Bayou Baby (11 page)

Rowan touched Peter’s shoulder. “Justine will begin with you,
Monsieur.
Remember to keep the blindfold on, or the experience will not be as it should be.”

Justine shook her head. Rowan grabbed her arm. Her fingers dug into the girl’s soft skin causing her to wince. She leaned close to the girl’s ear. “Just kiss him here and there, touch him all over. You must do this or you’ll die along with them.”

Justine bit her lip. “I’m sorry, I’m so scared.”

“We won’t hurt you. Listen to your friend so that we can be done with this little experiment,” Jean barked.

Justine took a deep breath and closed her eyes as she ran her finger over Peter’s back and neck.

“Kiss him,” Rowan hissed. Justine placed a quick kiss on his ear and shivered.

Rowan grabbed the cuffs, not sure how long Justine could force herself to distract Peter. She had to be fast.

“Now,
Monsieur,
it is your turn.” She knelt before Jean and ran her tongue over his mouth, tasting tobacco and wine. He grabbed her waist and pulled her against him. Rowan slapped his hands away.
“Non,
that’s bad. You must keep your hands down. I am pleasuring you. Allow me to do my job.”

“I cannot help myself.” His hands roamed her backside.

“Then I will have to help you. Put your hands behind your back.”

He obeyed.

Rowan felt him tense when the cold steel of the cuffs touched his wrists. She secured his hands behind his back and stood.

Justine awkwardly tried to avoid touching Peter with anything but her fingers and her lips. Rowan shook her head. It was a shame; if the girl only realized how much control she really had...

Turning her attention back to Jean, she dragged the chain off the bed. “Now
Monsieur,
the game has begun.”

“I don’t think I like this, girl.” Jean tugged at the cuffs. Rowan ran her hand over his crotch and squeezed.

“No? I can stop.” She opened his pants while she spoke into his ear.

His face flushed, and his breathing became shallow. “Don’t stop, that’s good,” he murmured.

Peter reached for Justine who was deftly avoiding his hands.
“Non, Monsieur.
This is not what we are supposed to do.”

“I’d rather you did not kiss me like my granddaughter. That’s not what I paid for.” He managed to grasp her arm and pull her on top of him.

Rowan looked at Justine, who struggled to be free of Peter’s grip. “Justine, if you don’t do this, Rosaline will have to come in here. I know you don’t want that. Please, the gentleman only asks that you play a part, so play it.”

Suddenly Justine stopped struggling, her gaze locked with Rowan’s. Her lip trembled for a moment, and then she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she looked to her again, her brown eyes had cleared and she moved differently, as though a different girl lived inside her. Rowan stared, fascinated by the girl’s change, wondering what she was doing. Justine’s shoulders straightened and she brushed a blond curl from her eyes.

Justine’s eyes met Rowan’s and she smiled a catlike grin. Rowan shivered at the coldness in her stare. Rowan caught the slight shaking in her hands as they moved over Peter’s body, the only indication that Justine was still terrified. The girl slithered over Peter like a snake, her hips grinding against him until he looked ready to burst. When he touched her breasts, she leaned against his hands, arching her back into him.

“That’s more like it, you are a good pupil.” Peter grinned.

Rowan gaped. The girl was a puzzle.

She turned back to Jean who moved his head toward the sound of Peter and Justine. “Now it is your turn, Jean. Can I call you Jean?”

“As long as I get your sweet mouth around me, you can call me whatever you wish.”

Rowan pulled the chain down the bed. It made a faint clink as it hit the headboard. She coiled it around her hand. Turning back to Jean she leaned close to his hear, licking around it before biting the lobe. He shivered, and she slipped the chain around his neck.

“What the—“

“I wish to call you dead then,” she whispered.

Rowan tightened the chain, wrapping the ends around her hands, the steel bit into her knuckles, and she pulled back with all of her weight.

Jean struggled to be free; his hands bound behind him were of no use. He tried to stand but Rowan yanked on the chain, robbing him of the strength to move his feet.

He gasped and sputtered, Peter chuckled from his seat next to him. He moved his hands down Justine’s belly and between her legs. “Sounds like she’s teaching you a thing or two, brother. I can’t wait for my turn.”

“Don’t worry
Monsieur.
It will be your turn soon enough.” Rowan said. Justine’s eyes widened as she watched Rowan, but she continued to move against Peter, allowing him to touch her and to run his tongue over her body.

