He wasn’t with the military, but he could be a different type of danger. A very real danger to her well-being.
She was all alone with an escaped murderer—an escaped murderer who made her come harder than she’d ever come before.
The sex had been phenomenal. She’d almost forgotten what it could be like, when she got so thoroughly turned on. It felt amazing. But what about Mason’s victim… the woman he killed. Did she have amazing sex with him too? Did he promise her that he’d never hurt her?
She shivered, and Mason wrapped his huge arm around her, hugging her to him for warmth. But it wasn’t the chill in the air that made her cold.
It was fear.
Grand Central, OCC
COLONEL LANCHE
IN THE Operations Control Center at Grand Central, Colonel Lanche stepped forward until he stood only an inch from Private Pearce’s face. “Are you telling me the radio is gone?”
Pearce winced. “Missing, yes sir.”
“I said,” he spat, “are you telling me our only communication with the outside world is gone?”
Pearce blanched, a tiny drop of Lanche’s spittle sitting on his cheek. Lanche stayed in his face, daring him to wipe the spit away. Pearce wisely didn’t budge.
Not that Lanche wanted communication with the outside world. Here, in Grand Central, he reigned supreme.
He had an army of eager young soldiers to do whatever he said. He had a harem of willing sluts to fuck. He had plenty to eat, since he always gave himself a double ration and he always ate first.
Why would he want to let anyone come in and ruin a good thing?
Hell, everyone practically fell over their feet to thank him for saving their asses. If they knew, though, what other leaders were doing—if they knew that in other parts of the country, rebuilding had already begun, and small-town farming communities were cropping up with the help of the Amish—it would be a different story.
Colonel Lanche never thought the Amish, of all people, would end up being so damn useful. In fact, he never thought of them at all, other than as a random sect of people to honk at if he got stuck behind one of their stupid buggies in Pennsylvania.
The other folks, though, he had always known would come out on top in a crisis like the Pulse. Survivalists. They had been prepared for an EMP, and now all the people who had laughed at them before the Pulse were begging for their help.
If the residents of Grand Central knew how much better they could have it if they were able to get out of this godforsaken city, they would never let him lead.
They would revolt.
Lanche needed that radio back. Without it, he was as good as dead.
“Where the fuck is my radio?” he asked quietly.
Johnson, who had been standing silently next to Pearce, said in a shaky voice, “The radio, sir, went missing around the same time that a… a girl went missing.”
“A girl?” The thought that one of his harem betrayed him, hell, had actually been able to find his radio and sneak off with it, seemed insane. But then, there was that bitch he’d caned for snooping around near the OCC. It was all they had to go on. “Where did you hear this?”
“One of the whores asked us about her missing roommate, sir,” Pearce admitted.
“A whore, huh? Does she know about the radio?” Lanche asked.
“I don’t think so, sir. She didn’t say anything about it.”
“But she might know where the missing girl is,” Lanche said thoughtfully. “And if we find the girl—”
“We find the radio,” Johnson finished for him. “Sir.”
“Bring the whore to me. I’ve got some questions to ask her.” Lanche dismissed the two soldiers with a gesture. “Oh, and Pearce,” he said, stopping the man at the door. “Bring me the cane in case we need to motivate her.”
Pearce paled, but he nodded. The two men left.
Lanche sat down heavily. Everything depended on getting that radio back. If he couldn’t get the radio, he’d have to kill anyone who knew about it who wasn’t on his side.
That radio supplied vital information, since someone who knew what went on at the Federal Emergency Management Agency would periodically broadcast.
FEMA headquarters apparently had been less hard hit than most places.
According to the vice-president’s speech on the radio, the FEMA buildings were dome-shaped, earth-bermed structures. Under the earth a copper mesh extended out from the base secured by grounding rods, which helped keep the Pulse from destroying the electronics inside.
Of course, without power, vehicles, and planes to transport supplies—hell, without supplies—FEMA was practically useless. But the headquarters were there, and that was a start.
They’d been able to help him get set up. Given him authority to run the camp. Authority to do whatever it took to keep the people safe.
And they were only safe if they were under control.
The vice-president had taken charge since the president had gone down on Air Force One, along with thousands of other planes that had been flying when the EMP hit.
Every plane crashed simultaneously. The wreckage over JFK and LaGuardia alone had been incredible, so Lanche could only imagine the rest of the country.
Pearce and Johnson came back, leading a terrified-looking young woman with dirty blonde hair. Hope glimmered in her eyes when she saw Colonel Lanche.
“Hello, sir,” she said, her voice shaky. “We’ve met before. I’m Jenna.”
Lanche nodded, eying her. He didn’t say a word. In his experience, the less he spoke the more the person he interrogated did.
The best part was, she didn’t know yet that it was an interrogation.
“Private Pearce told me you were worried about my missing friend,” she said. “Frankly, sir, I’m surprised you care—but I appreciate it. Of course.”
He smiled broadly, first at her, then at Pearce for being so ingenious. He might not need to cane the girl after all. That’s too bad.
