I shake my head. “Unbelievable. I’ve been locked in here, getting raped by your brother every time he gets a hard-on for the unwilling. Which is fucking often, by the way. He’ll probably wind up fucking killing me soon. I have nothing to lose here, Mon.”
She stills at my use of the nickname Gabby and I used to call her as kids. Her shoulders begin to slowly fall. I continue chipping away at the monster she’s become, searching for a sign that the girl she once was might still be alive and be hiding somewhere underneath all that hate.
“Mon,” I plead.
This time, Mona winces. I’m hoping it’s because I’ve succeeded in picking through the first layer of evil. I strike again. “I just wanted a few last moments of honesty. With you. Maybe we could...just a few moments of...never mind. It was a stupid idea. I just thought...”
“What kind of honesty?” she asks, cutting me off. She crosses her arms over her breasts in a defensive stance, but intrigue is written all over her face.
I look to the ceiling like I’m searching for answers. “I don’t know. I mean, I guess the kind where I tell you things I normally wouldn’t if I wasn’t possibly facing death?” I look her in the eye and lower my voice. “The kind I was too embarrassed to tell you when we were younger...”
My voice trails off. I imagine standing naked in front of a thousand strangers so that a blush appears on my cheeks.
“I call bullshit,” Mona spits. The look of intrigue quickly disappears, replaced with one of anger. She wrinkles her forehead and takes a swaying step back. I spot confusion thrown into the mix. A lot of it. She’s wrestling with this. With me. With the truth. With possibility. All hasn’t yet been lost.
I’m still in the game.
And I will fucking win.
I shrug as much as I can with my arms bound above my head. “You can call it whatever you want. I’m tied up. I have nothing to gain.”
Her eyebrows arch with skepticism.
“Come on,” I say. “You had to have seen it. The looks I used to give you when we stripped the clothes off our Barbie dolls. The way I used to tease you more than anyone else?”
“Yeah,” she answers with hesitance.
I’ve tossed out the line, and she’s chasing it. Now, to reel her in. “I was a kid with a crush. That’s how I thought it was done.”
“That does make sense now that I think about it,” she says, taking a step forward. The hook is now in her mouth. I think she’s coming to the bed, but she passes me and goes into the bathroom. I hear running water. A moment later, when she comes back out, she’s holding a large plastic bowl and wringing out a washcloth. She sits beside me on the mattress. “You’re a mess. Let me fix you up.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, sounding like a dying soldier grateful for a nurse’s touch. Mona begins to wipe the warm soapy washcloth over my sensitive and bruised skin.
“If you’re playing some sort of game, then stop right now,” Mona warns, pausing the cloth over my right nipple. “No matter what you say...or do, it’s not going to set you free. I can’t set you free.”
Oh, but you can. Just not in the way that you think.
“I know that,” I say. “And I’m not asking you to set me free. I’m just asking for...”
She moves the cloth slowly down my stomach, and I pretend to hiss when she reaches the sensitive spot between my legs. It feels like an invasion. Like death. It’s made worse by her gentle touch. At least, Marco was a proper rapist. Violent. Rough. My body knew how to respond. How to detest him. In this moment, I want to chop off her arm and feed it to her inch by inch until she chokes on it, but I maintain my role as seductress.
“Maybe, just a little happiness in all this darkness.”
Mona smiles, and it’s genuine. It’s the first time I’ve seen her smile since I knew she was one of the people responsible for me being tied to this bed. I hate her, but memories of my childhood, where that smile was a semi-regular occurrence, begin to flood my memory. I push them back down because they aren’t going to help me now. Mona isn’t that girl anymore, and what she’s become...there is no going back. So, I don’t go back.
“Now a little happiness?” she asks in a low, sultry voice. “That I can manage.”
