by Forgy, M. N.
I want her. My affection for her breaking me into a goddamn pussy.
“Turn the lights on!” she cries, the sound of her chain whipping against the concrete echoing in my head. The sound of pain makes me want to turn the lights on, to go in there and hold her, and rock her. But I can’t. I’m crossing lines, ones that if word gets out, Zeek will kill me. My walls are falling for this woman and I can’t pick the pieces up quick enough.
“Shut up!” I beg, but she doesn’t. She whimpers, and screams into the darkness. I drop to the floor, the crop still in my hand as I pull at my hair and scream with her. My throat burns from my own roar, every blood vessel in my neck aching. I’m losing my goddamn mind down here with her. The plan was to break her. Not break me.
“Turn the light on!!” she cries, and I clench my eyes shut.
Hands on the floor my fingers come into contact with a worn piece of paper. The poem from Raven’s room to be exact.
Grabbing it I slide up against her door and begin to read it aloud
“Tapping on my chamber door,” I read aloud, my heart slamming in my chest. My eyes seeking the poem, rapidly trying to focus on a particular sentence. Her screams quiet, the chain not rattling near as loudly.
“What did you just say?” she whispers against the door. I slide the paper under the door, and she snatches it. She’s quiet, nothing to be heard.
Out of nowhere, her fist slams against the door, making me jump where I sit.
“Nevermore!” she cries from the other side the sound of longing and agony laced in her voice. This poem terrorizes her, like something out of a scary movie.
Though the poem fucking confuses me, I know the word nevermore means never again. No future.
The entire bunker is quiet. She shut up and I can breathe again. My head throbs as I think about everything that just happened. I crossed a line I can’t get back from. I want her. I want to keep her and Zeek will never let that happen.
The paper is shoved roughly back under the small slit under the door. As if she can’t get away from it fast enough. A relationship full of hate, but familiarity. Bending down, I swipe it up crumpling it in my hand.
Swallowing hard, I saunter over to the couch and plop down. My mind and heart reeling. Why do I feel sick to my stomach when she is hurt? Why am I fucking feeling at all? Looking at the poem, my eyes land on the word ‘nevermore.’ Does she feel like she has no future, that nothing good will come of her?
I shake my head, knowing damn well it has something to do with Cross. This woman came from hell, and nothing I can do will change that.
Staring into the darkness in the direction of the door concealing my toy, I wonder if the reason I can’t look away from her is because we are both hurting from the inside. The only way to save each other is to save ourselves.
I drift off into a slumber filled of nightmares and heartache. A beautiful Raven following me everywhere I lurk.
Chapter 5
Raven
My spine is stiff straight, and my eyes are so wide they hurt.
Oh my God, he found the poem. My feet frozen to the floor I’m stuck where I stand, my body trembling as I recite the entire poem silently in my head. It’s a fucking curse rather than something beautiful. Yet, it’s a part of who I am.
Cross and my handlers would recite that fucking thing to me every day I was a kid, calling me the Raven that haunts innocent people. My lost family referred to as the innocent people in the poem.
I lower my head. I called him master. I gave in. Desire and lust breaking my fucking will. He is my master though. Without him, who knows what kind of condition I would be in. Everything I do is up to him.
Machete is breaking me mentally, and my body is defying me sexually. My back is ablaze, parts of it numb and others a searing burn. I came alive under his hand, my body responding to pain in ways I never knew possible. I was practically begging him to whip me again until he lashed down on me so hard my teeth chattered. That was the last straw in my defiance and he knows it. However the way he reacted, I don’t think he expected me to behave the way I did. The bulge in his pants, the look of lust in his eyes. He wanted me and that unhinged him.
Forbidden tones of lust are still lingering in the air.
My nipples ache, my sex pulsing with wetness. I would have done anything for him to throw me down and have his way with me. Screw being saved, I just wanted to be spanked and fucked thoroughly.
Slowly I make my way back to my cot and slide to the floor in a lost daze.
“Who is going to be free?” my handler taunted, and if I didn’t reply to his liking he would throw a blanket over my cage concealing me in darkness for hours, maybe days. The same words recited to me day after day confused me but were recited to me on the daily by my handlers. I soon learned it was a poem.
“Nevermore,” I’d reply meekly.
“Who is not going to eat if they don’t win today?”
“Nevermore.”
“Who is the black-headed little bitch whose family didn’t want her?” He slammed a bat on the cage and my body went as straight as a board. Knowing deep down I was going to lose the fight today. I was too sore, too hungry and weak. I stood no chance.
“Nevermore!” I’d cry, my own self slowly slipping into madness. For the simple word was seared in my mind, but my soul was corrupting one heartbeat at a time.
Shaking my head from the dark memory, tears fill my eyes. Shifting where I sit my back rubs against the metal frame and I cry out in pain and push away from it. The whipping tore my back up. I try and look over my shoulder to see it, but it’s too dark in here. I turn back around and try my best to get comfortable. My thighs are sticky from being wet with arousal, and my body is on high alert from the pleasure and pain playing in the same field.