“I care about the well-being of all of our residents here at the camp,” Lanche said in what he hoped was a soothing voice. “It’s a very dangerous world out there. If your friend is missing, we must find her.”
Jenna nodded, a tear rolling down her cheek. “You don’t think she got hurt, or kidnapped, do you? Oh God—”
Lanche pulled a chair out and gestured for her to sit down, which she did. Lanche remained standing to remind her who was in charge.
“Gentlemen, you may go,” he said, dismissing the soldiers.
Jenna looked startled to find herself alone with Lanche, and he pressed the advantage.
“Did you see your friend go, perhaps?” he asked sternly.
“N-no.”
“Did she tell you about anything—any reason she may have for leaving?”
Suddenly a cloud passed over the girl’s eyes and she tilted her head as if listening to a far off sound. When she looked back at Lanche, he could see she would no longer be as cooperative as he’d hoped.
Perhaps he would get to use his cane on her after all.
* * *
Jenna stared up at Colonel Lanche, a shiver rolling down her spine. Something wasn’t right—he was after something.
After Emily.
Of course he didn’t care about finding her… unless there was a reason that directly affected him.
Jenna searched wildly back through her memory, trying to recall anything, anything at all Emily might have mentioned.
Nothing came to mind other than the fact that Emily hated the soldiers and living on the Tracks. It was no surprise she’d run off.
But did she take something with her?
Did she know something?
Emily’s a big girl, Jenna reasoned. If she wants to come back to Grand Central, she will. So there’s no reason to assume she needs to be saved by these men.
Right?
And if that was the case, then maybe Jenna shouldn’t be helping them find her. But that was crazy—this was the US Army,
or a faction of it, anyway.
Jenna had always trusted authority figures. Cops, she knew, were there to help.
And soldiers were heroes.
So why, now, did she feel like a criminal, scared of them?
Lanche stood threateningly over her, putting both large arms on either side of her chair, effectively trapping her where she sat.
“What,” he asked, “are you not telling me?”
“Nothing. I don’t—I don’t know anything,” she stuttered. “I swear.”
“Tell me where she might have gone.”
The hospital, Jenna thought immediately. Where Emily worked, where she spent most of her life before the Pulse. She might go back there. Or maybe even to her apartment in Midtown to gather some of her stuff.
Photos, that sort of thing. The stuff the army hadn’t let them take with them to the camp.
But Jenna kept her mouth shut, looking at Lanche, unable to hide her terror.
“I don’t know what game you’re playing,” he said softly, dangerously, “but you’re being insubordinate.”
Oh no, no no.
The Colonel’s favorite word. Jenna knew what it meant.
She would be disciplined.
But from the way he went over to the door and locked it, she knew it wouldn’t be a public lashing like usual. Like what he did to Emily. This would be private. This would be worse.
Her hands shook with terror as he walked away from her and picked up his old window-blind rod.
Fuck.
But she couldn’t tell him where Emily might be—he was insane. “I—I don’t know where she is, sir!” It was true, how could she really know?
“Strip.”
His words hit her like a slap in the face.
Jenna slowly removed her soiled top, hoping that would be enough. Her full breasts hung loose, since she had long ago lost her only bra. A small red hickey marred her left breast from her adventures the night before with the soldiers.
She never should have trusted them.
“Take off your pants, too. Don’t make me tell you twice.”
Tears rolling down her face, Jenna stripped off her pants. She felt a rush of heat flow to her core and she blushed, embarrassed by her body’s betrayal.
Because even though the Colonel was crazy, even though he wanted to really hurt her—his dominant behavior turned her on. Something must be wrong with her wiring, she thought desperately, and then she couldn’t think about anything except Lanche, staring down at her.
Lanche stepped toward her, holding the cane in front of him.
He slowly, carefully, traced the cane down her cheek, her neck, down her breast, the hard edge of the plastic running over her nipple, making it harden into a tight peak.
What was happening?
“You’re a beautiful little whore, Jenna,” Lanche whispered, dropping the cane down between her legs, rubbing the tip lightly over her mound, parting her nether lips. She shuddered but felt her pussy get wet as he continued tracing the cane down her naked body. “Now turn around.”
Trembling, Jenna turned, her back to Lanche. She felt the cane trace her spine, vertebra by vertebra, and then he laid it softly over her ass cheeks.
“Are you sure,” he asked, “that you have nothing to tell me?”
“No, sir,” she said. The cane whipped through the air and landed on her ass. She shrieked as the pain cut across her skin.
She clenched in anticipation of another blow, but instead Lanche slid his fingers between her legs.
“Why,” he murmured in her ear, “are you wet, slut?”
Jenna felt her whole body flush in humiliation. Why, why? Maybe for the same reason she got off on prostituting herself.
The cane sliced through the air again, and she gasped as it made contact with her ass.
“How can I discipline you properly,” Lanche asked, bringing the cane down again in a slightly different spot across her flesh, “if you like it?”
“I’m sorry, sir,” she said, squealing as the fire lit across her thighs this time.
“Tell me where she is. Take a good guess.”
She shook her head, her blonde hair falling over her face. The cane struck her again and she couldn’t hold back the cry that came out of her mouth.
