7 Everett
April 18th, 2022
I gave Lucy a bowl of steak and eggs before heading into the backroom. Can’t let the pretty little loyal canine suffer for the owner’s transgressions.
This backroom of my secret little club was one only Evelyn and I knew about. Malachi had his where we did our business, but this one? Well, sometimes I just needed to let off a little steam.
I was sure Malachi would approve if he knew about it, but hell, he didn’t have to know about everything.
The dog was happy enough. I had spent the last two weeks getting her used to me, feeding her, taking her on walks, paying that dog sitter to stay at the apartment for two days to allow Lucy to feel more comfortable around me before I got rid of her.
Sent her home, not killed her.
Olivia may have spent years training that dog, but the thing about dogs was that they recognized power when they saw it.
Lucy trusted me now. She didn’t think I would hurt her precious little human, too bad she wouldn’t see what I was about to do to her leash-holder in the next room.
Maybe I would get myself a dog when this was all over.
Or maybe I already had myself a faithful servant and all she needed was a pretty little collar.
I walked into the concrete room, letting the steel door shut behind me with finality.
Something Azrael had suggested and while I liked the idea, I hadn’t yet used them. It never seemed right.
I could take the easy way, I suppose. Get Jack to hack into her account because I couldn’t do it myself, not something that secure, but not only was this fun, but Jack was busy, and this was too much fun to pass up.
This was a part of the long assignments that I liked. Beating the answers out of them. Extracting it from them slowly and painfully, however I had to do it.
I rolled up the sleeves of my shirt, studying her closely. She sat in a wooden chair in the center of the room, her ankles tied to the legs with wire, her wrists tied behind her with the same wire, wearing nothing but her bright pink panties, that sports bra, and something new. An idea Malachi suggested that I decided to run with. A 3-inch wide collar. One to match her color of choice: bright pink. It padlocked in the back and only I had the key. Hanging from the loop where the nametag might be, was a little metal black pawn. Just in case she forgets who she is. Who owns her until the debt is paid.
Normally, a collar wasn’t something we offered, but Malachi reminded me that I was playing a long game with her too.
Because of her boyfriend, she was now owned by the Kingsmen’s, and I could have all the fun I wanted until his debt was paid.
My father wanted his money and Olivia had it. Once he got it, we could dispose of them both, but maybe I would keep the dog. I always wanted a loyal pup to snarl and snap on command.
I pulled on my leather gloves, made sure my mask was in place and leaned back against the door, waiting.
Some of her dark brunette hair had fallen from her ponytail, her head hanging low. She would be stirring any second now, and I’d be ready.
She was pretty, I’d give her that. Her tan legs were beautiful, firm from all that running, long. She had good curves, a nice waist, beautiful perky, round tits. And those eyes, I hadn’t been able to get them out of my head since I first saw them.
But that was the point, wasn’t it? We became obsessed with our targets, learned everything we could about them. It’s what made us the best. It’s how we never got caught.
I licked my lips and pulled my phone out, sending out a quick text to Greyson.
Everett: congrats on the proposal
We didn’t believe in marrying. Jack had done it right. Tricked Rae into signing the papers while they were in the middle of hunting down the people who had tortured her—something Azrael had interrupted and put on pause—but actually proposing and having a wedding?
Greyson was a romantic at heart, I supposed. Even so, I felt a little bad about waiting so long to text him. Nine days, to be exact, but I’ve been busy, and proposals weren’t really my thing.
My phone started buzzing and my irritation immediately grew. Rae was calling.
My lip curled but I answered anyway. She was a part of The Family now, so if she was in trouble, it was our duty to get her out of it, although if she was in trouble, I highly doubted there was something we could try that she hadn’t already. Trained by our own program, she was just as lethal as the rest of us, maybe more so than our sisters seeing as how she had been doing it since birth and had been trained by far more people than they ever had.
“What?”
“You’ve got both of us,”
she said, her voice already flaming.
My eyes narrowed. “Both of who?”
“You called the mountains?”
Azrael hummed and then clicked his tongue. “He can’t help you.”
My shoulders fell an inch, and I rolled my eyes. “Whatever you two are in the middle of, figure it out for yourselves, I’m busy.”
“It’s been almost three years!”
Rae snarled. “I am tired of waiting!”
“Patience is important, daffodil. Patience is very important in times such as these.”
Goddammit. “I have been patient! I’ve waited and allowed you to disappear for months on end. I have done my job, but I am sick and tired of waiting to bring justice to a man who ripped my entire life away from me. I want him dead. I deserve that.”
More than any of us, actually. I had to admit, she had a right to be angry. We had all been pushed to this point at one time or another with Azrael, now it was her turn.
