Redemption: Savage Duet: Part One

by Nicolina Martin

And look what I did to her. To someone I actually liked.

  I’m a fucking monster.

  Chapter 20

  Kerry

  Cece is restless and needy. She whines and clings. It’s almost as if she doesn’t feel safe. Like me. I don’t know how to handle her. I have no soothing words, my own anxiousness too pressing to just wave hers off. The world is a horrible place and I just can’t lie. So I sing to her about fairies and princesses, rainbows and daisies, hoping to distract. And finally she falls asleep in my arms. Two hours later than usual. I whisper in her ear to not let the bedbugs bite and cover her up with the blanket.

  I virtually stumble to the bathroom and start filling the tub with hot water. The heater almost makes a full tub. Almost, but it’s good enough. Bath foam covers the rest and gives the impression of luxury. Groaning, I lower myself carefully into the near scalding content. I have to take shallow rapid breaths and steel myself from the pain, but once I’m submerged, the heat penetrates my body and calms me.

  It’s cathartic.

  The water makes me weightless, free, another me. I wish I lived by the sea. I’ve always lived by the sea, and I miss it. But I was another Kerry then. Someone ripped it from me,

  I lather my shoulders and arms. Then I let my hands slide down slick skin, past my breasts, my belly, hips, thighs, bending my legs I allow my hands to slide over thin knees and shins.

  On the way back up, I stop at the patch of hair between my legs and let my palm slide down to cover my mound, my fingers touching the soft, silky folds. It’s been so long since I was with a man. Since I was with him.

  Despite the hurt, the betrayal, the fear of knowing I was about to die by his hands, my body still reacts to the mere thought of Christian. That first night, when I went with him, drunk, but not that drunk, something about him made me trust him, and he proved me right. And devastatingly wrong.

  I caress along my slit, touching my clit, circling it, back down, push a finger inside, think of his thick cock as he ravages me, robbing me of every ounce of sanity and ability to make decisions. We made Cecilia. He came in me. Over and over. I was so taken, so overwhelmed that I didn’t think. I’m a grown-ass woman, but I was so lost in his caresses and demands.

  Rubbing faster, I push more fingers inside, almost feeling him in me, his weight on me. I’m not even sure that night was fully consensual on my part. He took and took, held me down, demanded responses out of my body I never knew it could perform.

  I know why I’m obsessing over him. There are so many factors, but two stand out in white-hot light: he made me feel more than I’ve felt for any man in my life, more than I expect to ever feel again, then he tried to take my life. Christian really truly meant to murder me. I know he hesitated, but it was there, I could never have convinced him not to, it was just a slight hesitation, but if I hadn’t fought back, I would have died.

  Those two things combined have etched him into my very core. It’s been two years and he still burns brightly in me.

  I almost feel him, he’s almost with me, hot, dark, demanding. My body tenses as my pussy spasms in an empty unsatisfactory release.

  How can I miss him so much?

  A small black bug, slowly making its way across the white panels on the wall, catches my attention.

  Hey there. It’s winter soon. Aren’t you a little lost?

  But then again, aren’t we all?

  Christian

  The girl giggles and stumbles on too-high heels, gets her face in order, pouts her lips in an attempt to look seductive, then back to giggling again. She can’t be more than twenty or twenty-one, and suddenly I feel much too old.

  I hoist her up on my shoulder the last few feet to my room. Cherry giggles again. The noise grates on my ears. I think of a soft, intelligent voice, words of compassion for her work and her protégés.

  Dumping her on the bed, I spin her over on her belly.

  “Don’t move.”

  She turns her face to me, her eyes are glossed over. With lust. Drunkenness. I don’t know. I don’t care. I need a release. I need someone, and I’ll never have that connection again, the one I had with Ker. I might as well try to go back to the way I used to live my life; meaningless brief meetings.

  Somewhat violent.

  Opening my bag, I pull out duct tape and ropes I had prepared for Mrs. Davenport. Ripping off a piece of the tape, I put it right over the lush, red lips of Cherry, silencing her effectively. Her eyes widen and she moans her objections as I make quick work with the ropes. My pants tighten, but I don’t see Cherry, I see a soft heart-shaped face, big deep green eyes and long, amazing red hair, her locks spread over her pillow as I fuck her hard, making her cry when I make her come.

