Wicked Ways (Dark Hearts Book 1) (16 page)

“Disintegration is quite painless, I assure you.” - H. P Lovecraft

Zorie

Reuben’s hands dragged my head around. “Hello, Zorie.” Then he kissed me, crushing my lips. “Where did you think you were going?”

I found I could speak. Courage came from somewhere; besides, I knew nothing I said would stop him. “Away from you.”

His laughter was quiet. How classically chiseled and handsome he was, with his blondeness and striking face. Even his blond eyebrows were perfect, while Mister Black was a little ragged around the edges. I could see Reuben in a commercial for cologne or surf clothing.

Before fear overwhelmed me, or he could think to stop me, I spat on him.

He only flinched a little and didn’t slap or hurt me. I think that scared me more than straight assault would’ve.

“Christ. Bitch.” He picked up the side of my dress and wiped his face. “Let’s get this done.”

“Open space in the middle?” I couldn’t turn my head enough to see the speaker, but it was Madoc. “Under that camera?”

“Yes.”

I could guess what they intended. How could I get out of this? Why here? I didn’t want to know the answer.

Smiling, as if this were a picnic outing, Reuben stepped back and held out his hand. “Come with me.”

I took his hand, because he made me. I walked across the concrete despite the gibbering cries in my mind and the cyclone of panic rising. Nothing prevented my limbs from moving. If I’d collapsed, they would’ve carried me. I wanted that. Needed it. But couldn’t even have that modicum of salve for my honor.

None of them gave away that I was their victim. Dirke and Madoc walked ahead and stopped beside one of the concrete pillar supports. The longer they delayed, the more likely someone would see the camera footage or arrive for their car. Maybe save me.

Please, please, someone come down here.

Our shoes tapped out my doom.

Take off your dress.
The command arrived in my mind. His obedient robot, I pulled it over my head and stood there shivering. Shivers wouldn’t show on camera, and if they did, who would know that it was because I was scared?

“What a slut you are, Zorie.”

More commands. I laughed at his words. He kissed me again, the frissons of lust now spinning through my body and brushing off like floating feathers, enlivening my body with heat until I moaned.

More commands. I turned and bent over, put one palm on the column while I wriggled my panties partway down, enough to show off my slit.

“Damn. You pick the best little sluts, man.” Dirke chuckled then leaned in to grab my breast and bite me then kiss me, leaving a trail of slobber on my face.

“We’re going to fuck every hole you have, my girl and you love it, don’t you?” Reuben slid fingers into my entrance then his thumb gathered my moisture and probed my asshole. “Here, there, everywhere.”

Say yes. Say it loud.

“Yes. Yes, I do! Unh!” I gasped as it seemed he thrust every digit on his hand miles deep into me somewhere down there.

From the pressure in and on my flesh, my pussy had the most of him. I tried to hold back my reaction, but couldn’t help the rise of pleasure, the spiral upward as my nerves awoke, or prevent my back from bowing as places on me swelled and leaked, throbbed and clenched, in a messy and disgusting preparation so these men could fuck me more efficiently – betrayed by my body, even if he commanded it.

“That’s it.” Dirke remarked, sardonically. “Look at her shoving her sloppy cunt at you. She wants it bad.”

“More.” I sobbed when Reuben screwed his hand in deeper...
pain, pleasure
...but I thrust back, then I shut my eyes and was thankful
he
let me have that escape.

I panted, I keened, I regularly cried out to them to fuck me with their cocks instead. At the same moments as I shriveled inside at my blasphemy.

“More. Please, please, please.”

My legs and arms shook as I stayed where he wanted me, bent over at the column.

Someone yanked down my bra cups then mouthed, sucked, lapped on my nipples, going quickly from one to the other, grabbing each tit as handfuls, making them wet and my nipples jut out in little erect buttons. Sensations rippled to my crotch and hot-wired to my clit. Someone bit my side, my ass, my neck, while they half-choked me. Finally, at last, at frigging last, a cock was shoved into my pussy, thick and pulsing, pushing aside my creaming yet reluctant yet craving flesh. They violated me in spite of the volume and frequency of my cries of
more
and
fuck me harder
. I came hard, panting, trembling, my thighs already slippery with my juices.

“More?” Someone asked.

“Yes!”

Fingers, hands, tongues and cocks massaged my clit. Someone kneeled down there and they began to lick. They pulled me around, so my head was lower and put cock in there. My mind was pulled apart, into pieces I couldn’t focus, and I felt everything at once and separately.