She cups my vagina with the cloth, and I close my eyes and moan as if in ecstasy and not agony. She continues to wipe the dirt and her brother’s filth from the rest of my body before climbing over me on the bed. She presses her lips to my stomach. Her touch is gentle and soft. The opposite of her brother and the opposite of what she’s shown me thus far. It doesn’t feel good because I don’t want her to touch me, but physically it doesn’t feel terrible either. However, I’m going to have to make this show real in every way possible to convince her that I’m into this. That my words are truth. So, I close my eyes and picture the one person whose hands I do want on me. Whose lips set my body to tingles. Whose words make me melt into a pool of lustful want.
Mona trails her lips and tongue around my nipple. I imagine it’s Grim. It’s hard at first because she feels so different than he does. Smaller. Softer. But acting isn’t going to get me out of this mess and save my life. I have to actually feel it. I continue to picture Grim, sucking my nipples into his mouth and swirling his tongue over the sensitive bud. I imagine it’s him they’re growing hard for. Him I’m wet between my legs for.
When she trails her tongue down my body to my core, I arch my back off the bed because it’s Grim whose tongue is lapping over my clit, sucking it, fucking it into my tight channel. I almost buck her away when she pushes a finger inside of me, but when she adds another, it’s easier to imagine it’s one of Grim’s fingers, caressing me from within, hooking and rubbing me in just the right spot. It’s his warm mouth making me writhe off the mattress.
And finally, it’s Grim who makes me come undone.
Mona looks up at me and pushes her long dark hair behind her ears. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. Her eyelids are hooded. Eyes shining and black as night, gleaming with satisfaction. “You came,” she says. “You really weren’t lying.”
I did come, but not for you, bitch.
I shake my head and try to catch my breath. “No, I really wasn’t lying.”
She shifts to the side of the bed. Her fingers tap the side of her jaw.
Now is my chance. “Look, I don’t expect you to release me, or even untie me so I can return—”
Mona cuts me off by leaning over and kissing me full on the lips. Her tongue darts into my mouth, and I briefly taste myself before she breaks the kiss and sits back up.
“Only your legs and one arm,” she says wickedly pointing her finger at me like a naughty school teacher scolding her pupil. She stands and crosses the room to make sure the door is locked. When she comes back, she unties my feet, and as promised, just one of my arms.
It’s all I need.
The second she’s done with the knots, I grab her face with my free hands and kiss her with all the passion I can muster. I push her down onto the bed and raise her dress over her head, tossing it to the floor before lowering my mouth to her nipple. I lick around the hardened peak before sucking it into my mouth. Releasing it with a pop. She moans and rubs her thighs together. I move down her body, slowly kissing and sucking her non-bruised, perfect, olive skin. I work my way down to her thighs while at the same time working my magic. My best trick yet. Well, maybe not my best. But the one with the most on the line.
More sleight of mouth and less sleight of hand.
I peel her panties off with one hand and toss them to the side. I run my fingers from her breastbone down to her core and lower my head between her legs just as I manage to free my bound limb from the last of the knots.
“One more kiss, before I...” I say before I start traveling up her body. I interrupt my own sentence by kissing her passionately on the lips, massaging her tongue with mine and her nipple with my thumb. I move my hand to her shoulders, caressing them as she moans into my mouth. I break the kiss and pu
sh her hands above her head. She tilts her head to the side so I can kiss and tongue the sensitive skin on her neck.
With that move, she swallows the hook.
Mona is so lost in lust she doesn’t see or feel the rope I’ve wrapped around her face until it’s too late. I’ve already pulled it tight, and she’s forced to bite down around it. Her eyes spring open in horror as realization sets in. Her screams are muffled as I sit up and get off the bed. My very strong guess is that she’s swearing at me and tossing in a few threats to boot.
I stand from the bed, and she makes a move to follow me, but she can’t. Her wrists are bound to the headboard. I tie her kicking feet to the footboard with knots a sailor couldn’t begin to unravel before picking her dress up off the floor and pulling it over my head. I push my feet into her shoes and grab her hat from the dresser, tucking my unruly curls underneath. I place her large sunglasses over my eyes and head to the window. She’s still yelling around the rope as I slide open the pane and place one leg over the ledge. I look back to Mona, flailing against her restraints, eyes bulging out of her head with anger. Her face is so far past red it’s purple.