  “I’m gonna fuck you, Kerry. I’m gonna fuck you so hard. Now be a good girl and don’t move.”

  Taking off her high-heeled sandals, I then pull down her tight leather pants and lacy panties in one swift move. She’s got a trim butt, clearly she’s working out a lot. I don’t like her narrow hips. I can’t quite hold them. Kerry is slim, but she has good, wide hips, made for carrying a child.

  I dart up off the bed and stare at the half-naked, squirming young woman.

  Kerry, Cecilia.

  Well, I’ll never see them again, will I?

  Putting my palm to her ass, I caress her, making her shudder, then I lift my arm and bear down on her pale skin, making it blossom instantly. She screams into her gag and tries to escape. I grip around her excuse for hips, catching her, and then I swat her again, and again, mottling her skin, making it stop-light red.

  My cock grows, and something stirs in me. This is my forte. I can do this.

  Cherry cries and twists.

  Taking one look at her tear-drenched face, I realize with a stab to my chest that I’m not doing this as a warm-up for a fuck. I don’t wanna fuck her. I’m punishing her for not being Kerry.

  I jump up, sick with myself. Looking around the room, I grab my bag and head for the door. I’m ruined for life. I’ve always been a cold fuck. Kerry opened a door to something I’d never felt before. Now that she’s gone, I’ve closed it, and closed everything else.

  Cherry’s eyes are wide and frightened and in a moment of pity, I drop the bag and walk over to her, untying her hands. I collect the ropes, as I stare down at her. She’s not moving, her whole body is stiff, terrified.

  I’m sorry.

  I think it, but the words can’t seem to pass my lips.

  I leave, stalk off in the night, so fucking tired of myself. Cherry will be fine. A little tender, but fine. She probably won’t go with a stranger to a hotel ever again, and that’s a good thing.

  I find a motel on the outskirts of Winnipeg and get a few more hours of sleep, then I head back south, back home.

  ‘I don’t fucking like complications. There was a kid. It got messy. Got rid of the bodies. Don’t ever fucking contact me again.’

  Putting the blame on them should do it.

  I drop the phone on the passenger seat, rev the engine and leave fucking Winnipeg behind.

  They break the non-descript music for a traffic announcement. I lean forward and turn up the volume. There’s been an accident up ahead and the heavy traffic is already forming mile-long queues, so I take a sharp turn to the right on the exit I’m just about to pass and find myself, funny enough, on the route back toward whatever the name of the little place was.

  Middlebro, was it? I guess I’ll soon find out.

  According to the latest updates there’s a storm approaching, and as I glance in the rearview mirror at the sky in the north, I believe the forecasts. The clouds are heavy, a dark menacing gray, and chase each other ferociously across the canopy. I frown. I’m homesick and it looks as if the weather is going to bring me some unexpected trouble.

  When twigs broken loose from the surrounding trees start whipping around outside my windows, I almost feel the rage of nature’s forces inside me. It unites itself with my pounding heart and makes it quiver and swell. Wint
er will be here soon. There’s an almost electrical tension in the air, and with all I’m leaving, and with nowhere to go, it makes me feel more alive than in a long time.

  Sometimes I believe I thrive on chaos.

  Chaos. I live it every day. I think of Kerry Jackson. I never could control her. She’s one of very few people in my adult life who has dared to oppose me and gotten away with it. Alive.

  Fuck!

  It stings somewhere deep inside. Somewhere where there probably should be a heart. I curse my life. I curse my lack of control.

  Suddenly I’m sick to the core, disgusted with myself for touching some random girl when the only thing I crave is a little redhead I once fucked, and then hurt worse than I’ve hurt anyone else in my life. I’ve never played with my prey before Kerry. I didn’t intend to play her, but that’s how it turned out, at least that’s the only way she can interpret it.