“Don’t do anything stupid,”
he sang. “My timing is not a mistake. Go off and do whatever it is you and Jacky-boy do, and don’t you even think about going after daddy dearest, you won’t like how that turns out.”
Rae laughed, and I had to admit, the sound sent shivers down my spine. “I can handle you.”
I could hear the creepy little smile that spread across Azrael’s face. “Don’t test me, dearest. You won’t like the outcome of that. The walls are closing in, and you must show your patience now more than ever. There are no negotiations in this matter.” Click.
I pressed my lips into a thin line. “You can’t win an argument with him. Ever.”
“He keeps blocking any attempt we make at locating Charlie. He’s helping him get away,”
she growled.
“Yeah,”
I sighed just as Olivia’s head moved, her shoulders tensing, a moan escaping her lips. “He’s a dick like that. You just have to ride along until he loosens his grip. Gotta go.”
I shoved my phone away and straightened, wondering how she would react to the gag in her mouth.
A ball gag of sorts. It was cone shaped, the point pressing against her tongue, the wide base forcing her jaw open, her teeth pressing into the hard rubber.
It could be used as an anal plug too, if one were careful.
I thought I’d have my fun with the author of rom-con. I’d remind her why it was smart to remain fearful of the serial killers this world seemed to glorify all the while getting what I wanted.
She slowly lifted her head, drool falling from the corners of her lips, reminding me of her reaction when her precious boyfriend had kissed her.
She had almost puked then. I wondered if she would feel the same if I spit in her mouth.
My cock throbbed involuntarily, causing me to shift, my stance to harden. Dirty thoughts couldn’t be controlled in a scenario like this, especially not with things that got me off. But Olivia Rose wasn’t here to do my bidding on her knees, I’d find another toy after this was over to release my frustrations, for now, I had a job to do.
Although, she was pretty.
She blinked, the fog slowly clearing from her eyes as she pulled at her arms only to wince.
She coughed, her eyes widening as the panic truly set in.
Tears filled her eyes, and she started jerking, thrashing, tugging, ripping at her limbs, muffled cries tearing from her throat.
“Careful, little writer,”
I hummed, causing her body to go rigid as her eyes shot to mine, “you might strain yourself.”
She tried to scream only to choke, more saliva sliding between her lips and the gag, tears spilling down her cheeks as she pulled at her restraints once again, the fear growing in her eyes.
I smiled, watching that chest of hers heave, her breasts swelling tightly and deflating, her ribs showing with each struggled inhale. “Inspiration for your next book,”
I told her, walking around the room.
She was gasping for air, the sound like music to my ears.
I walked up behind her and wrapped my hand through her ponytail, jerking her head back, exposing her pretty little neck wrapped in that bright pink collar. I leaned in, inhaled her scent, listening to her gagging breath as I stopped at her ear and smiled. “Your little boyfriend did you dirty,” I hummed.
She stilled as much as she could while she fought passing out due to lack of oxygen. She muffled a response that I took as her asking ‘what?’
I released her and stood, looking down on her like the pet she was. “He borrowed money from us, money he can’t afford to pay, and you, Ms. Lemont, have more than enough to cover his debt. What with your inheritance, the money from your books, and the money you get from the company every month.”
Her eyes slowly hardened, and I watched as something in her shifted. She looked away from me, straight ahead to the door, and sat back in her chair, seemingly relaxed all of a sudden, as if taking on a new persona.
I lifted my chin. Wow, if I hadn’t known any better, I would have guessed she had been spending too much time with Rae.
But I did know better.
This was all an act. Rae had spent a lifetime perfecting her ‘masks’ as Jack liked to call them, but Olivia? All she was, was a writer. All of her characters were written on paper, not worn like another skin. She wouldn’t be able to hold this up for long, of that, I was sure. “Don’t like that I know that?”
She didn’t respond.
I worked my jaw. “Resent the man you chose?”
Silence.
An irritated smile flicked my lips up. Well, this just wouldn’t do.
I walked back to the table along the wall behind her and picked up a silk ribbon. I realized over the last week that I couldn’t leave too many marks on her or the police would actually suspect something when I let her go believing she would live.
No. She had to sound crazy if she was going to the cops. She had to sound hysterical. She had to sound like she was on the verge of a mental snap before I showed up at her place in the middle of the night and got rid of her, making it look like a suicide so I could take every dime she had, making her precious boyfriend watch as I did.
I wrapped each end of the black silk around my hands as I stepped up behind her. “I don’t like when people ignore me,”
I told her, and wrapped the ribbon around her neck, just above that collar, pulling her back into me.