Biting my inner cheek, I try to play through everything that just happened. We crossed a line I hope we cross again. Maybe he’s right about me being Lilith, but one thing’s for sure. You can’t have the queen of hell without a king.
Lying down on the blankets I wipe at a lonely tear and stare into the darkness, the sound of Machete howling in pain on the other side comforting in some way. It’s nice to know I’m not the only one breaking so I howl with him.
We’re two insane people stuck in a sane society. Little do they know, we’re more dangerous together than apart.
This world is about to get a fucking wake-up call if our dark hearts fall for each other. Maybe my best weapon is just that...
Us. Together.
Maybe then our pain of what this world has to offer us will be more bearable.
* * *
I wake up slick with sweat and my back aches with every twitch. The heat is heavy in the room. So thick it’s making it nearly impossible to breathe so I know it’s day outside.
My stomach cramps painfully and I double over in pain. It’s been days since I’ve last eaten and my body is protesting.
Inhaling a ragged breath, I stand as straight as I can and saunter over to the metal door. I pound on it with my fist but it’s pathetic. I’m weak from the pain and not eating, and before long my organs are going to shut down. I forgot what it feels like to be this hungry. I’m not as strong as I was back then.
Looking over my shoulder I opt to drink the water from the toilet, it’s disgusting but it will keep me alive.
“What?!” Machete shouts, his voice muffled from sleep. My heart sags with relief that I won’t have to drink from the toilet. We made a deal, he has to feed me today and he better hold up to his end.
“You promised me food and it’s hot in here, open the fucking door!” I demand more than I should, seeing I’m on the opposing end of the door. He doesn’t reply.
“You’re being a shitty master letting me starve!” I insult.
Locks slide along the metal door and I step back as it swings open. Cooler, fresher air wafts into the room and I take a breath so deep I fall to my knees.
“Goddamn I love it when you call me master,” he smi
les wolfishly. I bite my cheek to keep from lighting up inside. Hearing me please him makes me oddly happy. God, I’m fucked up.
“You look like shit,” Machete eyes me. I glance down at myself. I’m dirty, sweaty, hunched over in pain, and fucking starving. I’m a mess. Slowly I raise my head to push the hair out of my eyes. Machete is wearing camouflage shorts and no shirt. His red hair a mess in the best way possible. His chest covered in colorful tempting ink, and his physique so built I have to drop my eyes to the floor to mask my desire for this fucking animal.
“Food,” I heave. “Water. Something, please?” I beg, and I hate it. I hate that I’ve broken to the point of begging for essentials. Some things never change. I’ve exchanged one handler for the next. Only Machete is handsome and unpredictable.
He steps behind me, and hunches down. Slowly he lifts my shirt, and my nipples perk. I hear him grit his teeth as he examines my back. A finger trailing a mark all the way across my back.
“How are you?” he whispers with a softer tone. My heart flutters in my chest from the care in his voice.
“Just really thirsty,” I reply. He sighs and stands to leave.
Moments later he returns from around the corner holding a cold glass of water. My mouth salivates as my eyes nearly bug out at the sight of liquid.
“You’re not going to spit this one in my face too?” he sneers, and I just give him a bitch look in reply. I’m kind of regretting spitting water in his face now.
“Chair.” Machete points to the chair behind me. The piss stained chair.
Looking behind me I stare at it with disgust. “How bad do you want it?” Machete taunts. Maybe I should have drunk from the toilet, it would have saved a lot of fucking trouble.
Growling under my breath, I turn and climb into the damn chair, jerking the chain that is attached to my ankle with me. Machete flicks the light on and walks in. His presence takes up the entire room, owning it like he does everything and everyone around him from day to day. He’s a beast and not just any monster that lurks in the night. Machete wasn’t born with a dark heart, he was burned and scarred into the darkest insanity a man can possess… and he enjoys it. Making him the most dangerous creature of them all.
Bending down, he sets the cup on the floor and pulls out black zip ties from his pocket.
“Really?” I ask in disbelief. I barely have strength to walk, and he’s worried I’m going to try and escape.
“I can’t really say I’ve had my ass kicked by many women, and I’m not going to start that tally anytime soon, hun,” he states and I can’t help but laugh. The strength he sees in me makes me feel giddy. Pressing my arms along the arms of the chair the cool metal of the chair feels like heaven against my sweaty skin that I don’t even mind being tied up.
Machete bends down, each of his strong hands on the arm of the chair.
“Do you want some water?” His eyes ablaze, looking for control.
I nod. “Yes, master.” He leans in, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear and my mouth parts with arousal pulsing through me from the little contact. “I want to hear you say my name like I’m your fucking holy grail,” he whispers, causing a rush of goose bumps to race along my arms.