  I aim my focus on driving instead. The clouds darken the sky, the wind rocks the car. I might have to make a stop soon. I’m beginning to hope the shithole I passed on the way up isn’t too far away, and then I almost fucking miss it. Middlebro. I never saw the sign, and I almost drive right through it when I see the well-known yellow sign for the gas station. Shitty little place, blink and it’s gone. I almost cringe at the thought, but it actually seems like a rather good idea to call it a day and find a place to sleep. Sliding into the curb on black, invisible thin ice, I have to put all my driving skill into not crashing into a trash bin. It is a good idea to let the weather clear before I continue.

  Inside the gas station it’s almost quiet, only a faint sound from a radio can be heard. The sharp stench of oil lies thick in the air. It seems completely abandoned and I stroll past a couple of shelves to see if I can find someone, anyone, doing their job. The interior design is kind of wacky. Nothing has been done with this place since the fifties or sixties, except for the wearing and tearing. Had they taken care of it, it would’ve been an architectural gem.

  I try my voice on the emptiness. “Anybody here?”

  “Yeah, yeah coming, I’m coming!” The response from the back of the store is immediate and out comes a tall and gangly teenager with a really bad skin problem. The same guy as last time. “Well, hello again, what can I do for ya?”

  I don’t like being recognized. Especially not here. His badge says ‘Dan’. I smile. “Hey. Weather got the better of my driving. Is there any decent place to stay around here?”

  He scoffs. “Wouldn’t say ‘decent’.” I grin inwardly. A soulmate. “But there’s a motel if ya go back to the cross-section and then take a right. You’ll see it. It says ‘Pond’s’. If ya’re looking for decent, though the best would be to go back to Sprague.”

  I smile again and say some appropriate thanks. I’m sure Pond’s will make do.

  ‘Ponds Motel & Restaurant’

  My stomach growls threatening. It’s late for lunch, but I hope the kitchen’s still open. This will do. I find a bored, middle aged woman behind the desk. She perks up when the door slams shut and smiles. I’m sure she was pretty twenty-some years ago. Life’s been rough on her, a front tooth is missing in her lower jaw, her skin looks like old worn leather.

  “Hello and welcome to our snowy little town. I’m Elisabeth Anderson. What can I do for ya?”

  She leans forward, showing off a bit of cleavage and I get the impression she might be offering more than just food and a bed. In a way, doing neither of them justice, she reminds me of that Davenport woman. The memory makes me grit my teeth with unease. I shudder and shake it off. I hope to fucking God she left the continent.

  “I’m looking for a place to stay for the night. Any rooms available?”

  “Will ya be staying more than one night?”

  I sigh. This’ll be one long test of my patience.

  She prepares some papers for me to sign. A key with a huge wooden tag attached to it appears next to the forms. I lift the pen just as an ice-cold gust of wind hits my neck and the door slams shut again.

  “Ray, honey! What’s up?”

  “It’s winta soon, Beth, daymn the temperature’s dropped!”

  I freeze when I recognize the light voice. Fucking hell. It’s the fatty from the smelly grocery store. I can’t believe my bad luck. Pulling my cap down further, I stare at the forms and start writing. I virtually feel their gazes burn holes in the back of my coat.

  “So… ehm, what’re ya up to, Ray?” she finally says, hesitantly.

  “Yeah… I’m going up to Miss Kerry and the kid with some supplies. They might be needing that now if this is gonna get any worse, and I know she won’t eva’ agree to come down here where it’s safer.”

  I freeze for the second time in less than a minute.

  No.

  It’s not possible.

  Not here of all places. And there are thousands of Kerry’s in the world. And why would she live in Canada? And why the fuck here? They keep talking behind my back and when the door suddenly slams shut again my initial shock wears off in an instant.

  I’m sure it’s nothing.

  Nothing worth bothering about.

  I fucking can’t—

  “I’m sorry, I think I forgot my wallet back at the gas station. I’ll be back.” I drop the pen on the counter and push the door open just as Ray steps into his blue pick-up.

  “I can call Dan!” she shouts behind my back. “Ya don’t hafta go out!”