She thrashed and gagged, ripping at her hands as her pretty eyes found mine, bulging out of her head, her face turning red, drool dripping down her cheeks, sliding down her neck. Those strange eyes were lined in tears, the sounds of her suffocated gagging meeting my ears, and for half a second, I thought about how she would look on her knees looking at me like she was now, my cock hitting the back of her throat.
My cock throbbed again, and I leaned into it, swallowing the moan as I allowed myself to feel the rush. It had been a while since Malachi allowed me to torture a female customer, and it had been a while since I had one sucking my cock too. This was to be expected, so long as I remained in control.
Her lips started turning a pretty blue color and I immediately released her, letting her fall forward, gasping for air, coughing. Whoever I chose to fuck tonight was in for a treat.
I adjusted myself as I walked back over to the table and looked across the array of tools. Things to make her crack without leaving scars. Without leaving much evidence of anything, certainly not enough for the police to run on.
I picked up the lighter fluid. I could squirt a little of this on her and set it on fire, let it burn for a few seconds and then put it out. After watching her for as long as I had, I highly doubted she’d get through that without giving me what I wanted.
I picked up my lighter and walked over to face her again.
Her hair had come loose now, hanging around her face in tangled strings as she glared at me through her long lashes, panting, snot dripping from her nose, drool dripping to her legs. I had seen her in a few different situations since putting those cameras in her apartment.
I had seen her proud, mid-orgasm, sad, and on the verge of a great idea. But this? This was fear. Real, true fear, and it was coming out in rage.
I whipped my hand out and grabbed her jaw tightly, seeing the absolute death in her eyes. I had never seen someone this angry before. This…feral. “Your pathetic waste of a man owes me money, little writer. A debt that will be paid, in full. Whether you give it to me willingly or not.”
She snarled, fighting to rip her jaw out of my grip only for the tears to spill down her cheeks instead. She said something beyond that gag, and it only made me smile.
“If he won’t take the message himself, then I’ll have to send you instead.”
My eyes fell to her gag, now wet, her gloss smeared around a little bit of the rim, causing it to shine, her lips stretched taut around it. Fuck. Steven was a lucky man.
I released her jaw and tapped her face, causing her to jerk angrily against her restraints.
I straightened. “Let’s see how long you last, hmm?”
I shook the lighter fluid bottle, watching as her eyes flicked from it to me, hardening to ice.
She straightened, her racing pulse betraying her mask of bravery. She nodded to her leg and sat back, waiting.
I laughed. Oh, you do not want to challenge me, little writer. I stepped up, holding out the bottle above one tanned thigh. I squeezed some fluid onto her skin and lit the lighter, finding her eyes.
The challenge remained.
I shrugged and set the fluid on fire.
She didn’t even look.
She just stared at me while that fire burned bright orange.
She didn’t blink, didn’t react, she just waited.
I worked my jaw, watching her carefully, my hands clenching at my sides as I counted in my head. Seconds ticked by, her eyes filling with tears, still nothing.
What the fuck?
I dropped the bottle and stepped forward, slamming my hand against her thigh, her entire body jerking as I easily put the fire out, leaving a bright red handprint, and through it, a mark of slightly bubbling skin.
Fuck.
This little goddamn psychopath. Maybe she still had some secrets I hadn’t yet seen. Fine, I’d adapt.
I wrapped my hand around her throat and shoved her back until she was balanced on the back two legs of her chair, instinctive panic filling her eyes before they hardened again, her breathing labored, her pulse racing under my fingers as I squeezed. “You think writing those books makes you an expert?”
She only glared.
“There are plenty of ways I can shatter your mind without breaking your skin.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Do it then,”
they seemed to say.
I bared my teeth at her and jerked her back to four legs, releasing her neck and rejoining the bench as I slid the lighter into my pocket. I looked over the tools and settled on the bucket of ice at the end of the table.
I pulled out two good pieces and walked over to her, crouching down at her feet. “Do you know what these are?”
She remained silent.
“Ice cubes,”
I told her, sliding one under the center of each of her bare feet. “And in the center of them are tacks. Special tacks,”
I explained, finding her eyes as I stood. “Made with needle thin razorblades, two inches long. But don’t worry, they won’t slide in too fast, the ice has to melt around them first.”
They would make her bleed, but the cuts they left would blend in with the lines of her feet. Not enough to prove anything to the police.
Her eyes narrowed again.
“Steven can’t pay his own debt, so that leaves you, Olivia. Settle it or you both die.”
She leaned back in her chair, watching me carefully. Not a care in the world.
I felt a smile touch my lips when she remained unmoving. “I gave you a glass filled with laxatives too. So, if you start feeling some cramping, just know it’s too late to find a bathroom.”
