by Logan Fox
Too slow.
You’re too slippery.
Not enough momentum.
Too risky.
Not enough room.
And then it came to her. And the thought was both terrifying and victorious.
When he turned away from her again to pace, she snatched the meth pipe from the toilet seat.
Noah didn’t seem to notice it was gone when he turned back.
“He’ll know. He always knows. He’ll smell my cum on you.” He pointed at her with a finger, wiggled it to take in all of her. “Even if I wash you, he’ll smell it on you.”
She squirmed before she could force herself to stand still. It took every shred of her reserve not to cover herself. Not to shrink back into the sudsy water where she’d at least had some semblance of modesty. His leer made her feel nauseous and helpless and so deep in this well that every scrap of hope wanted to flutter away like midnight butterflies.
“Who says?”
Noah turned to her, eyes wide. Then he laughed. “I’m not stupid, you little cunt. Just fucked up high. Big difference. See, you can sit there all fucking wet and pretty, and I’m not gonna touch you.” He thumped a fist into his chest. “He’ll know. Now wash, before I wash you myself.”
Her pulse palpitated in her throat. He wasn’t making any sense, and it fed her terror. Trapped here with a psychotic drug addict. Why? How did any of this make sense?
“Why am I off limits?”
She didn’t want to know, but she had to keep him talking. Had to keep him so fixated on what he said, he wouldn’t notice her readying herself until it was too late. And there might be a way to skirt around the shredded remains of Noah’s sanity. To find a way to make him tell her something even if he didn’t want to.
She sank into the bath. The pipe tapped against her ankle when she dropped it so she could start lathering herself with the bar of soap a questing hand found.
It stank of lavender. But she didn’t stop moving her hand over her arms until they were white with soap.
He wouldn’t be able to grab her, not soaped up like this.
His smile became cruel and cold. “He wants you all to himself. Knew it from day one. He wants to break you.”
Silence fell down between them. Sudden. Leaden.
Noah cocked his head. “Did you hear that?”
Her throat was too tight to answer him. She shook her head instead.
“Heard a noise.”
“Is it him?”
“What? No.” Noah spun around to face the bathroom door. “He’s coming later.” When he turned back to her, he had a zealous grimace on his face, like he’d just realized something.
“Plenty of time to get you cleaned up again.”
34
Por Favor
Finn coasted the last few yards to the white-washed farmhouse, the crunch of tires on gravel still too loud in his ears. He’d dropped off the woman — Samantha, her name was — a few miles back. She’d been a shuddering mess, and she’d just stood and stared after him as he drove off with her car.
He’d left her with her wallet, but no phone and no shoes. It was a mile to the gas station they’d driven past, so he hoped she made it there before dark.
Twilight made the farmhouse glow a sickly pale hue. The drooping boughs of the trees clustered around the yard cast deep shadows over the house. A pair of windows faced the road. Eyes. The screen door a long, narrow nose. The sagging porch a sinister smile.
A dog barked, but with the rhythmic bark of a dog whose only outlet was to bark. Its owner would probably not come out to investigate.
Especially if they were busy with Cora.
Had they started torturing her yet?
He snuffed out the thought, but not before his mind served him an image of a grimy Cora tied to a chair in the middle of a dark, dank room. A single, bare bulb above her head, her face distorted by the gag running through her lips. Tear tracks down her face, her clothing ripped. Or, perhaps, already naked.
Finn checked his Five-seveN’s magazine, ducking his head to peer through the windshield. Only one car outside — the dark blue Toyota.
It was sloppy, using a car registered to this address, and then returning to the address.
Sloppy, or cocky?
Maybe they hadn’t expected Finn to live long enough to make the connection. Or there was enough firepower inside there that it didn’t matter who came at them.
There was no sound except the barking dog. No wildlife, no birds. There wasn’t even a wind tonight. A quick glance up through the open window confirmed an overcast sky.
It would be dark tonight. Should he wait? Sneak in under cover of black midnight and get inside the house when everyone was asleep? It was a good plan if he could have waited that long. But he knew Cora was inside. He could feel her pulling at him. Drawing him toward her with that indefinable magnetism.
I’m coming, Cora.
* * *
Noah dragged her out of the bath and into the room, one hand around her throat, so she had to gasp for breath. She flailed, trying desperately to get her legs under her. Without that, she couldn’t break out of his grip. He hauled her onto the bed, crushing her with his weight. She went for his eyes, but he leaned his head back so she couldn’t reach him.
“Plenty of time. No one here to see. No one to tell on me.”
He fumbled with his pants. She heard his zipper. Panic surged, but she fought it down with an iron will.
Get his thumbs away from your goddamn windpipe so you can breathe. This time, the voice was Bailey’s.
Noah’s mouth was by her ear. A leg beside each of hers, pinning her as he straddled her.
“Know what I found out yesterday, honey? My friend’s dead. He’s dead ‘cos of you.” His words ran together, spoken with a ferocity born of hatred and frustration.
“Can’t touch you,” Noah whispered ferociously. “Could never touch you. Off limits. Made sure of that. Drilled it into me, like a fucking General. Prick. Thinks he owns me just ‘cos he buys me smack? I can get my own. Have done. It’s hard, but I can do it. He thinks he owns me? He doesn’t own shit.”
