five
The Merciful
In my dream, I’m riding my bicycle up a hill, chasing Eternity. It’s a golden dream, one of those that comes through a cloudy, sunlit filter that softens the edges until you’re not sure if you’re asleep or if it’s a summer daydream brought on by boredom. I need to tell Eternity to put on a helmet, but she’s too far ahead. I call to her, and she laughs with her head thrown back, her long hair ribboning out behind her in the wind. No matter how furiously I pedal, I can’t quite catch up.
And then someone grabs me from behind.
I scream and struggle against strong hands.
“Shut up,” a deep voice growls in my ear.
I thrash out in my sleep, trying to wake up. I succeed just long enough to catch a trace of light from outside the blinds before someone drags a bag over my head and I’m plunged into darkness. I kick out, my feet tangling in the sheets, and then I’m dragged backwards off the bed. I scream again, the sound muffled and small inside the cloth covering my head.
“Let me go,” I yell, trying to sound commanding even though panic darts through me, needles piercing my veins in rapid succession.
“Shhh.”
I’m dragged to my feet, my arms yanked behind my back. “Move,” the voice commands, and he shoves me forward, gripping my wrists in both hands so I won’t fall. I’m forced to step forward or faceplant, so I take a step. He roughly steers me, and I hear my door click shut behind us a moment later, and I know we must be in the hall. He marches me forward again, and I whimper with fear.
“What’s happening?” I ask when we stop. My breath is coming in short, hiccupping gulps.
“Stairs,” he says.
I tentatively stretch one foot forward, not wanting to tumble down the stone steps of the girls’ dorm and break my neck. But the next moment, I’m airborne.
I let out a shriek, and then my belly slams onto his shoulder, and the breath whooshes out of me. I’m upside down, my head banging against a tight, muscular back as he descends the stairs at a quick pace. I flail around for a second, trying to keep my nightshirt from riding up and exposing my panties. His hand cracks across my bottom with a sting that makes me yelp.
“Stop squirming around, or I’ll spank your ass and give you something to really scream about,” he snaps. A sharp, shameful stab of heat buries itself between my thighs at the thought, and the familiarity of his voice hits me at the same moment.
I’d been too panicked to put my head on straight and think about who was carrying me, and now it’s too late. One of the three delinquents who murdered my best friend is taking me somewhere in the middle of the night, probably to do the same to me.
The thought brings a strange calm over me, and I stop struggling. I feel the night air hit my bare thighs as we step out of my dorm. He doesn’t put me down, just hurries through the darkness of the campus. I wonder if Eternity felt this way at the end.
Probably not.
She still trusted him, thought he was good.
We pass through another door, then descend another flight of stairs, my head throbbing with the amount of blood pooling there. Suddenly he bends, and I’m flipped right side up. My back hits hard leather, and I sway precariously, disconcerted by the sudden position change before a strong hand plants firmly on my chest, pressing me back into a chair.
The bag is ripped from my head, and I’m left blinking up at the boy I sent away.
I glance around, expecting the others to appear, but it’s just the two of us.
No one to save me.
“What is this place?” I ask, hugging my arms around myself to stop the shaking, stop myself from taking a swing at him and making a run for it. We’re in some kind of underground room, a cave with wall sconces, a dirt floor, and a big square stone in the center. I remember it faintly from another lifetime, when the Quint snuck down under the church after mass one Sunday and found the crypt. I had nightmares for a month and insisted on sleeping in Saint’s bed with him, but I never told our parents.
“A little place I like to call the Heathen’s Den,” Heath says, smirking wickedly at me. He leans down, resting his hands on the arms of the chair, caging me in. My breath catches and my heart stops beating. “I could have taken you to my den, but I didn’t figure you’d make it out of there with your innocence intact. “
He grins, that smile I remember from growing up with him, one that bathes his whole face in sunshine and sin. “But you’d like that, wouldn’t you, little rabbit? Or should I call you lamb? ”
“What?” I whisper, my eyes captivated by his mouth as he flicks his tongue out to wet his lower lip. His pierced lower lip. I gulp, my knees trembling.