A partial lie. I didn’t give her any laxatives. I did that once and it had been horrible for everyone involved. It would never happen again.
Her eyes widened for half a second before she moved her hips slightly and settled deeper into her chair, preparing herself for the worst.
I watched her for a long time before grabbing my knees in my hands and meeting her eyes evenly. “I’ll kill your fucking dog if you don’t give me the money.”
I drew the line at animals, I had to be honest.
And light filled her eyes at that, a sound escaping her throat as if she might be…laughing.
Was she laughing?
I snarled and straightened. I stalked behind her and ripped the gag off, tossing it to the side.
She coughed and slurped, trying her best to clean up the gallons of spit that now coated her lips and chin.
I walked around to face her. “You want me to kill your dog?”
“Evidence,”
she stated coldly, her voice slightly hoarse, causing my eyes to narrow to slits. “You can’t leave evidence. That’s why you’re scrambling. It’s sad, really. Pathetic some might say.”
Rage erupted under my skin. “I can make you and your damn dog disappear,”
I threatened coldly.
She scoffed. “You want to let me go without any scars so that when I run to the police or I tell Steven, there will be no evidence. It’ll drive me to madness and then later, you’ll come in and make it look like a suicide with a will that states that I’ll leave all of my money to some unknown charity or something. Make it look like the runaway daughter of the Lemont’s went insane and ended it all when she realized blah, blah, blah. I’m a writer, you absolute shit-stain. I’ve written out dozens of scenarios just like this. In fact,”
she hummed, taking me in slowly before finding my eyes again. “You’ve obviously done your research because I am sure I wrote out a scene just like this in my second book.”
I pulled out the lighter and grabbed her jaw, jerking it to one side and held the fire against her skin.. “Writing about it and living it out are two separate things.”
The scene had been pretty close to this, yes, but torture was an art, just like writing was. Every session could be completely different, but there were some things that could never change.
A secluded place, tools, and two people.
She tried to meet my eyes out of the corners of her own, her jaw feathering. “I’m not stupid, I know that,”
she said through her teeth. “But what will happen will happen, no matter what I do. I won’t give you the money for his debt. Figure out another way or let me go.”
I snarled only to freeze when I watched a drop of her sweat cut down her features, carving a trench into the makeup she had decided to put on that day.
I moved the lighter up to her right eye, seeing a shimmer of purple around it.
I stepped back, watched her for a second before I walked over and dumped the bucket of ice tacks onto the floor.
I walked up to the sink and filled the bucket with freezing water, hearing nothing from her. I wondered if she was panicking. Nobody was like this. Nobody just accepted the fact that they were being tortured. It wasn’t fucking rational.
Disassociating maybe?
I’d seen it from time to time, but nothing to this level.
When the bucket was full, I stepped back in front of her, her anger filled eyes meeting mine, her skin bright red where I had put the fire against her neck. I lifted the bucket above her head.
She cocked a brow, daring me.
So, I tipped the bucket over and watched in glee as she gasped, goosebumps spreading across her skin, her nipples pebbling, her body going taut.
“Fuck,”
she gasped, shaking desperately in her chair as she instinctively pulled at the restraints.
I tossed the bucket to the side, pulled out my handkerchief, and grabbed her jaw, scrubbing the makeup from her face. She fought and growled the entire time, but never said a word.
Layer after layer, I wiped away, it seemed endless, until I saw what I wanted to see.
I straightened, her eyes filling with such hatred, I could feel it dust my skin like a lingering orgasm.
A fading black eye, a bruise on her left cheekbone and jaw, and a cut across her eyebrow.
I know for a fact that Malachi hadn’t done this to her. “Steven’s beating you for the money too?”
I knew it had been verbal, mental, but physical? No wonder she wasn’t cracking. She was using the same shield with me that she used with him. Shutting everything down until she got through it, although I was sure she would never dare use this anger on him. So why was she using it on me?
“My self-defense lessons have only given me one thing; bruises. They never taught me how to fight back against men with needles,”
she spat her lie. “How did you get my dog not to react?”
I wasn’t ready to tell her that I’d been in her house, that I placed cameras around her home, that I had been waiting for her to stop fucking her boyfriend and return home so that I could bring her here.
She didn’t take self-defense classes though, that much I knew. “You have plenty of money, just pay off the debt.”
She sat back in her chair, her hair plastered to her skin, what was left of her makeup was dripping down her face as her chest heaved far less aggressively than before. “I’ll pay his debt when pigs fly,”
she seethed.
She was shivering now, her thighs tight as she tried to keep her feet up, her nipples so hard, they were threatening to pierce through her sports bra. Why wear that out so the world can see you? Do you like showing off? Or was it just in hopes that you would see me again?