Rowan tugged until her arms ached. She watched Jean struggle, the cords in his neck bulging against the pressure. He threw his head back, working his mouth but no words came out, just a choking gurgling sound. She twisted the chain until it dug deep into his flesh. Blood trickled out the corner of his nose, and she knew she was almost there.

“Is that good, Jean?” Rowan purred, adrenaline coursed through her, pushing her on, making her body tingle. “What’s that? Tighter?”

He shook his head and Rowan twisted the chain tighter still. His skin took on a blue-grey hue. She held on until he fell limp against her, and then a bit longer to be sure he was dead.

It seemed too easy. A man couldn’t just die like that. Had Rowan known, she would have strangled Lucien the first night. As she stared at the dead man, something felt different, like a chord snapping deep inside her. Was it power?

“Rowan?” Justine was back to herself. Her voice trembled as Peter licked her breasts.

Rowan stood and moved behind Peter. “Oh no, Justine, that is all wrong. You are supposed to show him pleasure, not the other way around. Allow me.”

Justine glanced at Jean’s limp form and then at the chain Rowan had unwrapped from his neck and paled. “Oh no.”

“What is the matter?” Peter’s hands went to his blindfold and Rowan pushed them away.

“Nothing is wrong. Your brother is catching his breath. I’m afraid he wasn’t prepared for this game. Do you think you can manage to stay conscious?”

“Do your worst whore. I’ll show you who is in charge when you’re done.”

“Indeed.”

Rowan tugged the sheet off the bed and pulled it around Peter’s arms. He frowned, “What is this?”

“I can’t have you grabbing me; that would ruin the whole game. This makes it easier for you to keep your hands to yourself.”

“This won’t hold me.”

“It will hold you long enough.” Rowan bound his arms to his sides. She gave an end to Justine who woke from her stupor to help her tug it tightly to his body. Once she tied several knots in the back, Rowan took the chain.

“What do I do?” Justine asked.

“Turn around until we’re done.” Rowan instructed.

The girl was traumatized enough just seeing the body. Rowan couldn’t imagine what watching him die would do to her.

Peter chuckled. “Now we see the real swamp rat. You think you’re something else don’t you?”

“I am,” Rowan nibbled his ear, tasting salt and something bitter. Her stomach quivered but she continued. Smiling, she brought the chain over him, such a handy little weapon it turned out to be. Lightweight and silent as it drained the life from their bodies. If she wasn’t careful she might begin to enjoy taking life.

Rowan wrapped her hands in the chain until it pressed against his throat, and then she twisted it around itself while it dug deep into Peter’s neck. She wasted no time figuring out how to get it tight enough. She knew. His skin grew the same color as his brother. He struggled to free his arms.

Rowan smiled as he thrashed and then leaned close to his ear. “Oh dear,
Monsieur.
Hasn’t anyone warned you never to turn your back on a whore?”

Peter’s blindfold had slipped, revealing his eyes, which rolled back in his head, leaving only the whites exposed. Rowan watched him die with a detached stare. She felt nothing, just icy coldness in her veins. Watching Jean she had been fascinated, but with his brother, she was simply doing a job. A nasty chore that had to be done.

Rowan released the chain and Peter’s body slumped to the floor. Justine gasped and looked at her, tears forming in her large eyes.

“What have we done?”

“You have done nothing. Just go find Henri as we planned. Those men deserved this and more. You know how they treat the girls here. I must get dressed, you need to go.”

Justine bit her finger. “I just never thought I’d see them get theirs. It’s not a good feeling. I thought it would be.”

Rowan pushed her to the door, pressing the thin nightgown into her trembling hands. “Death isn’t a good feeling no matter who it is. Where will I find Rosaline?”

“Sh—she goes to her rooms at midnight. I don’t know what she does in there, but she comes out at dawn to send everyone home.”

“She sleeps I’ll bet. How could she stay up all day otherwise?”

Justine had nothing to add, Rowan slipped out behind her into the hall.

“I’ll use the back stairs. There will be no one there at this time. Come with me, Rowan.”

“Don’t worry about me. Go, before it’s too late. Tell Henri we’ll meet at Mama Gator’s. You got it?” Rowan hugged her and pushed her down the hall.

“Yes, Mama Gator’s. Please, Rowan…”

“Go,” Rowan said. She waited until she no longer heard the soft patter of Justine’s bare feet in the hall. “Now to find you, Rosaline.”

Her stomach tightened as she stood before the last door, just above the stairs that would take her to freedom. She touched the smooth wood and took a slow, deep breath. Did she just walk in? The woman had proven before that she was stronger than Rowan was, so it would be foolish to confront her outright.