She pressed her eyes closed so she wouldn’t have to look into Noah’s rapt face. He sucked air through his teeth, his arm moving furiously; she could feel him against her belly, his knuckles scraping her skin.
Revulsion rolled through her in a wave.
Not. Going. To. Happen.
His dick left a trail of moisture as he jerked himself off on top of her, getting closer, speeding up. Distracted, but not enough that she could get her legs out from under him or pull his fingers from her throat.
Por favor, Señora de las Sombras. Give me this one thing.
Praying to the Holy Death was risky — the Lady of Shadows asked a hefty price of any prayer she answered, any wish she fulfilled. Blood, money, loyalty. Just like Papá. But what was the alternative? What was to say Noah would stop?
Her hand swiped over the bedsheet, searching for something — anything.
It found his drug pipe.
She must have managed to hold onto it when he’d dragged her over here. She grabbed it, squeezed her eyes closed, and smashed it into his temple as hard as she could. Shards of fine glass rained down on her.
Noah didn’t notice. He was too busy coming on her. Stiffening. Groaning like an animal.
Her fingers fumbled with the glass in her hand. Found the broken mouthpiece — a snag-toothed straw.
She stabbed the sliver of glass into the side of Noah’ neck. Teeth gritted, she squirmed under him, drew the glass out, stuck it back in.
It wasn’t working. There was blood on it, but it wasn’t goddamn working.
A sob caught in the back of her throat as Noah emptied himself on her stomach. She shuddered, bile biting the back of her throat.
He released her neck. Sat back, stroking his dick and blinking down at her like he couldn’t figure out who she was. When she came at him with the glass, he knocked it from her hand with a
casual slap.
She let out a scream of frustration that scorched her vocal chords.
A second later, something slammed into the bedroom door, hard enough to rattle it in its frame.
35
A Second Heart
The screen door creaked when Finn pushed it open. He winced, moving to the side so he wouldn’t be outlined in the doorway, should someone come to investigate the noise.
No one did. Perhaps they hadn’t heard it over the dog’s incessant barking.
A big living area, part dining room, part lounge. A battered sofa, no television. The place reeked of stale food and spilled beer. His glance to the right took in boarded up windows.
He had his gun out, his boots as quiet as he could manage as he slunk forward. Dirt and grit crunched under his soles, but if they hadn’t reacted to the screen door, then they wouldn’t react to that sound, either. There was a single hallway that ran down the middle of the house like a vein, and an archway that led from the dining room to the kitchen.
Better to clear the larger rooms, then move to the smaller.
Finn moved into the kitchen, eyes flickering through it in a matter of moments.
Overflowing trash, a cloud of flies. The stink of turned meat and molding take out. A tap dripped, alternating with the yap-yap-yap from the dog. It was close, perhaps chained outside the kitchen window.
No need to check the back door then.
Another door led from the kitchen.
Finn tried the handle, and it opened. Stairs led down into the dark.
He tightened his hand around his pistol. Too dark to see. If anything, this would be an excellent place to keep a captive.
Alone, bound, gagged. Or, perhaps, in company.
His chest grew too tight for breath, and he lowered his pistol so he could fight the urge to storm down those steps and put a bullet in anything that moved.
It was that kind of thinking that got innocent people killed.
But his beast had been riled up by the smell of decaying meat and the promise of violence to come. It became a struggle for him to move calmly and not rush. To keep his finger on the trigger guard and not let it slide inside that circle of metal to the trigger itself.
His beast didn’t care whose blood it spilled — innocent, guilty, young, old — as long as copper wreathed the air when it was done.
You want her alive so you can fuck her again, don’t you? That’s the only reason. Fucking addict. Got a taste for her, now you can’t—
His hands tightened around his pistol until his tendons stood out from his skin. He needed Cora alive. He needed at least one of her captors alive. That way, he could get intel from them.
He moved down the stairs. Felt for a light switch. Flicked it on. A grimy basement came into view. Tiny, blacked out windows. Rotting boxes against one wall, a mattress against the other. A chain, serpentine as it undulated over the concrete floor. But no Cora.
Upstairs, he went back to the hallway. Dirt had drifted into piles against the skirting boards. Either through someone’s half-assed attempts to clean, or just over time as people trod through the passageway.
The first door opened to a bathroom. It stank to high heaven, and he fought back a gag as a fly zoomed past him, bumping into the side of his face on its way out.
Discarded needles lay in and around a cracked plastic wastebasket. A sliver of soap, curling at the edges like a fallen autumn leaf. A frayed towel, in danger of slipping from its rail and landing in the wastebasket.
The next door led to a bedroom. A junkie’s room — more needles, a single, sagging mattress, and a few clothes hanging from the back of a chair.
Which left the last door — the master bedroom.
This close, he could feel her pulsing like a second heart.
When she screamed, he was already hurtling forward.
* * *
Noah flinched at the crash of the door. He shoved his dick back inside his pants and swung around, hands out like a werewolf as he circled the door, going for the nightstand.
