2. Chapter Two Empire of Fear
Chapter Two: Empire of Fear
Tess
Pulling my jacket closed as if it could protect me, I lumbered out of the strip club the moment Ivan allowed me to. The streets of Crimson City were decorated for Halloween, as any city with a high supernatural population would be. People would walk around in costumes for at least two weeks before and after the thirty-first of October, so every year, we got a nice long celebration.
I stumbled home drunk over the confetti thrown during the procession. Not many people were still out since it was two in the morning, but I didn’t want to have to deal with anyone. So, getting my pocket knife out, I sliced into my hand and rubbed the blood in circles, whispering the spell to keep me veiled. I just wanted to get home, and I didn’t want to think about what had happened in the club ever again .
Grateful for my three shots of tequila in quick succession, I writhed around, dancing with the stripper in the private room Ivan had booked. It was always a struggle, but I’d endured enough beatings to know I had to remember to keep a smile on my face and make eye contact with each of Ivan’s friends. He liked to share me—always with this smug look on his face, sipping his whisky, watching me service them. Sometimes, he’d catch my eye and wink.
When the first man crooked a finger at me, I glanced at Ivan first, watching for his signal. He nodded subtly, so I danced over to the large red-haired man in a gray suit, and Ivan cuffed my hands behind my back. His slimy leer made my stomach churn, and I reminded myself to get into character. Fake it till you make it. I hated the feeling of his hands all over me even more than his cock down my throat. I could cope when he grabbed my hair in his fists hard enough to squeeze a scream out of me, but when he caressed my arms, down my back and over my ass, I had to fight the urge to punch him. At least Ivan made sure everyone knew my hands were off-limits, but that was only so that I wouldn't fall into a heap of traumatized mess from seeing their bloody deaths.
Shaking my head, I tried to pack that memory away when I caught sight of a couple making out against a building across the street. The man had a woman pinned against the brick wall, and I quickly realized she was whining at him to let her go. Stunned immobile, I watched, my chest rising and falling heavier as what I saw sank in. They couldn’t see me, of course, and as he continued to kiss her throat and shove his hand up her skirt, he paid no attention to her protesting. I squeezed my eyes shut and curled my hands into fists at the memory slamming into me.
The first time Ivan shared me with his friends, I begged him not to. “Please, Ivan, there are women out there who are willing,” I cried, motioning to the main floor of the strip club. Almost all of the strippers would do tricks in private rooms for cash. I’d watched Ivan and his friends with them three times by then, and all he’d asked me to do was play with myself. But that time, he bent me over a table, laughing as his friend stripped my panties off and slapped my pussy. I flinched at the sharp pain and blushed, ashamed of myself for also feeling pleasure in it. When I begged him to let me go, Ivan grabbed a fistful of my hair and pulled my head back. Pressing a knife to my throat, he snarled into my ear, “Who owns you, Tess?”
My heart broke in realization at what had become of me. “You do,” I sobbed.
“That’s right. You’re here to be my little party slut who loves to fuck. So do what you’re told and make it believable.”
Tears trailed down my cheeks as I nodded and told the guy with his cock already poised at my entrance how much I wanted him. I tried not to look at Ivan’s other friends standing around us, all sipping their drinks and stroking their cocks, waiting for their turn.
I bit my lip, pushing the memory back again and, swallowing my inclination to bark at the guy pressing the girl against the brick wall, closed my eyes and sighed. I wished I could walk on and not get involved, but that wasn’t who I was. It had been a long day and an even longer night. I just wanted to get home and curl up in bed, but she kept saying no, and it twisted painfully in my gut. I knew how that felt and was powerless when it happened to me. I wished someone had intervened for me, but I could change this for her, at least. He moved a hand to her mouth, the other one sliding her panties down to her knees. Her eyes widened, but she couldn’t scream. I felt that scream build in my own gut. The escalation wasn’t something I could turn away from anymore.
My instinct was to stomp forward and shove my knife in his back a hundred times, but I steeled myself and sliced across the top of my forearm, whispering an apathy incantation. The result would make her less upset about his advances, but it would also make him less interested in raping her.