I want to feel bad for her. I really do.
But I don’t. I can’t. Not anymore.
And never again.
“Fuck you!” she cries through the rope in her mouth.
I laugh. “No, fuck you, Mona. And you can quote me on that.”
I leap from the window and fall hard onto the grass. I stand up and brush off any pain because there’s no time for pain, only escape. The darkness disorients me, along with the realization that I’m not in front of Marco’s building, but one of the many others. Most of the buildings look the same. In the dark I can’t tell if I’m in the middle, side, front, or back of the compound.
I pick a random direction and limp off into the night as fast as I can manage, hoping that the way I’ve chosen will be the one that leads me back to Grim.
Fourteen
We sneak up on the Los Muertos compound. King rounds the back with several of the men, and I lead Sandy and Haze around to the other side. Haze stays at our rear while we creep around in the darkness. The sounds of the first bullets pierce the air, and it’s just the distraction we need to make progress. We crouch as low to the ground as we can through a hole we cut into the fence.
A soldier appears from the back of a building, running toward the gunfire. He spots us and stops, but before he can open his mouth to call to the other men or raise his gun, I fire two rounds into his head.
The three of us continue on, stepping over the corpse and making our way between two buildings.
When we hear movement, we press our backs to the wall.
Then we wait.
A single pair of footsteps pass us by in the dark. Sandy looks around and gives me a thumbs up. Haze tips his chin. They’ll cover me.
Just like they always have.
I rise from the shadows and surprise the soldier from behind. I wrap my gun around his neck, pulling it tight so the fucker knows how this will end for him. Haze retrieves the soldier’s fallen gun.
“Where the fuck is she?” I growl, giving him just enough room between the gun and his throat to draw the breath it takes to answer.
“Where is who?” he rasps, struggling in my grip.
“The Mona fucking Lisa,” Sandy quips. “Who the fuck do you think?”
“I’ll never fucking tell you,” he replies, eyes bulging from his head. “You Bedlam bastards can burn in hell.”
I kick the man to his knees and draw my pistol, pressing my gun against his temple. “Where is she, motherfucker?”
He bares his teeth. “Never.”
There’s an unwavering determination in his words along with something else. Something stronger. Something I can work with. Fear. “There’s nothing you can do to me that Marco won’t do worse.”
I chuckle. “Wanna bet?”
Sandy keeps his gun trained on the soldier while I pull my blade and slice off his ear. I hold up his former body part for him to see then toss it into his lap.
He’s screaming, pressing his hand to the gushing wound where his ear used to be. His blood is black under the moonlight, spilling between his fingers and down his forearm.
“Is that worse than what Marco will do to you?” I ask.
“Please, don’t. No more,” he cries. I’m disappointed he’s crumbling so quickly. There are so many more of his body parts I’d like to cut off and show him.
“Where is she?”
He raises a shaky, bloodied finger and points toward the back of the compound. “Center building in the back. The one with the upside-down truck out front. Second floor.”
“See, now was that so hard?” Sandy asks, patting his head like a dog who’d finally learned to sit on command. He takes a step back and tosses me my gun.
I pull the trigger without hesitation. The man falls lifelessly to the ground. I crouch over the body and wipe the splattered blood from the side of my face with the back of my hand.
Haze steps into view, scanning the area around us. “You did Marco a favor. That one broke way too easy.”
The gunshots continue to sound in the distance. We come across body after body laid out in the grass. Thankfully, none of them are ours. We approach the building that might hold my girl. There’s a commotion on the other side. A series of close gunshots echoes around us.
We stay close to the building. When we get to the front, we see King and our men coming through from the left taking out soldier after soldier.
“Go!” he yells to me as more Los Muertos appear from between buildings.
Gunshots ring out from open windows and doors. The grass begins to explode as bullets land at our feet.