His gaze darkens, and he pushes off the chair, straightening to stand over me. He’s taller than he was at sixteen, his shoulders broader, hinting at the toned physique hidden under the black tee and ripped jeans. But he’s still wiry and thin like he was growing up, bursting with this electric kind of energy that got him in trouble so much at school. He could never sit still.
“I heard something funny today,” he says, prowling around the small room.
I debate making a run for the stairs, but he wheels around suddenly, as if to make sure I haven’t moved while he paces.
“Want to hear it?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I admit. I’m too confused and scared to keep up with his changes in subject. I don’t want to play this game, to toy with this heathen who might or might not be a murderer. They never convicted him.
Insufficient evidence.
That’s what they said.
“Oh come on,” he taunts, prowling closer. “Everybody likes to laugh, don’t they?”
I swallow hard, licking my lips and glancing around. When I look back, Heath’s eyes have lit on my lips, a burning hunger in his gaze that makes me shrink back, my pulse pounding with a mixture of dread and arousal.
Heath takes a few quick steps and picks up a remote from a small wooden shelf built into the rock wall. He hits a button, and a voice surrounds us, as if it’s coming from the stones themselves.
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned…”
My heart is galloping in my chest now, sure this is a nightmare.
“It’s been six years since my last confession…”
“Is this a joke?” I whisper, staring at Heath.
He throws his head back and cackles maniacally. “I told you it was funny,” he crows, spinning on his heel in a full circle. He claps his hands together, smiling down at me as my own stumbling confession continues to echo around us.
“Turn it off!” I cry.
“Joke’s on you this time,” he says, his eyes sparkling with malice as he paces forward. I shrink back in the chair, pressing my palms to my ears as if I can escape this by not hearing. My cheeks burn as the deepest sins of my impure heart ring out in the room. My throat aches too badly to speak, and tears of shame force their way from my lashes.
Suddenly, the sound stops, and I peek up at Heath, who lowers the remote and stares back at me with pure, incinerating hatred.
“Joke was on me last time,” he says. “For trusting you. But now I know better. I know sweet little Mercy Soules is a slut .”
He slams his palms down on the wooden arms of the chair, and I jump involuntarily, shrinking back from him.
“And slut’s get fucked,” he says slowly, his lips forming around the husky words in a way that sends my pulse spiraling with terror even as my thighs clench involuntarily. His eyes stroke down my face to my mouth, and he smirks cruelly. “Just like you fucked me when you got me locked up with those lying lips. I can think of a few ways that mouth can pay for its sins.”
He reaches out, pinching my trembling lower lip between his finger and thumb. His tongue darts out, flicking over the ring in the center of his own lip.
“Please,” I whisper, my eyes prickling as I stare up at him.
He releases me and spins on his heel again, pacing around the room like a wild animal trapped in a cage. He swipes a paper off the shelf where he got the remote and stalks back to me. Then he slams the paper against my chest and holds me pinned while he fishes a pen out of his pocket and clicks the end to bring out the tip. “Sign it,” he snarls at me.
“What is it?” I ask, prying the paper from under his hand.
He stands over me and holds out the pen, his eyes suddenly cold again. “It’s an entry form,” he says. “For HAVOC night.”
“What’s HAVOC night?” I ask, looking down at the paper. Across the top, the words answer my question. Hellhounds And Victims Occult Ceremony.
“It’s the night when heathens like me come out to play,” he says, rolling his shoulders and grinning down at me with unhinged glee. “A night when we can restore the natural order, when we can be predators and unleash the hounds of hell on our willing prey.”
“Willing?” I ask incredulously, scanning over the rules listed on the page. “Who would sign up to be your victim ?”
“You’d be surprised,” he purrs, leaning down and stroking my cheek. His fingers send a cold chill rushing through my body, and my nipples tighten into painful buds.
