by Tess Oliver
I lean forward and flick the lever on the plug. The water starts to drain. Bubbles slosh over the edge of the tub as she lunges forward to try and save the water. I take hold of both her arms and yank her to her feet. She is wet and sleek from soap as I lift her out of the tub.
After the spoiled, bratty tirade in the tub, I should have expected the slap, but it still catches me off guard. It only slows me for a second. A long trail of soapy water follows us across the floor to the sink vanity.
She gasps as her naked ass lands on the cold marble tile.
"Stupid, demanding manipulative asshole." She pummels my shoulders and chest, managing to get in a few good thwacks before throwing her arms around my neck and slamming her mouth into mine. Her long legs wrap around me so tightly, I struggle to get my pants unzipped.
"Fuuuck," I groan as I push inside of her. "It's been too long."
"That's your fault." Her legs squeeze tighter around me trying to take in more of me. I grit my teeth to keep from coming. I slip my hand between us and stroke her clit, while pummeling her hard enough to shake the mirror on the wall behind her.
The moans rolling off her lips let me know she is close while, at the same time, make my self-control crumble. Her head drops back with a soft cry as her pussy clenches around me. She milks me instantly to release.
Still jammed tight inside of her, I carry her out to the bed. I sit down on the edge of the bed, my cock still tight in her pussy and her legs still wrapped around me. I reach up and push the wet hair off of her face, the face I have memorized. She lowers her mouth to kiss me, gently, sweetly. I can almost convince myself that she wants to be with me. That she regrets running. Then she pulls her lips from mine and gazes down at me with big brown eyes.
"I want Blake to come back," she says.
I laugh tersely. "And I'm the manipulative one?" I stand up and toss her unceremoniously onto the center of the bed.
She scurries under the covers to get warm. "He's my only friend in this fucking place."
I stare down hard at her, hiding the fact that her words have pierced right through me. "You need nectar." I head to the bathroom to get the syringe.
"No, I don't want your fucking poison. It's making me crazy. I'm going crazy. Either bring Blake back or let me go."
I stop halfway to the bathroom and spin back toward the door. "Fine. You win." I reach the door.
She sits up. "So you'll bring Blake back?"
I open the door. "No, I'll let you go." I walk out to the hall and shut the door behind me.
17
Angie
A smart mouth never serves anyone. It's an admonition I heard from my dad more than once. But growing up in a house full of boys who were bigger, louder and far more the apples of my dad's eye than me, sometimes a smart mouth was the only way to be heard or noticed. But it seems my dad was right. My smart mouth certainly didn't serve me well this time.
After skipping a dose of the fucking poison, my new nickname for the nectar, my body is starting to break down into a pain-wracked, shivering worthless pile of bones wrapped in crawling skin. Without Blake's care and his specially concocted smoothies, I am losing weight fast again. My muscles and strength are withering away. And for the cherry on top, Kane has finally decided I am no longer needed. His obsession with his 'sweet sin' is over. That realization has hit me with far greater impact than I expected.
Kane stomped out with no other details, only that he was letting me go. After a good half hour trying to absorb his quick and easy dismissal of me, I leap into survival mode. There are few clothes in my closet that are not made of gossamer lace and frail ribbons, but I manage to piece together a more practical outfit for my official ousting. My sense of time has been wiped away in my underground mausoleum, but I know Kane comes by before and after his work is finished. I conclude that it is close to nightfall so I pull on several layers of shirts and the one pair of jeans in the dresser. Sandals are the only hard soled shoes in the closet. They aren't great for long walks and my feet will be cold but I'll power through. Even with layers, I'm swimming in the clothes. The nectar has nearly erased my physical self, but I refuse to let it take me completely.
I sit at the vanity and shove away the leather cuffs and anklets. It seems I've worn them for the last time. I haven't sorted out yet how I feel about it. Not wearing them seems cold and lonely, like I'll be losing something without them. My captivity, I remind myself harshly. You will no longer be his plaything. I internalize the statement with anger but the emotion runs much deeper and wildly counter to anger.