Crammed full, finding it hard to breathe, I registered the relentless licking below, the claiming of my mouth, the tight squeeze in my pussy. “Fuck.” I choked. I swore loudly. I did everything he wanted. I groaned as every hole was occupied by cocks and digits or maybe something bigger. A dildo?

“Went shopping,” Reuben snarled in my ear. “You got a fucking cucumber in your ass.” Then he laughed. My mind blotted out as whatever it was, dildo, cucumber, or cock, was inserted further. Full. Stretched. Slurping sounds came from where whoever was between my legs was applying his mouth and I bucked into an incredible orgasm.

I screamed more than a little.

Whatever Reuben had wrong with him, expertise at giving me orgasms wasn’t missing. He played my mind, pumped me full of wants and pleasures, made my body respond in whatever way he chose. And I could do nothing in spite of knowing they’d set me into position where a security camera was looking down on us.

“Wet, juicy, and fucked into the ground, girl,” Reuben whispered into my ear while Dirke took my ass. I was on hands and knees, head down, hair swaying around me with each thrust, as well as stuck to the sweat on my back and face. “That’s how we’re doing this.”

I could only groan in reply for he’d sneaked his hands under me and turned me into his coming machine, again. I shook wildly and somehow humped both his fingers and Dirke’s cock at the same time. I collapsed to the concrete after that. It was cold and hard under my breasts and stomach. The position didn’t stop them.

When they’d all had me, several times, in every possible hole, they sat me in my car with my dress put on me. Numb, I stared down at how the cloth clung to my chest.

“Go home and wait.” Then Reuben added, holding my face so I had to see him. “That should fix you. They’ll come for you with their pitchforks now, won’t they? This time, kill yourself without fail. Oh and in case you think you’re smart. I know another one like me has been fucking you. I could feel it. Feel his cum in you, you dirty bitch. Do not go back to him. He can’t help you.” His eyes seemed to grow ever bigger and darker as he stared full throttle into mine, driving his words in hard and forceful. “If you’re lucky and obey me
properly
this time, I won’t chase after that rich, little student of yours who went off overseas. She’s a cute one. Bet you didn’t know she was susceptible. I could’ve grabbed her and fucking didn’t. Go kill yourself, sweetie.” He slammed the driver’s side door.

Glazed-eyed, I watched them walk away. How long had that taken?

I could only pray the cameras were off or not working. If they weren’t...

They
meaning the university board? I was too exhausted to follow up his logic.

Had he been talking about Cherie? A spike of horror ran through me, when I thought I was too tired to feel anything.

Whatever Mister Black had done had been obliterated. So had I.

“Madness rides the star-wind... claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses”

- H. P Lovecraft

Zorie

The thing was...the thing was... I knew what happened next, and I’d recovered a little already. Resilience was my middle name.

I could drive. I could think, again. After a few miles I’d adjusted my clothes, pulled over and made myself respectable, enough. No one could tell I had no panties or bra, and the face wipes in my glove compartment helped clean up the mess.

Reuben had planted his command with the effectiveness of a concrete block landing. I was going home to chaos unless I could somehow, magically, rally my mind. Mister Black thought I could resist, with practice. I had zero time for practicing anything except maybe how to sink a knife into my stomach.

Blood. Knife sinking into my dress down there, the fabric being carried in by the knife point as the sharp metal pierced me.

Beeeep.
I jerked at the sound and clunked into gear then drove off. I’d seen blood pouring down my lap, washing red over my legs and down to my ankles, the warmth of it...

Getting beeped at traffic lights while nightmare dreaming was my forte.

“Go home and die,” I mouthed, repeating his words. So slapstick, but it was likely going to turn true. The tendrils of his words were growing, sending dark into my light.

I didn’t want to die, but then again, I did. The cruel dichotomy.

Mister Black wouldn’t see me, not this time. He’d turn me away.

I wanted help. I needed it desperately. Grimm?

The park?

I weaved my way through the traffic, neared home, and managed to deviate to the park. Success.

He wasn’t there. Again. No one was anywhere when I needed them. After a half hour watching a guy tossing bread at the birds from the seat, he left and I sat on the sun-warmed metal slats. He’d been like some damn javelin thrower making parabolic arcs in the air with the bread chunks. The ducks didn’t mind and their antics had made me smile. Might be my last smile.

I was probably going down with this ship. Would hallucinations be next?

The bench was under me, a bag was in my hand, and the bag held the gun.