We race to the front of the building. Soldier after soldier appears from nowhere like we’re in one of Sandy’s video games. Together, the three of us make a run for it, taking each and every one of them down as we go. Blood rains down on us, coating our faces in the war paint of victory.
I’m coming for you, Tricks.
Just as the thought crosses my mind, bullets whizz past my head from behind. I turn to see Haze holding his bloodied shoulder and Sandy tucked into a nook on the other side of the narrow grassy space between buildings.
“We got you brother!” Haze shouts, holding his gun with his unwounded arm. “Just go!”
They return round after round of fire as I turn back to the building and come across a struggle taking place only twenty feet away.
I see the yellow bandana of a Los Muertos soldier. He’s wrestling with someone much smaller. He raises the barrel of his gun, and it lands with a smack against other person’s skull, who falls limp into his arms. A flash of blonde curls shines under the moonlight.
Tricks.
The soldier flips her onto his shoulder like a sack of cement. He makes his way to the door without noticing me creeping up behind him. He’s got one hand on the door handle. I press my gun to the back of his head.
“Drop her,” I command.
He does what I ask, chucking Tricks from his shoulder. She lands with a thud on the ground.
“Turn around,” I order.
He does so, slowly. Too slowly.
“Memo, nice to see you again,” I remark.
“Nice to see—” He doesn’t have time for even a single sarcastic remark because I interrupt him by sending a bullet into his head.
“Tricks!” I yell, shaking her.
She murmurs incoherently. I gather her up and lift her from the ground, cradling her in my arms. Spotting the nearest fence I make it my destination. There’s no exit to be seen, but I find something better. Rather, someone better, and he’s standing just on the other side.
Rollo grabs hold of the chain link panel. “I got you, Boss.” He pulls on it until it’s free from where it’s rooted in the ground, bending it upward to give me room to carefully duck under without scraping Trick’s limbs on the jagged metal. “Van’s back here,” he says, leading the w
ay.
“Don’t die on me, Tricks,” I command. “Don’t you dare fucking die on me!”
Fifteen
I’ve been watching over Tricks as she sleeps for over a day. The doctor has come and gone. She’s in shock. She needs time.
Mr. Fuzzy leaps up on the bed. Marci brought him to the reservation this morning since we were all camping out here and there was no one at the house to care for him.
Although, Mr. Fuzzy isn’t like other cats. I’ve got no doubt he can fend for himself. Exhibit A: The mangled squirrel hanging from his mouth. He drops the dead thing on top of the blankets covering Tricks. Using his nose he pushes the gruesome offering up her body.
I grab a towel and pluck the squirrel from the bed, tossing it out the window. Mr. Fuzzy hisses.
I fall back into the chair at the side of the bed. The demon cat himself takes the opportunity to leap onto my lap. Displeasure glows in his bright eyes as he stares me down with a look of displeasure that’s downright human. “Trust me,” I tell him. “There’s nothing more I’d like to do than drop a corpse at her feet, but one thing at a time.”
Fuzzy jumps out through the open window, leaving with a dramatic hiss.
“Little shit,” I mutter.
Tricks sits up with a sudden start, gasping for air like she’s drowning. “What about Gabby? They’ll kill her!” she screams.
Gently, I place my hand on her arm. “We’re working on a plan. I promise. We’ll get her out.” I tell her.
I hope.
The devastation written all over her face is too much to bear. I can’t imagine it if I had to tell her that Gabby was dead.
Tricks nods. Her body begins to tremble. Her shoulders shake, her teeth chatter. I wrap a blanket around her arms and pull her into me.
She hesitates before finally giving in, resting her head against my chest. After a few minutes her breathing evens out and I think she’s asleep again. Slowly, I set her back on the bed. She’s rail thin, cut and bruised all over. Her skin is pale. Dark half-moons line her eyes. The purple and black bruises between her legs make me both want to vomit and spill more blood. “Fuck, Tricks.”
The Perversion Trilogy: Perversion, Possession & Permission Page 24