I brush my hair, not having the strength or enthusiasm to do much more than a few quick strokes. I sit on the end of the bed waiting, unsure what will happen next. A knock practically causes me to jump to the ceiling. My heart is slamming against my chest waiting to see Kane walk through the door. Will he be angry and mean? Or will he be pleased to see me go? It dawns on me that I fear the latter more. I'm sure it mostly has to do with the drug, but I can't deny the prominent reality that I've formed a connection to the man. In fact, the mix of emotions I feel when I think of Kane seems to ping pong from hate, to lust, to devotion, never stopping on one for long. Still, even with the hurricane of confused feelings, I know everything will be better when I'm free of him.
The door opens and the cook brings in my dinner, solidifying my guess that it is early evening. The pile of macaroni and cheese looks almost inviting. "Thank you," I say. I already know not to ask her anything. She never provides me with any information. God, I miss Blake. I hope he's all right.
She walks out. I force myself to sit down at the table. I will need strength to face whatever comes next. I take small bites and chew quickly, not allowing that little counter appetite mechanism in my head to take control. After a few more bites, the food tastes even better than I imagined. I manage to finish half the plate without feeling sick. My stomach's capacity has shrunk so much the half portion feels like a Thanksgiving feast in my belly.
I walk back to the bed and sit. The solitude lets me consider various scenarios of my departure. Will I be dropped back off at the corner where Rowan and the driver picked us up for the party? Will Kane take me himself and hug me good-bye and wish me luck? That scenario makes me laugh out loud. My laugh is interrupted by another knock on the door.
My over full stomach tightens. I feel slightly sick as I wait for Kane to enter. The door opens and Oscar walks in. He rarely shows any emotion and his posture is always stiff, but tonight, he looks slightly crumpled. His shoulders are not as tight and broad and his chin is a little lower.
"Miss Smith," he says in a formal tone. "Are you ready to go?"
"Oh, so that's it? Just like that I'm out of here?" I glance one time around the room, my home for the past few months. I'm slightly nervous to leave the security of its walls. Once I walk out, I know I'll never see it again. Or Blake. Or Kane. It's insane to think how tightly I bonded myself to this bizarre world.
I stand up from the bed. "Ready as I'll ever be." I ignore the pains shooting through my head and limbs, the trickles of nausea and dizziness, precursors to the waves that will hit me in a few more hours, when I'm further from my last dose. A blush of shame warms my skin as I envision myself showing up at the precinct strung out and in the throes of drug withdrawal. I see no way to avoid it.
Oscar holds the door for me. I walk past him into the hallway. I've been out of the room so infrequently, even the hallway is unfamiliar. I follow behind the stalwart bodyguard as he leads me along several corridors and up an incline. It's the incline to the garage. While I got ready, I entertained the idea that I might have a tiny send off or at least see Kane before I left him for good. A laugh shoots from my mouth as I realize how ridiculous that sounds. Why would he see me off? He obviously only had one connection to me and that was sex. Just like I insisted to Blake. It was all about pussy. I laugh again but it's forced. I like to think that sex was the only thing I wanted too but I know that's a lie. For a few strange, crazy months I wasn
't Angie, the girl who was never quite good enough, or sporty enough or tough enough for her dad. I wasn't rusty haired, smart mouth Angie, the woman who was never good enough to wildly win over a man. For a few months, weeks that now feel like they were all just part of an insanely long and real dream, I was Tawny, the cinnamon haired seductress who captured the attention of Kane Freestone. But in the end, it was all about pussy.
Oscar flashes his key card in front of the panel and the metal door opens. Without a word, he leads me to the black van, the one with windows tinted inside so the passengers can't see out. As he opens the door, he nods just the tiniest bit, his version of good-bye apparently.