Fuck. Had I brought it to get rid of it?

My short term memory was going faster than last time.

“Damn.” I buried my face in my hands and sniffled to myself for a while, watching as tears plopped onto the dress Mister Black had bought me. The dress they’d had me take off in the car park. It was a pretty floral one.

The plastic bag, with the gun inside, rustled in my hand as I strode to the water’s edge. Crouching, I looked about. No one to my left or right and behind me were trees. I threw the bag far out into the little lake, watched it go
splosh
and raise a geyser.

Couldn’t shoot myself now and I might regret that. Knives were messy.

I went and sat back down again on the bench. Inscribed in the metal were some new letters.

WDYW

I frowned and tried to decipher the meaning. If Grimm had left that, they did have meaning. His last words to me came back quickly, maybe because he’d stressed them.

What do you want me to do?

Close enough? What do you want? WDYW. If this were him...

I wiped my eyes with the base of my thumb and began to scratch my own letters. Nothing too obvious would be best? Hell, I was a little far gone for niceties. But doing this anchored me. It felt as if I was achieving something. It was a step forward.

The key tip gouged away tiny curls of paint. This tangible act, the sounds of scratching, the feedback to my fingers and palm so they ached, even the duck that had waddled beneath the seat so it could look up at me, it all made me remember this world was real. There were others who could get hurt.

When finished, I contemplated my succinct message. A little obvious, a little mystery.

KILLeR

It would do. It would have to. If I could have done that myself, I would have. Killing Reuben would be so satisfying.

I sighed and tucked the keys into my palm.

Was I fucking kidding myself?

I’d been with him an hour before, had him inside me, and I’d been able to do nothing. I couldn’t recall the thought of retaliation even occurring to me.

Every step of the way back to the car, with the grass soft and springy under my bare feet, I wondered what the future held.

Would Grimm see the message or understand it, and if he did, did he have the guts and the resources to succeed? I was trying to drag an innocent man into this. Wrong, so very wrong. Yet I prayed he would do it, prayed he would kill.

If Reuben died, would I be freed?

Driving to the train station was what I should do next. The logical thing to do was to leave. Leave Sydney, I commanded myself, at least twenty times, before I turned the key in the ignition.

And then, I drove home.

My hands screwed into the steering wheel at every traffic stop. I wore a blister into one palm, but I still heard the gravel catching under the tires as I rolled the car into my driveway.

Blood. My future held blood. “Probably mine,” I muttered.

*****

“Hark, what light through yonder window breaks.” I blinked blearily at the louvres and the aforementioned light scalding my eyes. Morning. Probably. Starting the day with Shakespeare had to be good? I rolled over groaning, finding I’d probably forgotten to shower last night since I was still dressed in shorts and top.

“Jesus.” My eyes hurt, my head hurt, even my wrists and hands ached.

Hangover.

Sitting on the edge of the bed I remembered drinking an entire bottle and a half of merlot last night. My plan, such a good one, had been that I couldn’t very well kill myself in public if I couldn’t walk.

It’d worked too. For one night. I was alive. No gun to play Russian roulette with either.

Would Grimm have found my message yet? How long could I hide in here and stay sane or fed? Water was not a problem, but I had a feeling my pantry had more cans of corn and tomatoes than anything solid and my fridge wasn’t going to be much better.

“Ah.” I held up a finger. I could order from the supermarket for home delivery. I’d not tried that before, but it was a great alternative to going outside. This command must wear off eventually.

I trotted from the stairs, past the pillow-strewn living room, to the kitchen.

I blinked, mouth opening. Across the counter top was a line of every knife I owned. Not a neat line though. Not at all. I’d stabbed the knives into the top and hacked holes before leaving them imbedded and sticking upright. This was why my hands hurt.

The tiptoe of evil down my spine raised goosebumps and my nipples.

If I did order the home delivery of groceries, I’d be wise not to carry a knife to the door. Killing myself in public – knifing myself in front of the delivery person would count as that.

As yet, I wasn’t courageous enough to advance further, but I was also no chicken.

With my back to the door frame, I slid to the floor and sat there watching the little army of knives, half afraid I’d go grab one.

“You won’t beat me, Reuben. You fucking won’t.” My voice was strained, but then all of me felt as if it had been pushed through a fine mesh. A hangover on top of artificially looming depression and hallucinations? Jackpot.

I wouldn’t move from here until I had this sorted. Even if my butt went numb.

He would not beat me.