  But I’ve already covered half the distance to my car. It’s such a vague hunch, a long shot, but it’s impossible to still my beating heart. And it’s not like I have much else to do I tell myself, my growling stomach effectively silenced from the adrenaline.

  When Ray rolls out from the parking lot my motor starts humming.

  The hunt is on.

  Chapter 21

  Kerry

  Autumn is turning into winter and I love it. We had a couple of chilly days, with a thin layer of ice on the puddles of water. Ice both me and Cece jumped on and cracked, giggling as we ran around. Now everything is gray and muddy, though. Almost all the leaves have fallen off the thick foliage. The tree crowns stand tall, the branches pointing to the sky like desperate fingers, clutching for the faint sun.

  Cecilia has outgrown her overall, arms and legs are too short. I let her play for half an hour, wetness creeping into her ankles and wrists. She’s fresh faced and steaming, but her skin is cold when I decide it’s enough.

  I hang her muddy, wet overall and prepare a bath as I make myself a steaming cup of coffee with a little milk and read yesterday’s paper. Ray brought it with the latest delivery. They warn again for the storm. It will hit tonight. Dusk is still a few hours away, and I ponder the pile of logs under my porch. I should collect more if we’ll be trapped inside and it might get colder. I have to make yet another round before nightfall to gather as much as I can bring. The problem is I can’t bring her. Her overall is wet. I make a quick calculation. After the bath, when she’s eaten, she’ll sleep, and if I don’t wake her, she can easily sleep for at least two hours and I wouldn’t be gone more than one at most. A twinge of guilt stabs me, but it’s necessary, and completely safe. She can’t get anywhere. I will hear through the silent forest if anyone approaches for at least a mile ahead, and no one comes here. Not even Ray after being at the receiving end of my anger the other day.

  It’s safe.

  I’ll be quick and she’ll never know I was gone.

  Christian

  He takes a funny route. I can’t believe anyone lives out here. The road is bumpy, in dire need of maintenance, and becomes narrower with each turn. The shadows are getting longer. Dusk falls and I need to make a quick decision. Either I’ll have to turn on the headlights soon and risk being discovered, or I make a stop on the next side road and follow his tracks on the muddy road by foot. I decide for the latter even though I’m not properly dressed and have no idea how long I’ll have to walk.

  As I shut down the engine a couple of hundred yards in on a very narrow
path, I hear the humming of an engine coming closer and through the trees I see the blue pick-up passing me. I crouch behind a branch. That was too fucking close! He already dropped off his delivery? That seems strange. Maybe he changed his mind? I hesitate. The cold, and the fact my shoes aren’t exactly built for this kind of adventure, almost makes me regret the whole thing. I could be sitting with a whiskey in the motel room flipping through cable TV channels to my heart’s desire. And the fatty probably changed his mind, so I won’t find out anything anyway.

  But then again.

  What if?

  I lock up the car and start walking, the strength of the wind surprising me as it almost robs me of my breath. Plowing through the wet mix of mud and rotting leaves, my expensive Italian black shoes soon start to leak. They’ll be totally wasted when this is over with, but that doesn’t really matter, they’ve served me well and there’re new ones to be had.

  Sooner than I expect, I come across a large gray plastic box that stands abandoned by the side of the road. The tire tracks stop here and there is proof of a car backing and maneuvering its way in a circle. I reach out and stroke the lid, then I frown and look around. There are no houses, no signs of life. The box is locked. I reach inside my coat and unsheathe the knife, then I break open the padlock and lift the lid. There are three paper bags. I rummage through them. Groceries. A doll. A couple of newspapers. A book. Weird. Why not bring them all the way to whoever purchased them?

  The road continues in one direction only. I drop the lid and keep walking, too curious to stop now. Who would go through such measures to stay hidden? Who would be so careful? The little hairs at the back of my neck stand straight up, and it’s not from the cold.

  “Kerry and the kid.”

  I think I already know the answer. I really, really think I know the answer, and my heart suddenly pounds heavy in my chest. I have to stop for a second and catch my breath. Then I move again. More determined than I can remember I’ve ever been.