Rowan wished she’d been able to call the spirits. Mama Gator told her when she needed them, they would come, but they hadn’t. What if Mama Gator really was nothing more than a crazy old woman? Rowan mulled this over as the turned the knob. Maybe her mama was right, and there was no power in voodoo. She’d pinned her hopes on smoke and mirrors for years if that were the case.

Pushing her doubts aside, Rowan faced the door again. Should she just burst in? The element of surprise might work to her advantage, but she didn’t know what waited for her. If Rosaline was entertaining, then Rowan would have to overpower them both.

But if she had a weapon, the advantage would be hers. She let go of the doorknob and then crept down the hall toward the back stairs. The dim light from the sconces threw everything into shadows. Following Justine’s path, Rowan hurried down the stairs to the kitchen. She heard giggles from the girls’ rooms above her head and tried to imagine working in the kitchen with such thin walls. The cook must hear everything.

Rowan paused, listening for anything that might indicate she had company, but the kitchen was silent and dark; everything cleaned and in its place. She could smell the sweet spicy odor of gumbo. It teased her empty stomach. She hadn’t had much of an appetite since her arrival, but now her hunger rumbled painfully. There was no time. Careful not to bump into anything, Rowan searched the kitchen and ignored her body’s demand for nourishment.

In the shadows, she could make out chairs, jars, and the old woodstove. She searched blindly, and finally her hand brushed over a cutting block. She traced the blade of a large bread knife, not sharp enough. Rowan continued her search until she found what she was looking for in a drawer beneath the sink. Tucking the smaller, sharper blade into the folds of the dress Justine provided, she left the kitchen.

Creeping back to Rosaline’s room, Rowan’s heart pounded. Her palms were sweaty and she found it difficult to breath. Taking deep breaths, she told herself to relax, to focus on the task. Rosaline would know what happened when you messed around with a swamp rat.

She stood outside Rosaline’s door for a moment, her fingers tracing the grooves in the worn wood as she went over the scenario in her head. When Rowan felt confident she was sure of the plan, she knocked on the door.

Movement, a shuffling inside, but no one came.

Rowan knocked again, louder this time, and heard Rosaline’s voice beckoning her to come in. Smiling, she turned the knob slowly and peeked her head inside. It was dark, but she could make out Rosaline’s form sitting up in the ornate bed on the far wall.

“What are you doing here? Where are those idiots?” Rosaline fumbled for matches to light the lamp.

“Um…there was a problem, Mistress.” Rowan closed the door with a soft click.

Rosaline managed to light the lamp and looked at her with venom. Her dark hair tumbled around her shoulders, softening her face, making her look less intimidating. “There’s a problem?”

“Y—yes, I—that is we, Justine and I didn’t know what to do. I came to get you right away.”

Rosaline sighed, kicking of her coverlet to expose her naked body. She grabbed a robe that hung over the chair next to her bed and glared at Rowan. “Where is that silly bitch? You left her alone?”

“No Mistress, sh—she’s gone.” The shock on Rosaline’s face forced a giggle to Rowan’s throat. She coughed to clear it and lowered her head so that the other woman would believe she was frightened.

“Where? I told Lucien it was idiocy to leave the pair of you alone all night. I knew those buffoons would do something to ruin all the work we’ve done here.”

“I know,” Rowan mumbled.

“What was that? Never mind. I’m sure you have nothing useful to say to me. Where are they?”

“Who?”

“Must I spell everything out for you? Peter and Jean.”

“They’re in my room.”

“And they just let you leave? Mercy, this is a mess.”

“No Mistress, they had no choice.”

“No choice?” Rosaline laughed, her voice reaching a shrill pitch. “What are you saying girl?”

“They didn’t know I left.”

“Did you sneak out? I’ll punish you within an inch of your life, you little bitch. You’ve been nothing but trouble from the day you were born. Lucien should have taken care of you while you were still in Jolene’s belly.”

Rosaline turned to the window, picking up her keys from the small table there and took a breath, as though calming herself.

“I didn’t sneak out,” Rowan murmured, moving behind her.

“Then how is it that you’re here? What are Peter and Jean doing?” Rosaline lifted her head and her eyes met Rowan’s in the glass of the window.

“I killed them,” she whispered.

Rowan pressed the knife against Rosaline’s white throat. She watched the woman’s eyes widen and felt her back grow stiff.

“Now it is your turn,
Mistress.”