Of course. I shouldn’t be surprised. Girls always loved Heath, even when he was the sunshine and harmless chaos of the group. Now, with an added edge of danger and mystery, I’m sure he’s made it a personal mission to break every rule of chastity Thorncrown imposes on its students.
“Sign it,” he grits out, his eyes flashing with a dark threat.
I drop my gaze from him, swallowing hard. The words on the page blur together in the dimly lit room, but I can make out what I’m signing up for if I put my name on this.
You will go, as a lamb to the slaughter, to the Hellhounds on HAVOC night. You will submit yourself to their desires, no matter how perverse, so that they may exorcise their demons upon you, transferring their sins in whatever ways they see fit, so that they may be without sin…
I raise my eyes back to Heath’s, my voice trembling when I speak, barely above a whisper. “I can’t agree to this.”
Heath grins, hitting the button on the remote. I wince as my breathy confession continues booming through the room. “It felt good…”
“Turn it off,” I cry.
“I think we can all agree that this is the best way to pay for your sins,” Heath says, switching it off.
“I did the right thing,” I say weakly.
“Unless you want the whole world to know. Let’s see, who should we send this recording to? Your parents, of course. Bet they’d like to know they made the right choice by sending you away. Your aunt, naturally. The administration here. You’ll definitely be kicked out. That would make Saint happy. But I think we need more, don’t you? Oh, maybe the judge who sentenced us would like to know that you actually enjoyed our little teenage foreplay, and that your testimony was bullshit. ”
“That’s not the only reason you were convicted.”
He slams his fists down on the arms of the chair and leans forward, the ink on his skin trembling as his muscles flex. “’A history of sexual deviance,’” he hisses at me, his hot breath licking my trembling lips. “That’s what he said at the sentencing.”
His unhinged smile grows wider, and he leans across the space toward me. Before I can stop him, he leans in, burying his face in my neck. His hot, wet tongue rakes up my neck from my collarbone to my ear, sending a wave of heat rushing through my body. His teeth sink into my skin, and I cry out, struggling to free myself. Pinning me to the chair, he straddles me and thrusts a hand between my thighs. “You have no idea how deviant I can be, little lamb,” he croons, rubbing my hot flesh through my nightshirt with quick, sure strokes. “But I think you’re a little deviant too. We don’t want anyone else to know that, do we?”
“No,” I gasp, shoving at his chest.
He doesn’t budge, only rubs harder. “You don’t want them to know how wet sweet little Mercy’s sweet little cunt gets when a sexual deviant like me fucks it raw, do you?”
“Please,” I cry, tears spilling from my eyes.
He sits back, unzipping his pants. Suddenly, it’s there, standing up straight and long between us, thick and veined in a way I don’t remember. A silver ring gleams in the bottom of the tip, harsh as a blade against the velvet skin. The whole thing looks so raw and animal, so visceral that my breath catches in my throat and something hot and primal throbs between my thighs so hard I cry out.
Heath’s eyes light with predatory malice at the sound, and he grabs my chin, forcing my head back. He swipes his whole hand across my cheek, mopping up my tears on his fingers and palm. Then he drops his hand, slicking it over the thick, bulbous head of his cock.
My stomach trembles with fear and anticipation, and the memory of him thrusting against my bare skin invades my mind, sending wetness pooling between my thighs and shame blooming in my cheeks.
“I’m going to fuck these tears back into you,” he says, jerking his cock while he speaks, his eyes feral. “I’m going ram my cock into you so deep you truly see god for the first time, little rabbit. I’ll make you scream like you’ve never screamed in your life, and every scream will make me fuck you harder. But I won’t stop, just like you didn’t stop when we told you we were innocent. I learned from you, learned how to be merciless from a girl named Mercy. And just like you, I’ll have none. I’ll fuck you like the dirty cumslut you are. Just like you fucked me.”
“I didn’t,” I cry.