Taking a breath, I bite my bottom lip.
I hate him, I fucking hate him so much. Even Cross and his crew didn’t play mind games with me like this.
“Master Machete, please can I have a drink,” I ask, my eyes never leaving his. The vessel in his neck pounds as the words leave my mouth, his feral eyes glossing over. Something presses into my leg, and my eyes trail down finding Machete’s hard cock pressing firmly against his shorts and onto my knee.
He wants me. I like that. A lot.
I flick my eyes to his, a smirk slowly playing my lips.
His mouth returns the wolfish smile and he turns around and grabs the cup of water. Slowly he presses the cool glass to my lips and tips it up slightly. One hand clasping the back of my head gently, the other on the glass. Water splashes into my dry mouth like the first rain of the summer in Nevada. A supple moan escapes my nose as I take as much as he will give. I nearly choked trying to breathe and drink at the same time.
The amount of water I receive is under his control. I, am under his control.
He takes the cup away and my mouth chases it as far as it can before my restraints pull me back into the chair.
“Not too much or you’ll get sick,” he advises. I pant, taking in full breaths of air now that I’m not drinking.
He rests his hands on his hips, hair in his eyes.
“How is your back? Tell me the truth,” he asks softly. He seems bothered by my back, did he not mean to whip me that hard?
I shrug, knowing he won’t be happy until I give him a full answer. “It’s okay, I can’t really see it,” I respond. I’m sore but it’s nothing too terrible.
Striding behind me, he shimmies up my shirt once again and presses his hand into the back of my head to push me forward. He sighs, the hand on my head massages my scalp. It makes my body come alive, and my eyes nearly roll.
“I’ve seen worse, but I’ll get some cream for you to help it heal faster. Okay?” he states. My head whips in his direction, the idea he cares about my injuries so much, confusing me. Warm, passionate eyes look back at me as his finger slowly presses further down my back.
“Maybe I’m not the shittiest master?” he suggests, and I swallow the sudden lump forming in my throat.
“Why do you have an X scarred into your back?” I tense. He touched it last night, but I wasn’t ready to reveal what exactly happened. I’m not now either.
“Why do you care?” I ask in a whisper.
“I know someone did it, tell me what happened,” his voice strong and slicing through me like his machete.
“All of the kids that were kidnapped got an X, like a label or something,” I mumble. His fingers trail over it, causing goose bumps to rise along my spine. “It was a long steel iron they put in a fire before pressing it into our lower back. I passed out from the pain, and mine took longer to heal because it got infected. I’ve tried creams to lighten it, but they don’t work.” I shrug.
His eyes narrow as a look I haven’t seen on him before passes across his face. Something… softer.
“You said it got infected, did you get sick?”
I nod. “Very. I remember having a bad fever, and some woman coming in and giving me shots every day. The other kids got really mad at me because I was given food and water for three days straight until my fever broke. They would…” I trail off.
“Tell me,” he demands.
“The other kids thought I was getting special treatment so they would throw their buckets of shit and piss at my cage.” I lift my head, strengthening my voice. My bottom lip trembles as I replay the memory, but I won’t let it win. I won’t cry.
I hear Machete grit his teeth, as he jerks my shirt back down not saying a word.
“What?” I ask.
He rubs at his chin.
“Just… it makes me mad that someone has the strength to do something like that and not care for you afterward,” he admits.
“Why would they?” My forehead wrinkles with curiosity.
He brushes a hair from my face, his eyes silently speaking to my heart, but I don’t know what they’re saying.
Pulling his hand away, I watch as he disappears into the other room. The sound of plates clinking together. My stomach cramps from the water I sipped earlier hitting an empty pit. Closing my eyes, I swallow the lump in my throat and push through it. It’s been so long since I’ve had to go through this. Starving, dehydration. I was young and strong then, now I’m not so sure I can withhold much longer.
Turning the corner, Machete comes back into the room biting into a sandwich full of meat, lettuce, and mayo drips from the end. I’m not sure what I’m excited about most. The sandwich or him eating it without a shirt on. He looks like he belongs in a commercial for sandwich products rather than an outlaw keepin
g someone prisoner.
Striding up to me he stops, his stance wide and one brow raised arrogantly.
“You want a bite?” he teases huskily.
Looking up through heated eyes I purse my lips and pull at my restraints. I swear if I could get loose I’d gag him until he died with that fucking sandwich. Maybe not, I am pretty fucking hungry.
“Yes,” I sneer with a pretty smile.
“See why I’m your master, something as simple as a sandwich is in my power. How I make it, how I take care of you. All, in my control.”
I nod, understanding fully that he is taking care of me. That he does care, even if he has a weird way of showing it.
Hunching down, he holds the sandwich in front of my face. Just out of reach. The smell of fresh bread and savory meat makes my stomach growl and nostrils flare. I want just a bite, anything will justify this unbearable cramp in my belly.