“How are those ice cubes treating you, writer?”
I taunted. This stubborn bitch. I crouched down in front of her, glancing at her flexed feet and back, only to linger at her soaked panties.
They were now see-through, her thighs trembling, my cock throbbing.
My eyes found hers.
Her cheeks were red. From anger, the chill, or something else, it was hard to say. “Like what you see?”
she taunted, her nose twitching.
A little more than I should, yes.
I stood slowly and made my way back to the table. The ice cubes should be small enough for her to start feeling the tips of the tacks. She was still acting hard now, but once she shed her own blood, I wondered how hard she would truly be.
I looked around the table before my eyes drifted towards the bucket I tossed away, an idea blooming in the back of my mind.
I walked over and picked up the bucket before heading for the door, stopping in front of her only to give her a small smile. “Don’t go anywhere, I’ll be right back.”
I headed out the door, glancing towards the room where I had Lucy locked up before I headed upstairs. What a well-behaved dog.
The little rundown bar had been abandoned years ago. So, when we started the Kingsmen business, I decided to buy it for my own needs.
I had stocked it with my own kinds of things. Alcohol, ice, a working fridge, rows of shelves, black out windows, a high-end security system, and it even had a small apartment directly above it. One of a few, but this one was useful for the nights I decided to really fuck a girl the way I liked.
Although that never ended well for them.
In a world such as this, a person must always have back up places to be. In this case, I had three.
The apartment above the bar I brought willing victims to fuck. The apartment that Evelyn and I stayed in when we needed to talk over the assignment, and my place. One for me and only me. Nobody else had ever been in that apartment, it was my sanctuary just as Olivia claimed her place to be.
I headed for the ice machine, picked up another bucket, and filled them both near to the brim with regular ice before grabbing some alcohol and heading back down the stairs. “Miss me?”
I asked when I reentered the room.
She ignored me, but by the way her feet and thighs were straining, I knew she was getting close to cutting up the soles of her feet, if she hadn’t already.
No matter.
I set the booze on the table and walked over to the sink, filling each bucket with water before returning to her.
I grabbed the underside of her chair right between her knees and yanked it up, easily sliding the bloody ice cubes away from under her feet before replacing them with the buckets.
She didn’t say a word as I set her back down, submerging her feet into the freezing water, her entire body breaking out in another wave of goosebumps as the water turned pink. The tacks had cut her, decently enough too.
I grabbed my chair from the corner and set it in front of her, sitting down, crossing my ankle over my knee and folding my hands over my lap. Waiting.
She only glared, her jaw working tightly, that bruise screaming at me.
It wasn’t a self-defense class.
Was precious Steven taking his anger out on her?
Was she that much of an idiot that she stayed despite that?
No, I wouldn’t accept that. I read her books. I understood the way she was staring at me now. She wouldn’t stay with him if he was beating her, it had to be something else. I was wrong. I had to be.
Her throat bobbed and I heard the ice shift. She was trying to move her toes.
“If I lose my feet, it’ll be pretty damming evidence,”
she finally said.
I wouldn’t let it get that far.
Her eyes narrowed to slits before she sat back in her chair and looked towards the wall. Was she going to try and out silence me? Good luck.
Minutes passed.
She didn’t shift in the slightest. The only indication that she was in pain was the sweat at her brow and the gentle trembling in her shoulders.
She was newly 23, had three names, parents in Denver who she only ever spoke to every once in a while, had a dog she loved, a shitty boyfriend, and she loved to read and write about serial killers falling in love.
The first day I made contact with her in that club, watching her leave, I saw a weakness I thought to be pathetic. She was useless to me then, but the woman sitting before me was not that girl. The woman I had seen running, writing, surviving, this wasn’t her.
Jack made jokes sometimes about Rae’s masks. The girl she was at parties, in the bedroom, around Zo or Viv, was not who she actually was. She was still a mystery to him, even to this day, which is what drove him to her in the first place.
Olivia wasn’t a mystery to me. She was a means to an end. I didn’t care about the names or the reasons she ran from home or the reasons she remained with the dick who put her here. I only cared about the money.
But those eyes…
She finally turned back to me, her eyes finding mine, as icy as the water numbing her feet.
I watched her carefully. She was saying so much with those eyes. There was so much hatred and disdain. So much rage. I wondered if that was real or just a show.
A show for me.
I angled my head to one side, letting her see nothing. We were trained from day one to keep our expressions cold and unreadable. It’s what made us the most dangerous. If our enemies couldn’t read what we were going to do, how we felt, they couldn’t hurt us.