“I can do this all night,” Lanche said calmly. “It’s no skin off my back. It is, unfortunately, going to mean skin off yours. Do you understand?” He caned her again and she squealed in surprise at the stinging blow.
“Yes, sir,” she gasped.
Suddenly his hand slipped between her legs again, running his fingers across her pussy. “Then why,” he asked with amusement in his voice, “are you so turned on?”
She hung her head in shame, unable to speak.
“Do you want to come, Jenna?” he asked quietly.
Turning her head over her shoulder, Jenna looked at him in shock. She nodded mutely.
Yes, yes she wanted to come.
Lanche picked up the rhythm of his fingers, sliding them back and forth over her clit, creating a riot of sensation through her body. She bucked her hips, trying to get more contact with his fingers.
It felt so good, even though her ass still stung from the caning. Or maybe, she admitted to herself, because of it.
She felt herself reach the edge of orgasm, but just as she was about to ride the crest of the climax over the top, Lanche stopped.
She wailed in frustration.
“Where might Emily be, Jenna?”
A sob escaped her throat. “I can’t tell you.”
He flicked her clit, just enough to keep her right on the edge, not enough to push her over. She groaned.
“I want to help her,” he said. “She’s in danger unless we find her and bring her back to the safety of the camp.”
He rubbed her clit ever so lightly, making her squirm against his fingers, desperate for more. Her breath grew ragged.
“I won’t hurt Emily, Jenna. Tell me where she is.”
Jenna could barely think straight, her mind addled by physical stimulation. Maybe, she thought desperately, maybe I’m the crazy one.
Maybe Emily is in danger and she needs help, and I’m not helping them find her.
A lifetime of trusting authority settled over her like a warm blanket, and Jenna drew in a deep breath.
“I’m not sure,” she whispered. “She used to work at Roosevelt, so she might go there, or maybe her apartment. I don’t know.”
“Good girl,” Lanche said softly, and he ground his palm against her clit with enough force that she came immediately, gasping for air as the orgasm racked through her body, her pussy clenching.
He walked away, leaving her naked in the middle of the room.
Oh God—what had she done?
Did she do the right thing… or had she just signed Emily’s death warrant?
Mason watched as Emily slowly packed her few belongings in her backpack.
“Can I help?” he asked, even though the last thing he wanted was for her to have a reason to leave even sooner.
She hugged the backpack against her chest and shook her head. “No. Thank you.”
Damn it. He never should have told her he was a convicted murderer.
She looked at him fearfully now, and he couldn’t blame her. This was all his fault. Now there was no way she would stay with him. But for her to leave, unprotected, wasn’t right. He couldn’t let her go.
“You should pack bleach,” Mason said. “To treat water.”
Emily nodded. “Okay. Thanks.”
“Damn it, Emily,” he said, unable to keep the frustration from his voice. “Don’t look at me like that.”
She looked away. “I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t be sorry,” he sighed. “I just hate you looking at me like I’m a threat to you. I’m not. I’d never hurt you.”
“Did you say that to her, too?” she asked, her eyes blazing with anger and fear.
“Her?” Confused, Mason searched her face. What is she
talking about?
“Your victim,” she spat out.
Mason shook his head. “My victim, as you put it, was not a her. It was a him. And no, I never promised him I wouldn’t hurt him. In fact, if I remember correctly, I told him the second I saw him that he was dead meat.”
Emily gasped.
Fuck. He may as well tell her the whole story now. Even if it meant bringing up painful memories. “Do you want to know what happened?”
She nodded mutely, still hugging her backpack to her chest as if she were a child, clutching a teddy bear for comfort.
“I have a sister named Stephanie,” he said, sitting down on the edge of an uncomfortable plastic hospital chair. “She lives in LA.”
Emily didn’t speak, but she was still listening, which Mason took as an invitation to continue. “She got attacked. Raped, by a man who worked in her apartment building.”
He felt his pulse pick up as the memory came flooding back—how he had rushed into the emergency room, only to find his sister beaten, a half-dead look in her eyes.
He pushed the memory to the back of his mind so he could focus on speaking. “I tried to play by the rules. We pressed charges. Hired a lawyer. But the—the man who ruined Steph’s life got off on a technicality. A fucking technicality!”
His voice rose in anger and he had to count to ten before he could speak again. The seconds seemed long.
Emily didn’t speak, but she hadn’t run away, either.
“Then it became clear to me—my sister would spend the rest of her life traumatized and scared, and this asshole—this rapist—would get away scot-free. So… I knew I had to take matters into my own hands. Caught up with him after he got off work and beat the shit out of him. But I couldn’t stop—didn’t want to stop. I just… kept going, kept hitting him. All I could think about was what he’d done to my sister.”
Emily still hadn’t said a word, but he knew she listened. Tears filled her eyes. Were they tears of fear… was she scared of him?
“I’m not proud of what I did,” he said. “The cops got me the very next day, and I went without a fight. I deserved to go to prison for life for what I had done. And I’ll probably go to hell for it in the next life as well.”
The Pulse: Book 1 in the Pulse Trilogy Page 6