She stopped struggling and just glared at him. His kissing slowed; he glanced down the street and then just blinked at her. “Hey, you hungry?” he asked her.
“No,” she croaked.
“Huh, me neither.” He backed up and started walking away. Her eyebrows knitted together for a beat, then she pulled her panties up. She watched him with her mouth agape as he tramped further and further away. Obviously confused, she threw her hands in the air and walked off in the other direction.
“You’re welcome,” I sang, but they didn’t hear me. Thank the goddess they didn’t hear me.
Back when I was a homeless teen, starving on the streets, I dreamed of someone saving me. No one would give me a job because I looked dirty and weak, so I didn’t know how to get out of my situation—but I was never going home.
Ivan was always a shady, unkempt guy I was leery of, who lumbered past every afternoon. He’d smile or wink, and I’d try to ignore his attention at first. But he started to bring me lunch. Big sandwiches and fruit and all sorts of tasty snacks. Sometimes, a chicken burrito. One time, he got me a whole pizza. It was only a small pizza, but it was a huge lunch for a starving girl. Except I wasn’t exactly starving anymore, thanks to him .
At first, he’d just drop it off and keep walking, then he’d stand and stare at me, which made me nervous. But I figured it was worth the free food and tried not to let it bother me. I’d thank him, he’d nod and watch me eat, and then he’d say goodbye and walk away.
After a couple weeks, he started to sit and eat lunch alongside me. I was much more comfortable with that than being watched. I began to think he was my friend, which was nice because I was so lonely the rest of the time.
Subtly, at first, he’d mumble about magic, and I thought he was insane. Soon after, he seemed to know about my visions, and it was a relief to have someone to talk to about them. He explained they were magic, too, and that I was magical. He told me I could learn to control them and do so many amazing things with magic if I’d practice. I asked him where I could go to learn, and he promised he’d find out for me.
Then, one rainy night, I was hunched under an old, inadequate raincoat, trying to shield myself from the wet and the wind. He showed up out of nowhere and ushered me up to my feet and out of my spot. He marched me a couple blocks away to his shop, gave me a pillow and blanket and let me sleep on a couch in a back room.
In the morning, he gave me breakfast and told me I could stay if I wanted. He said he’d teach me all about magic, how to use a tattoo gun, and give me a job. He’d feed me, and I could stay in the back room until I’d saved enough to get my own place.
The only catch was I had to agree to a magical binding. He swore it wasn’t a big deal. It was like a contract to keep us both honest, and it was only fair that he would help me if I helped him.
So we did the strange ritual in the shop with the lights off at midnight. There were black candles and bones, and our blood was combined in a chalice, which he used to draw war-paint-like markings on our faces. Then, I verbally agreed to his terms. He never looked happier than on that night, and I mistakenly believed that was a good thing.
Everything seemed fine at first, except for how often he made passes at me. He gave me a few grimoires, and sometimes when he showed me how to do spells, his hand would wander down my ass and hover too long. When he was behind me, showing me how to use the mortar and pestle, he’d breathe close to my neck. Then, the next time, he kissed my neck. I didn’t know what to do. He tugged my chin to him and kissed me on the lips, tongue and all. When I tried to pull back, he just grinned and whispered, “Shhhhh, there’s plenty of time for us, Tess.”
But I guess he was more impatient than that. The next night, he dragged me to one of his strip club parties and made it very clear no was not an option. I had to drink with him and his friends and watch them get their private lap dances … and other things.
The next time, he had me sit across from him and play with myself while the stripper gave him a blowjob. He never broke eye contact, and his smug expression turned into a leer until I came, at which point he pulled out and blew his load all over the stripper’s face. He didn’t make me lick her face clean that time, but he did a few weeks later. After he started ordering me to let his friends fuck me.
So, I was a tattoo artist by day and a sex slave by night. Not every night, but almost every week. That’s when I realized the binding ritual only bound me to Ivan and not the other way around. I couldn’t run away because I had to stay within five miles of him, or I would choke and die. He had an effigy of me that he used in the binding ritual, a little doll, and if I didn’t do what he said, he would threaten to kill me with it.
So I was trapped. I was better off with my dad, but that wasn’t even an option anymore.