But Olivia was a writer. She was a million different people all at once. Similar to Rae, I suppose, only she had never been forced to act out her characters until now.
Was what I was reading really what she felt or was she playing a part?
“Why haven’t you tried screaming?”
I finally asked. “They all scream.”
She swallowed, working her jaw, stretching her neck. “There’s n-no—”
She stretched her neck again, her hair falling in damp strings around her face as she tried to focus.
When her eyes met mine, they were hard again. “There’s no point,”
she said, impressively not chattering.
I shrugged. “There could be. Maybe I made a mistake. Maybe there is a hole somewhere near you that someone could hear your scream through.”
She worked her jaw again, willing it not to chatter as she spoke. But after a second, she closed her mouth and shook her head.
She was right. I didn’t make mistakes.
“Give me your account information and this will all be over,”
I offered.
She remained still and silent.
I nodded. “Very well.”
I stood, walked over, grabbed the alcohol, walked up to her and grabbed her jaw, forcing her head back and her lips open.
She struggled as I put the open bottle against her lips, but my grip was firm as I forced her to drink a few good swallows before finally letting her come up for air.
She coughed and spat, gasping for air as the scotch dripped down her chin, her face twisting in disgust as the stuff burned through her.
More potent than anything she drank at the other bar.
I fell back into the chair and took a swig myself, her eyes trained on me, not a single word leaving her lips.
We slipped back into silence then, and I watched her carefully.
She glared, working her jaw, swallowing every few seconds, her eyes turning red as she tried to force back the tears. I wanted her to sit in the ice bath for 20 minutes. I would take her feet out and let them regain feeling only to put them back in. Doctors recommended this when their patients were dealing with inflammation, but I have since learned that most found it so painful that there were cases of many passing out with their limbs in ice water.
Athletes took ice baths on occasion too, but to the untrained victim, it was torture.
The pins and needles, the slowing blood, the aching as her toes slowly froze, started to turn purple. It was excruciating to those who hadn’t grown accustomed to the feeling.
So, we sat in silence. I took her feet out after the 20 minutes, let her sit as she fought against the shivering, her legs clenching and unclenching, her jaw working, and then I refilled the buckets and did it again.
I grabbed the chair between her thighs and lifted her up, my eyes lingering on those pretty pink panties as her thighs clenched together, sometimes so tightly they pressed on either side of my hand, my wrist. Her panties were now dry everywhere but right over her slit.
My cock throbbed involuntarily, and I quickly shoved the ice buckets back into place and dropped her into the water. I’d get my release when this was over and not a second sooner.
Olivia grunted as the chair legs hit the ground, jostling her sore body. I forced alcohol down her throat again, her eyes growing slightly hazy this time around, before I sat back in my seat, looking up from her legs to her thighs, her soaking pussy, her clenching abs, her hardened nipples, her bobbing throat, and finally her eyes.
She couldn’t stop the chattering in her jaw now, she couldn’t stop the way the shivers wracked through her body or the way her legs instinctively tried to close as those shivers ran right between her legs.
This wasn’t fun to her, was it?
She seemed so…vanilla to me before this moment. Missionary was her favorite position even when she was touching herself. Nothing fun or exciting, just rubbing herself off with her fingers while she laid on her back.
She didn’t even watch porn, she just closed her eyes and did it.
But now? Now I couldn’t help but wonder what she had thought about when she finger-fucked herself on her couch while I watched her through the cameras.
“Why did you run away from home?”
I finally asked her, angling my chin.
She laughed and shook her head. “I’m-m n-not t-telling you sh-shit.”
I lifted my hands and folded them back over my lap. “Fine.”
Even her chatters sounded slurred. She drank like a fish in front of Jake, but this was proof enough that the liquor Jake was keeping was nothing compared to what I had. Nothing.
Her teeth clicked together as she shook, another wave of shivers running through her.
After a second, she snarled. “I d-didn’t w-want to b-b-be their t-t-toy anymore,”
she finally said.
I wasn’t sure why she said it. There was no point in giving me information, and I knew for certain she wasn’t the type to believe that giving herself humanity would save her. Maybe she just didn’t want to sit in her own mind anymore. Maybe the alcohol was affecting her more than she liked. Good, that’s what I wanted.
“So you became someone else’s.”
She bared her teeth at me, although she looked more like a drenched kitten than she did anything else. “N-n-no.”
She was right. Steven wouldn’t know how to play with a toy if it was slapping him in the face.
Had Olivia slapped him before?
I almost smiled at the thought.
Almost.
“Your parents shit you out to play perfect little daughter for the cameras,”
I said on a breath. “Typical.”