This time I felt the craziness coming. The walls leaned over me. The knives were beneath my fingers. Hard things. Sharp things. I leaned my forehead on the end of one, on the handle end. For ages. It hurt and left a square dent in my forehead skin that I saw in the mirror of the blade of the cleaver.

“Don’t,” I told myself.

Leaning on the point end with my eye was worse. I flinched away, threw the knife, and watched it skid across the floor and beneath the fridge.

Seeing the fridge snapped me awake. All the knives were in place, stabbing the counter, except the one that had ventured under the fridge.

It couldn’t have been that long. Perhaps I should leave the kitchen for later, after all. I backed out the door, my heart thudding, thankful I’d caught myself in time.

The crunch under my shoes warned me a second before the sting arrived in my hand. Blood. It leaked from my fist where I had my fingers wrapped about the phone. The phone had been upstairs. I frowned and saw the shards of glass underfoot.

As I turned the monstrosity was revealed. Everything shatterable in the room had been broken. Glass fragments and twisted metal, splinters of timber, smashed china, it was everywhere.

I wasn’t going to survive in here.

“Fuck,” I whispered.

Get it over with
, my demon voice whispered back.
Go outside
.

What a relief that would be. I couldn’t live like this.

The phone jangled. With slippery, red fingers, I fumbled to answer.

Text message. Reading it seemed far more important than trying to figure out what to do with my house, with me.

The message was from the university.

Professor Boad on behalf of the University Board, requests your attendance at an emergency meeting, at 4 pm today, to discuss your tenure. You are asked to bring evidence explaining what happened in the underground car park on the university grounds, as detailed below.

Times, date, and car park designation were all there.

The video evidence indicates you may have participated in activities that are contrary to the requirements of conduct for staff members.

Yesterday, I’d pushed away logic, refused to work out all the implications, but here they were, front and center. Reuben had meant this to happen.

It was obvious why he’d done this. He didn’t need me employed, just dead.

No mention of bringing a lawyer. If I’d been sane, I’d have arranged for one. If I’d been innocent, ditto. I was neither of those.

One fifteen PM
already. I was hungry. How sane was that? I cried my way through eating a tub of yogurt, unsure if the taste was plain or fruit or goat’s turd. Did it matter? No.

Don’t go outside, hey? I went upstairs past my demolished living room and showered, dressed, and packed for the meeting.

Briefcase in hand, I walked down to the garage. What was in the briefcase? I hadn’t a clue. I’d forgotten and, knowing my past lapses of memory, maybe I shouldn’t look. It was probably full to the brim with severed fingers. Why had I thought that? Frightened of myself, I raised my hands, briefcase swinging from one. My heartrate ran amok.

I stared and counted my digits. My focus jumped from one to the next, to the next. I went back and looked again. Just to be certain. No lopped-off bits. No stumps.

Fuck. Thank god.
They were all still there.

All the way, the long drive, I pondered.

What was I going to say to the board? I didn’t do it?

It seemed as if doing things that required thought kept me functioning. Driving seemed to work at keeping me levelled, though parking in the underground park scared the hell out of me. Walking to the elevator was an exercise in terror. I was still one amid a cold, deserted parking area. The echoes, the feel, the faint smells of petrol and oil down here, were so reminiscent. The cries and moans, the slaps and grunts came back to me. My palms and scalp prickled with sweat.

I was guilty, so guilty. This was my life, going down the drain, sifting through my fingers, and I had no defense.

They’d rustled up the board members fast.

The secretary nodded at me, with a deer-in-headlights look in her eyes. What must I look like? When I walked in there were five professors waiting, sitting on chairs, in a nice, neat line.

Firing squad time.

I knew I was merely going through the motions. An overhead TV was set up and I could see the security footage on pause.

“Afternoon, Miss Brown.” Professor Boad, his white beard looking regal, twitched his mouth and indicated the one unoccupied seat. “Please sit. I thought it best to show this footage first, so that we all know where we stand.”

I nodded and sat.

What was I wearing? I glanced down and saw jeans and a shirt. Not great, but good enough. At least my briefcase, where I’d perched it on the floor, wasn’t leaking blood.

“I apologize for the crudity in this film, Miss Brown.” He half smirked. “But we’ve identified one of the participants as you. The security footage in corridors prior to this, the guard on duty, and the keycard evidence all say you were present. Your car shows in the footage. If this isn’t you, we need proof. If it
is
you.” He stroked his beard and the two other men and two women nodded or looked stern, if red-faced. “It’s very likely we will need to terminate your tenure.”