I climb inside and am instantly reminded of Yoli and Becky and all the excited women waiting to be taken to the party. The door slides shut. I sit alone, the sole passenger in the van. I glance up to the cameras and wonder briefly if he is watching me. Another laugh, a much sadder one than the last two falls from my lips. He's not watching. He's already forgotten my name.
It's colder inside the garage. The inside of the van is chilly. I wrap my arms around myself and settle back, waiting to be driven to wherever Kane has decided to dump me. With any luck, it'll be close to the park.
The van wiggles slightly and the sound of the doors opening and closing echoes through the garage. The motor vibrates beneath me, and the nose of the van heads up an incline. I'm heading out of the underground. I'm heading back to the real world, leaving Kane's fantasy world behind. Again, it's impossible to sort out my feelings about it. I blame it on the lingering drug in my bloodstream.
I rest back and close my eyes, hoping to meditate away the horrid headache. The pounding increases with each passing minute. The rather rough road doesn't help. I've trained myself to not rub my arms when the ant army starts its torturous march along my skin but it's hard.
My sense of time is still weak, but it seems we've been driving for only fifteen minutes when the van comes to a full stop. We never hit smooth pavement, which means we aren't on a road or highway yet.
The door slides open automatically. I peek outside. The sky above is chalky black but filled with stars. The moon is nowhere to be seen, but there is enough reflection from the headlights to illuminate the landscape. Desert. Sand, scraggly bushes and a few cacti. My heart pumps and adrenaline brings me to full attention when I consider the possibility that I'm about to be murdered in the middle of nowhere. Alarmingly, the main thought running through my head is that Kane had so few feelings for me he had no qualms ordering my execution.
The only sound is coming from the engine of the van until a computerized voice comes through the speaker overhead.
"Good night and good-bye, Miss Smith." A sob of relief tumbles out. It seems death wasn't on the menu. It only makes the reality that I'm being dropped phoneless and penniless into the middle of nowhere a bit easier to accept. My mind circles right back to the same dreadful reality that he didn't order my execution but he rather liked the idea of me dying slowly in the middle of the desert.
The chilled night air envelops me the second I step out of the van. The door slides shut. I stand in disbelief as I watch it roll away, kicking up a ghostly dust cloud as it heads back to wherever the hell I just came from.
I wrap my arms around myself for warmth and to ease the pain that is growing in intensity. As my eyes adjust to the natural darkness of nightfall, I can see the silhouette of low mountains in the distance. My sense of direction is no use to me when I don't know my point of origin. I can only guess that I'm somewhere between the California and Nevada border, but it's only a wild guess. The first sounds I hear are tiny feet scurrying through dried brush.
I hug myself tighter. The tiny feet remind me that there are much bigger feet as well. I quickly think back to my elementary school habitat units. Coyotes, they are the biggest predator I can think of in the desert habitat. I stupidly decide I'm better off here than in the forest where there are bears and mountain lions. Or are mountain lions a desert predator too? I shake the idea of being prey out of my head. I'm skin and bones. The four-legged hunters would probably scoff and decide I'm not worth the chase. Not that the chase would be long. I'm at the weakest state I've ever been. Athletic, strong, tough Angie has been replaced by frail, silly, gullible Tawny who actually believed Kane would never do anything to hurt her. Instead he picked the most insidious way to kill off his Sweet Sin.
Tears fill my eyes but I wipe them quickly away. Dad was right. They only make me weak. And right now, I need more than ever to channel tough, strong Angie. Otherwise, the vultures will be having a feast by morning.
18
Maddox
Feeling a little like James Bond but without the British accent, I grab the asthma inhaler that instead of medicine contains a tiny tracking device. I rethink the Bond moment. The inhaler just isn't his style. The second I climb out of the Porsche, the same black limo that served as an interview location, pulls into the empty industrial lot. It's an abandoned complex at the end of town. It's fallen into disrepair and is waiting for a demo crew to raze it to the ground.