I leaned forward, letting both feet fall to the ground. “Poor little pathetic writer, growing up with all the money in the world and wanting for nothing. Such a terrible, agonizing life you must have lived.”
Something flashed through her eyes before her expression hardened to stone. “N-n-nothing at a-a-all,”
she confirmed bitterly.
I searched her cold eyes. “Did you become a writer to escape your sad little life on the hill? Too much monotony?”
She swallowed again, working her chattering jaw, but didn’t say anything.
I suppose if I wanted better responses, I would have to warm her up a little. Maybe feed her some more scotch.
My eyes fell to her feet before I shoved myself to a stand, stepped up to her, grabbed the chair between her legs, and flipped her back, causing her toes to catch on the bucket.
She cried out as she fell to the ground, landing painfully on her arms.
The ice water flooded across the floor, soaking into her ass, her back, as her knees fell open, revealing how wet her pussy truly was.
It was an effort to ignore as I walked over her and crouched down above her torso, one foot on either side of her waist, the half empty bottle of alcohol gripped in one hand.
There was such rage in her eyes as she panted through her teeth, trying to move her arms enough to test if they were broken.
They weren’t. They’d be bruised in a few hours but nothing broke, she didn’t have enough weight for that.
I flicked her hair from her face, her back arching on instinct as the water pooled under her.
I smiled, tracing my finger down from the center of her throat to her belly button, watching as her muscles clenched against the warmth. “Tell me why you became a writer,”
I demanded quietly.
She shook. From fear or the cold, I wasn’t sure. “W-why?”
she stuttered. “Y-you w-want m-my m-m-money, not m-my st-t-tory.”
I flattened my hand against her stomach, pressing her back into the freezing water, watching her body clench, her face shift into a snarl. “I like stories too, little writer. I like knowing my victim’s lives before I take them away from the world.”
It was an addiction, you could say. Knowing about their families, their loves, their animals. Where they grew up. It allowed me to really revel in their pain before I sent them back to dust.
She lifted her head as much as she could, making sure I knew that she was directing what she said next at me. “I l-like to edge m-m-my readers and I l-like them m-m-more than you.”
I felt a smile curl one corner of my lips up. “Very well. If you don’t want to talk, then let’s get back to business.”
I released her stomach and grabbed her jaw, forcing her mouth open before tipping the bottle against her lips once again.
She sputtered and coughed, fighting back against me. She thrashed and jerked, coughing and spitting until I finally saw her throat start to bob.
I watched her swallow a few painful gulps before I released her and set the bottle to the side, only a few drinks left.
I turned back to her, watching her gasp and struggle for air, her body slowly relaxing as the alcohol took full effect.
She blinked, shaking her head, breathing deeply, trying to hold her glare.
I smiled. Sometimes a drunk victim was the best victim.
I adjusted myself, sinking onto my knees, her stomach, letting the cold-water soak through my pants as I settled right above her hips.
She tried to shove her hips up, pulling weakly at her arms again. “Get off,”
she grumbled, but she was too far gone to have any strength left.
I ignored her as I leaned back against her thighs and scooped up some ice cubes from the bucket. I turned back to her and found those pretty eyes of hers. “Remember that you’re in a concrete room with no heat,”
I said as I held the ice cube above the hollow of her throat. “Lose too much heat and you might go into shock.”
I wondered what kind of drunk she would be. I hoped a truthteller. It would make our next session far easier if I had the information I wanted.
She inhaled sharply as drips of the icy water hit her skin, and she struggled to adjust herself, to get away.
But she was firmly trapped under me, sitting in that water while I lowered the cubes to her skin.
I placed one in the hollow of her throat, just beside the pawn, shoved several into her bra, and finally scooped up a handful more, setting them right below her ribs, in the center of her stomach.
She inhaled sharply, panting as her body arched against the pain of it, those ice cubes sliding towards my cock.
I pushed her back down into the cold water, readjusting the ice, feeling her thighs clench behind me, her hips shift under me, my cock throbbing.
My eyes narrowed as I watched her, anger growing. Her eyes were filled with drunken panic, but her body was reacting as if she craved something like this.
This exactly.
I knew it was possible, someone being that fucked in the mind to crave torture to get off. To crave pain, but I never thought I’d fine a girl so depraved that she was turned on by her kidnapper. For all she knew, I was going to kill her in a matter of days, yet here she was, pupils dilated, breathing hitched, body trembling, not just in fear, but in lust as well.
Any lesser man, any other kidnapper, might have taken advantage of that. Of her perky little tits and her glistening, needful cunt. She was lucky I wasn’t a lesser man, not unless I needed to be.
“Why did you become a writer?”