“Finn!” Cora yelled, scrambling off the bed.
Another crash, harder than before. The sound of wood splintering. But the door stayed put. Resolute. Impenetrable.
Her eyes flashed to Noah. He had a gun in his hand and a twisted smile on his face.
Her gun. Her gold-edged, pearl-gripped Taurus.
“Finn, he’s got a gun!” She ran for Noah, convinced he wouldn’t point the gun at her.
He did.
She staggered to a stop, arms lifting.
There was semen on the hand holding the gun. She swallowed hard, forcing herself not to get sick. As much as she wanted to, she didn’t allow herself to fall back.
Silence. No more attempts to break through the door. Would Finn really have given up so easily?
Noah’s lip lifted in a snarl.
Boots on wood, running for the door. A ringing blow — metal on metal — and then another crash. A crack speared through one of the door panels.
“Think he can make it through?” Noah asked conversationally. “Thick door.”
“To your right,” Cora yelled.
The crashing paused. Noah snarled at her, swiping a hand through his hair and then bringing a hand to the side of his neck like he’d only just realized she’d stabbed him.
Blood dribbled from those puncture wounds, but they obviously hadn’t done serious damage. Maybe if she’d gotten a few more blows in—
Another crash. The hardest yet.
The door shuddered but didn’t give way. A long splinter of wood fell out and lay on the floor like a vampire hunter’s stake. Noah’s attention was on the door. He moved toward the bed, gun trained right in the middle of the doorway. Cocked back the safety. He’d take Finn straight in the chest. And there would be no bullet-proof vest this time.
A last crash. A chunk of door hurtled inside the room.
Noah’s hand tensed.
Cora slid to the side, putting herself between Noah and the door.
“Move,” he muttered, sounding like he had to force the word through a too-tight jaw.
“No. Noah, please. I’ll go wherever you want me to. Do—Do whatever you want. Just… put down the gun.”
He laughed. The sound made her legs go numb. She shivered — part adrenaline, part the cool air on her naked skin. Noah drew his eyes over her like they’d both just remembered she had everything on display.
He licked his lips. “I’ll wait for you. When he’s done with you, you’ll be mine.” His eyes flicked up to the side, back to her in an instant. “I’ll bring you back here. You can stay with me. We’ll be together, forever.” His promise hung in the air.
And she knew he would. He’d become fixated on her. Perhaps he had been for a long time. From the way he spoke, he knew her in some way. Had he been stalking her? Was he a falcon for one of the rival cartels?
She took a slow step closer, but he was still too far away from her. He ducked his chin, eyes roving her before snapping back to her face.
“Stay where you are.” Voice low in warning.
“Why wait?” she asked quietly. “We could be together now.”
The gun dipped less than an inch. Noah frowned, flinching at another crash from the bedroom door. Cora didn’t look. Didn’t even jerk at the sound.
“Noah.”
His eyes moved back to her.
“We can go somewhere he won’t find us. Somewhere we can be together.”
He let out a snort, but it wasn’t convincing. “There’s nowhere we can go where he won’t find us. Zachary’s fucking God. He sees every swallow fall. Every petal. Every ant. He knew I’d fucked up before I even called him, before I even told—” Noah cut off, lips pressing closed. He gestured with the gun, squared off his shoulders. “Move back!”
She lifted her hands, baring her breasts. Her skin crawled as if it was trying to get away from his eyes.
“We can find a way, Noah. I have money. Connections.” She lowered her arms
instead and gave him a slow nod. “We can be together.”
His lips parted. “We will,” he said in a husky voice. “I swear it.” The gun lifted. “But when he’s done with you.”
Cora tensed, took a deep breath, and said another silent prayer to Santa Muerte before stepping forward the last foot she needed to be within range of Noah.
* * *
Finn burst through the door. His boots skidded on the carpet, threadbare as it was. Pain throbbed up his arm from the vibrations of each blow he’d thrown on the door with the hammer he’d found in the dining room. Whoever’d been boarding up the windows in there had been interrupted and had left their tools behind.
Good for him. Bad for this guy.
But the hammer thudded to the floor the instant he saw the gun less than a foot away from Cora’s chest. There was no time even for him to draw his F-N. All he could do was watch, open-mouthed, as Cora moved in a blur. Naked and gleaming like a fish out of water.
Both her hands came up, one just behind Noah’s gun-bearing wrist, the other just in front. She knocked his hand to the side, simultaneously twisting out of his line of fire.
Instinct drove Finn to the ground as the shot went off.
The bullet struck wood, showering him in splinters. He scrambled up and surged forward, but Cora twisted her gleaming Taurus from the man’s hands like she’d done this a thousand times.
She probably had. Someone had taught her some self-defense moves, and that training had stuck.
The Taurus caught the light as it swung around, muzzle now gaping at Cora’s captor as he caught himself against the nightstand and slowly straightened.
“I knew you were lying,” the man spat. Finn had a full view of the guy’s face now. Could see right into his stuttering eyes.
He was tweaked out of his fucking tree.
Jesus Christ.
The relief he’d felt at seeing Cora alive and not in a puddle of blood vanished.