“You did,” he says, grabbing my chin again, his fingers cutting into my cheeks and his eyes boring into mine. “And you’re going to sign up for HAVOC night and give me a chance to fuck you back, or the whole world will know that your desperate little pussy was so wet it was weeping for me to fuck it that day.” He slides his hand to my throat while he leans in, tracing his nose along my jawline. His other hand dips between my thighs again, working me slowly this time. “Just like it’s weeping for me to finger it right now.”
I burn with shame at his words, how obscene they are—and how true. I’ve soaked through my panties and my nightshirt, and he can feel it. I can’t hide it. Just like I can’t hide my confession, the most shameful secret I’ve ever told. And he has it. He has it all on tape, and he’s going to share it with everyone. Not just my parents, but my school. It won’t be a whispered confession to a priest. It will be on the news, the girl who testified about what the boy did to her was lying. Everyone will think I’m a liar, a sinner, a slut—just like he does.
The whole world will know, not just this one boy. When I try to get a job and employers search my name, they’ll find out. Any school I apply to after being expelled from Thorncrown will know. My future husband will know.
“Please,” I beg, tears swimming in my eyes again. “I’m—I’m a virgin. I’m not a slut.”
“Oh, I bet you are,” he croons, thumbing the drenched fabric between us, the only thing between his fingers and my weak, sinful flesh. “And if you’re not, we’ll have even more fun making you into one.”
Suddenly, he stands, and I swallow a cry of anguish that he stopped. As he slowly tucks himself back into his jeans, I can’t help but stare at the pierced tip and veined shaft in front of my face before he zips the fabric over it. I gulp, my cheeks flaming, and tear my gaze away. Heath stands smirking down at me, like he knows exactly how much it intrigues and arouses me. Just like the words on the page in front of me do. Words about starting from this place and running through tunnels, being caught and used in whatever capacity the Hellhounds demand.
I gulp as I read, my eyes widening when I reach the last paragraph.
The object of the game is to win the coveted title of Sacrifice. Any player can tap out at any time, but the one who proves most extraordinary will be awarded the prized position. As this year’s Sacrifice, she will be ritually offered up to sate the 12 Hellhounds’ appetites throughout the year, or until the flesh no longer satisfies their cravings.
“It’s a game?” I ask, my heartbeat thundering in my ears.
“That’s right,” Heath says, planting his hands on his hips and standing over me, so his zipper is within reach, the most terrible temptation. “A game of chase.”
“What if you can’t catch me?”
His smile grows wider, full of feral delight. “Oh, I’ll catch you.”
For the first time, a sliver of hope lights up the darkness of what I’ve just read. I’m very good at hiding. I’ve been doing it for the past four years. He has no idea how good I am.
“What if someone else catches me?” I ask.
He shrugs, but I catch the way his jaw ticks with irritation at the thought. “Then they’ll fuck you instead.”
“And if no one catches me that night?”
“It’s not a punishment,” he says. “Everyone signs up willingly. They want to be caught.”
“I don’t,” I say.
He smirks and holds out the pen. “Don’t you?”
I swallow, staring at it, knowing the alternative. Dread weighs down my hand, but I force it to rise and take the pen.
Heath chuckles. “You can play innocent, but I know you won’t hide too well,” he says. “You want to be caught, Mercy. You want to do your penance. That’s why you confessed.”
His words are the final nail in the coffin, a final reminder of the consequences if I don’t sign this entry form, agreeing to participate in the depraved games the Hellhounds play.
When I sign my name and hand back the form, a grin of pure, sadistic triumph lights his face. He thinks he’s already won.
But he’s forgetting why the boys I grew up with let me be one of them back then. I’m still the same girl, and they’d never have let me join their group if I wasn’t a match for any one of them. As he pulls me up from the chair, the wetness of my shirt hits my thighs, chilled now from the cool air in the cave. Heat throbs low in my belly as his strong fingers wrap around mine, and a gasp escapes my lips. His ocean eyes darken as his gaze sweeps down to my mouth again.
Another shiver wraps around me, this one not unpleasant.
He’s not the only one underestimating his opponent.
I have to remember, we’re not kids anymore. We’re playing a different game now.
And this game has only just begun.