I demanded. I didn’t need the information, but perhaps her little books weren’t as fictitious as she claimed them to be.
She jerked and tried to buck me off, but when all she was met with was a wall of muscle, she barked a scream and fell back into the concrete, the ice water soaking into her hair, taking strands of it as it drifted above her. “Because it’s real,”
she said coldly, not a stutter in sight. She might have been too angry to feel the chill in her bones now, too drunk.
My eyes narrowed. It shouldn’t have been that easy to get her to admit that. Maybe she was more drunk than I thought. “Real?”
I bit. “This is real,”
I said, pressing my hand deeper into her stomach, the ice melting between my palm and her skin. “Your books are delusions.”
“The story is a delusion,”
she said back, every heave of her breath causing her chest to swell, water slowly trickling down her neck, the ice in her bra melting, resoaking the fabric.
She was glistening.
“The main plot is a delusion,”
she went on, her words slurred, but her thoughts clear. “All anyone ever cares about is the main story, but there is so much more that goes into the stories than just that. We put just as much work and effort into the background as we do the foreground, yet nobody pays attention. They all read, but they don’t see.”
That sounded eerily similar to something Azrael was always going on about. “The truth is right in front of you, but you look over it so easily because it’s not apparent. Blindness was a weakness of us all, now it is just a weakness of everyone else but me.”
I leaned forward, my hand slipping towards her hips where I sat.
Her pupils widened, her eyes flicking down and back as her hips involuntarily lifted.
I ignored it. “So, you’re running away deep into your own mind? Leaving Denver wasn’t far enough to get away from your precious privilege, you had to make up worlds too? Imperfect worlds filled with death and darkness, murder. That’s what you ran too? Death?”
She struggled, panic finally filling those eyes of hers. “Get off me!”
she screamed.
Too close to the truth then.
I sat back on her hips and watched her eyes flutter, her muscles straining. I knew that look all too well.
My cock throbbed painfully, my fingers digging into the soft skin right below me, the ice now gone. “You’re just a cash princess,”
I told her, watching her chest cave in, feeling her thighs clench, her hips move. “Your perfect life was too fucking perfect, so you sought out the dark and depraved.”
She panted, the panic shifting to fear as her neck arched for a second before she looked back to me, tears filling her eyes. “Get off,”
she begged. “Please.”
My heart thundered, the anger in me growing along with something else. An instinct of sorts.
I found myself moving my hand under me, pressing the heel of it down right above her pussy, the edge of her underwear grazing my skin. I lowered myself back onto my hand, watching as her mouth opened, the ice water from her bra flowing to her neck, pooling in the hollow of her throat, her neck arching.
Fuck, she was going to cum.
My lips parted, my own breathing getting heavier as I watched her body tense, watched her eyes roll to the back of her head, her pulse racing—
The sound of my phone blasted through the room, ripping me from my own delusion.
I ripped my hand away and stood, taking several deliberate steps back from her, my anger roaring as my phone continued to ring.
She was panting behind me, the chair creaking as she tried to adjust herself.
I glanced back, watching her breathe, move, clench and unclench, probably in pain now that I took it away right before she had it. Her moves were slow and heavy, whatever high she had been feeling fading quickly as the alcohol took full affect.
I sneered in disgust. Money. She was here because of the fucking money, not for me to have fun. I had women on standby for that, I didn’t need her.
I spun on my heel and grabbed the syringe from the table before hitting my knees at her head, my cock so fucking solid, every movement hurt.
I grabbed her jaw and leaned over her, watching her rage-filled drunken eyes stare into mine. “One last thing before I go,”
I told her, forcing her mouth open. My mind was spinning as I gathered up some saliva in my mouth and spit straight into hers, watching as her eyes widened.
She coughed and choked as her tongue moved to swallow it.
I leaned in and pressed the needle into her neck. “Mine tastes better. If you remember anything tomorrow, it’ll do you good to remember that.”
I forced her mouth shut and deployed the contents of the syringe into her.
I waited until her eyes fluttered closed, her body going slack, before I released her jaw and sat back on my heels in complete shock at what I had just done.
What the fuck was wrong with me?
My cock was throbbing for her. Hardened like a rock in my pants.
I needed to get her home and find a good fuck, get my mind on straight before I went back to tell Malachi I had failed.
Maybe not completely though. This would be enough to drive her mad. Enough for her to confront Steven. Maybe enough to get the money the next time they came to The Club.
I stood above her, staring at her soaking, glistening body. She would remember this and fear me. She would get that account number to me by the next meeting between Steven and Malachi or she would end up back here, in my grips.
She would know that I could take her again whenever I wanted.
However I wanted.
And there was nothing she could do to stop me.