"Aww, Kara," he said, reaching out to touch her hair. She squealed and withdrew further into the tight space. "Everything's gonna be okay. I promise. I won't let anything happen to you."
He grabbed her by the tape around her ankles and pulled. She cried and tried to kick, but had no leverage. There was nothing she could do with her hands behind her back. She did manage to be annoying, thrashing to the point that it was difficult for Martin to get a hold of her.
"Kara, come on, baby," he said. "I won't be able to cook dinner for us if you fight like this."
Once he pulled her from the car, he slung her over his shoulder with ease. She whined and cried, trying her best to fight with her legs. He simply gripped her waist tighter while holding her legs with his free arm. He didn't bother retrieving her phone from the car.
It took some effort to open the door to the house with Kara on his shoulder. He passed through the laundry room. He had to remember to run a load of clothes before the night ended. She finally relaxed somewhat as he walked through the dining room, simply because she had no choice. He grabbed a pair of scissors from a table on the way to the living room.
He cut the straps to her backpack, flinging it to the floor. "There," he said. "You won't be needing that anymore. Who wants to go to school, anyway?"
He set Kara on the floor and secured her to a strong clip hook that ran directly into a stud in the wall. They were scattered all over the house. His father had taught him well, both by words and example. A sturdy clip hook, a short, tough chain, and just some time was enough to break any will. He knew what the coming weeks held. Kara would try to leave him every chance she got. He'd have to keep her gagged, maybe even stretch out when she could eat and drink. He'd have to break her mind and body. But in the end, she'd stay, and she would love him.
He couldn't wait to show her her new room.
Martin sat on the couch and turned on the TV. He didn't focus on what was on at all, he simply wanted some background noise. Kara sat, tentatively pulling at her restraints and trying to wiggle out of the duct tape, which only bunched it up more. Fear was etched on her face, which only brought a stab of sadness to Martin. He knew soon, though, that her fear would be replaced with affection.
"Oh man, what a day," he said. "I'm gonna rest a bit, relax my legs, and then I'll give you a tour of the house. You'll love your room. I spent the past few weeks getting it ready. It's in the basement."
Kara cried once again, bawling and nearly hyperventilating behind the duct tape. Martin couldn't resist rising from the couch and going to her.
"Don't cry, baby," he said. She pulled her knees to her chest and turned her head as he knelt in front of her. "It'll all be okay. I promise you."
She shivered as he put a hand on her bare knee. Her scent drifted to his nose once again, and he closed his eyes to enjoy it more. He wanted to kiss her on the cheek. He leaned in close.
Someone knocked on the back door.
Martin pulled away as his gaze shot back to the dining room. His mind raced. The back door was in the kitchen, and no one ever used it. Sometimes the neighbors' kids would knock on the front door, and he'd talk to them for a minute before sending them on their way. But the back door remained untouched. Since his house was further back along the street, there was no good reason for a neighbor to be at the back door.
Paranoia attacked him. Someone must have seen him introduce himself to Kara. He shook his head. No, that couldn't be it. His garage was closed when he pulled her from the trunk. The alley was empty.
Who could it be?
The knock came again, harder this time.
He realized Kara was screaming through the duct tape, screaming for help.
Martin glared at her.
"You shut your mouth," he said, the sugar gone from his voice. "I'm gonna see who it is. Chase them away. Kara, if you make another peep, I will punish you. Do you understand me? If you so much as breathe too loud, I'll kill whoever's at the door, then come back here to punish you."
She went silent, her eyes filled with terror. He let out a small smile. Already, he was breaking her will. She wouldn't take long at all.
Now for the person at the door.
Whoever it was knocked once again. They weren't going away.
Martin grabbed his favorite knife from the kitchen as he made his way through. He cast it a quick, loving glance. It was an old knife, and he'd used it many times to punish his other girls. Sometimes he'd punish them, ever so slightly, along the legs and arms, and then give the blade a rinse before cutting up steak or chicken for dinner.
He hid the knife behind him as he cracked open the back door.
