my fingers in his hair, gripping his head, causing him to look up at me. Anger, desire, need swirls through my chest, tightening my lungs, and I struggle to breathe.

  “You left me,” I accuse. “I loved you,” I bite out. Pressing his mouth to my core, I spread my legs for him.

  His tongue dips into my pussy. His teeth graze along the seam of my entrance as he bites my lips, licking and sucking them into his mouth. My hands are on his hair, pulling him closer. Impossibly so.

  My cries are loud, echoing through the room. I know Hunter can hear me, because seconds later, the door creaks. When I open my eyes, I meet those of Hunter. He’s watching us. Watching me unravel at the mouth of Archer.

  A small smirk plays on Hunter’s lips as he palms his dick. The show I put on isn’t for him though. My body responds to Archer like it was made for him. I was made for him.

  He watches me as my body trembles, and I come down from the high of my orgasm. I rise on wobbly legs, and pull him to me, our lips inches from each other, and I can smell my arousal on his mouth.

  “I need to—”

  “I know you do,” he replies. Gripping my neck, he pushes me against the wall. “But you’re mine, and I own your pussy.” His rough grunt is enough to tell me not to argue, not right now, but I don’t obey.

  “Fuck you,” I spit as his hand tightens, and with his free hand, he penetrates me with two fingers that delve into my slick heat. Again, and again, he pumps them faster, harder.

  “Come. Now. I want it. Give me all your fucking pleasure. It’s mine. It always has been,” Archer rasps his command, and I smile.

  “I don’t come on command,” I tell him, but I can feel my orgasm nearing, pulsing through me like a wave about to crash. And somewhere along the past few moments, desire and anger have joined forces, and I want to punch him. I want to hurt him for leaving me, but I can’t move.

  “You will. Because when I’m done with your body, the only man who will bring you pleasure is me,” he vows, pulling me to the bed and bending me over at the waist. I hear the hiss of a zipper, then the blunt head of his cock is at my entrance, but he doesn’t fuck me.

  Instead, he trails it along my seam. Wetting the tip with my juices, he taunts me, causing me to move back, hoping to get him inside, but Archer knows me. He knows my body. He grips my hip with one hand and his cock with the other as he inches in, then pulls out completely, again and again, until I’m clawing at the bed.

  “Fuck me, Archer, just fuck me,” I beg. I’m pleading like a wanton slut, but I don’t give a shit. I need him inside me.

  “This” — he spanks my ass hard, causing me to yelp — “is mine.” It’s a vow, one thing I don’t refute. “And this.” He sinks into me in one long, brutal thrust, bottoming out inside my tightness. “Is mine too.”

  His hips move, violently. His fingers fist my long, dark hair as he tugs me backward. This isn’t making love. This isn’t affection. This is a reminder that I do belong to him. A violent, forceful need that burns through him, and as he fucks me into the bed, I know it, I feel it, I accept it.

  “You’re mine, Mara. You always have been,” he grunts. My pussy tightens, flutters around his thickness. “You always will be.” My nails dig into the mattress as I cry out in pleasure. As his cock hits my cervix, the pain, the euphoria, everything crashes down around me as Archer’s body falls on mine, cocooning me in warmth as he empties his seed into my nonexistent womb.

  Chapter 22

  Archer

  I spend the next few days recovering from my impromptu surgery with Samara and Hunter’s help. The latter’s care is given rather reluctantly. It’s something I’m glad of because I don’t want him here. He’s touched my woman, and it makes my skin crawl. If I’m not sleeping, I’m fucking Samara—being balls deep inside her heals me better than any lengthy period of rest can. It mends my soul from all the wrong I’ve done. I’ll never be able to fully clear my conscience of the acts I’ve committed, and I still have large gaps in my memory, which suggests my brain doesn’t want me to remember them. All I can do now is help bring down Rebekah Ward and the rest of the doctors who made me the monster I was.

  Mara leads me up the stairs and out of the dungeon for the first time. Hunter is sitting in a lounge area on a battered leather sofa, scowling at me. I notice his hand is close to his gun. He’ll never trust me. If I had a weapon, I don’t doubt I’d be in exactly the same stance, so I shrug it off and wrap my arm around Samara’s shoulders to bring her closer to me. It’s possessive. If I was a wild animal, I’d piss on her to let him know just who owns her, but that’s not my kink, so having her plastered to my side whenever he’s around will have to do.

  “What’s he doing up here?” Hunter lifts his chin at Samara.

  “He’s healed.” She leads me toward a desk in the middle of the room covered in papers and a laptop while she speaks. “We’re going to continue with the plan. It’s time to bring the rest of them down.”

  “He a part of it now?” Hunter gets to his feet and stalks over to the table. He places his hands down on the papers to cover them.

 
; “Of course, he is.” Mara furrows her brows together. “Hunter, we discussed this. He was being controlled. We removed that. He’s his own person now.”

  “Years of doing the things he did will leave scars.” The man snarls at me. I don’t flinch or deny his accusation. Because it’s true. I’ve got scars upon scars, but so has Samara. She’s survived this and come out the other side stronger. I’m going to do the same.

  “The only way you will get near Rebekah Ward is with my help. She doesn’t trust anyone.”

  “How’d you earn her trust?” Hunter smirks. “Fuck her?”

  I growl a low warning in my throat. I’m this close to punching this fucker out for being an arrogant dick. I know I should be grateful that he looked after Samara when I couldn’t, but the truth is, I want to cut his dick off because it’s been inside her.

  “Stop it.” Samara bangs her fists on the table. “You two need to stop the macho-man acts. I love both of you, but in different ways. Hunter, Archer is my soulmate. You’ve known it the entire time. I’ve never lied to you about it. I can’t help the way my heart feels, but you know that it also beats for you, only in a different way. I need you both to stop fighting. Archer, I love Hunter. It’s different from what we have, but I will not sacrifice him from my life because we’ve slept together, and you can’t handle that. You weren’t around at the time, and Hunter has cared and loved me more than anyone else I’ve ever met. He’s the family I never had.” Samara reaches out and takes Hunter’s hand. “Maybe I’m selfish, but I’m not giving up either of you, ever. That doesn’t mean what happened the other day, with the threesome, will happen again. Right now, my body is yours, Archer. Hunter, you get my mind and spirit. We started this together, and we will finish it. You were the first person to believe me when I told you what had happened to me. I’ll never forget that.” Samara purses her lips together. “If you both keep fighting, then I’m going to bang your heads together and go do this on my own. So, play nicely.”