The limousine pulls up and the door opens. A big guy who doesn't need to be wearing a badge to assure me he's a bodyguard motions for me to put my hands on the car for a search. I bite my tongue to avoid losing my new membership into Freestone's club. He pulls the inhaler out of my pocket and holds it up in question.
"Yeah, hey this is kind of embarrassing so if you could keep it just between us," I add a friendly wink. "Whenever I get a little too, you know, excited. I sometimes get an asthma attack. So I really need to bring that along. Hope that's all right." I reach for it. He pulls his hand back and throws the inhaler and its handy little tracking device. It rolls under the Porsche.
"Wow man, not cool. What if I have an asthma attack?"
"There's a well stocked pharmacy at the club."
"Oh, shit, well, yeah, guess that works then." I glance back at the white and silver canister sitting quietly under the car. "Hey, is the car all right here for the night? It's kind of a sketchy place."
"You've got insurance, don't ya?" He asks before motioning me into the limo with his giant hand.
"Yeah sure." Hopefully Clark purchased the liability insurance to go with the car rental. It would take me a long fucking time to pay the department back for a lost Porsche.
I'm more than surprised to find that I'm alone in the limo. I relax back in the comfortable seat. The big guy leans in. "We'll be at the airport in thirty minutes. If you push the green button on the panel the wet bar comes out. Help yourself to the drinks."
"Airport? We're not driving to the club?"
"It's a short flight. The other members will meet us there." He shuts the door before I can ask anything else. Our plan to track the journey to the underground entrance is thwarted. I'm on my own.
I sit back to absorb what's about to happen. I'm about to enter the Lace Underground. There are a million questions running through my head. Will I find Ten? Will I even see her? If I don't see her, what the hell is my plan? How do I get to her without setting off alarms? And if I do find her am I prepared for it? I need to be ready for anything. Maybe a sampling from the wet bar is a good idea.
19
Angie
After what seems like hours alone in the desert, my resolve to toughen up crumbles like a dry cookie. I'm certain I haven't been wandering the sand and dust for longer than forty or fifty minutes, but it feels like an eternity in cactus and prickly bush hell. I'm so numb from the cold my teeth clack together wildly, creating a drumbeat in my aching head. What a silly idiot I was thinking that Freestone had a decent, humane side to him. The parties, the gifts for the women who are living on the streets, the nice extravagant living quarters for the women who work in the club, it was all just sugar coating on a bitter, poisonous center. Now he has shown who he truly is, and at the same time, it's been a fresh slap in my face. His intense lust, the obsession, it was all an act. I am as disposable to him as an empty cup you throw out the
window on a road trip. I'm more angry at myself for giving a damn and feeling hurt by the betrayal than I am about getting myself in the situation in the first place.
I try not to think about Blake. If he suffered the same fate, then it was totally my fault. I have to push that anguishing reality out of my head.
For the third time during my aimless wandering through the parched landscape I hear a noise that I'm certain cannot just be a mouse or lizard. And for the third time, I convince myself to ignore it. It won't help me to start worrying about creatures with fangs and claws following me around in the dark just waiting for me to collapse in surrender.
Somehow, I'd brilliantly decided to travel parallel with the mountains in the distance mostly to keep me from going in circles, but when I stumble over the same empty soda bottle that I tripped over five hundred yards back, I realize my plan failed.
My feeling of hopeless despair has almost surpassed the physical misery I'm suffering from withdrawals and the frigid cold. Three wishes. I start a round of mind games to keep myself from full blown panic. What would I wish for right now? A warm parka coat. A head and body clear of drugs. And a fucking compass. Who am I kidding? I wouldn't know how to use it if I had one. I couldn't even keep parallel with a stationery mountain range.
The tiny ants have started their marching parade up the right leg of my jeans. I'm beyond miserable so I allow myself a good scratch. I yank up the jeans and rub my skin hard only to discover it's not invisible ants. It's the real thing, the big red biting kind. I glance down to discover that my sandal is sitting on the top of an anthill. The critters are swarming my feet and my legs in anger.