His brow furrowed at the stranger on his step. He didn't know the man from the neighborhood, never seen him before in his life. Six foot tall with dark hair. A simple pair of jeans with a white dress shirt, open at the collar. A business casual type look. Good looking guy with sharp features, a strong jaw.
"Hello, sir!" he said cheerfully. "Wonderful day, isn't it? I was hoping I could have a moment of your time."
A solicitor, was Martin's first thought. A man wandering door-to-door, either selling a product or religion, neither of which he had any use for.
"Get the fuck off my property," Martin hissed.
He tried to shut the door, but the salesman managed to wedge his foot in between the door and jamb, holding it open several inches.
The salesman leaned forward. His pleasant demeanor was gone.
"Let the girl walk out of there. Right now. Make this nice and easy. And I promise, I won't mutilate you before taking you to the police."
Martin's eyes went wide, and wild thoughts mixed with his instinct for self-preservation. Kill the man. Hide the body.
He threw the door open and stepped forward with the knife, waist high. The plan was simple. Stab the man in the stomach. Drag him into the house. His begging and dying body would even serve as warning to Kara, with one simple message. Obey.
The knife stopped along its path, much sooner than Martin expected.
He looked down. The tip of the blade pinned the saleman's shirt against his stomach, but penetrated nothing. Martin shoved harder, but it was like trying to push the knife through steel.
His eyes met the saleman's. There was a sudden darkness across his face, a sick, twisted smile. For the first time since Martin's father chained him up, along with his mother, he felt true terror.
"And he picks door number two," the salesman said. "We're going to have us some fun."
CHAPTER 4
Jack Kursed threw his shoulder into the door, catching the stalker he himself had been stalking by surprise. The door flew open as Martin fell on his back in the kitchen. He looked up, panic and fear in his eyes, as he scooted away. The knife was still in his hand, and clanged against the floor as he moved.
"Mortals," Jack griped, shaking his head.
"Get out of my house!"
He stepped into the kitchen and turned to close the door behind him. He also pulled the tiny curtains closed. The house was relatively isolated in the neighborhood. Close to the woods, and it was quite a walk up the driveway to make it to the front door. Still, the house was going to be a bloody mess soon. There was nothing wrong with covering the windows.
He turned to see the man on his feet, standing at the doorway between the kitchen and dining room. The man reared the knife back and threw it. It spun as it sailed, cutting through the air, and struck Jack on the cheek. The knife fell to the floor. The tiny cut below his eye healed before the blade bounced off the hardwood. The pain registered only for an instant, and was gone, a reminder that Jack was unlike anything alive that walked. The victim of a witch's curse, immortal. Even vampires and werewolves felt pain. Jack didn't feel anything past a half second. Until recently, he didn't feel much of anything, besides anger.
"That was a nice shot there, Martin. Good aim."
Martin gasped before disappearing into the dining room. Jack laughed. Of course, he would run. Martin's behavio
r didn't surprise him at all. A typical predator who exerted his will over women and children, but buckled when someone gave him a bloody nose.
Jack would do far more than give him a bloody nose.
"Do you mind if I call you Marty?" he called.
He picked up the knife at his feet. His own blood still covered the tip. Twirling it in his hand, he debated using it on Martin. No doubt Martin had used it in the past with other victims. It would carry a nice sense of irony. It also had been a long time since Jack gave a mortal a good carving.
But this required a more personal touch. He looked at his own hands, and smiled.
The knife wobbled as he slammed it into a wooden cutting board.
He examined his surroundings as he strolled through the kitchen. It was a bachelor pad, but still well decorated. The kitchen was bare and clean. Scattered artwork in the dining room, with a table large enough to fit six people. At first glance, it would be difficult to tell it was the home of a deranged mortal.
However, Jack was more perceptive than most people. A result of occupying his awake mind for nearly two centuries, and, he liked to think, simply by paying attention.
There were pictures on the walls of the dining room which told a typical tale. Pictures of Martin and his parents, and their expressions said it all. Both Martin and his mother reserved, slightly behind the father, with forced smiles, while the father beamed with his arms around both of them. The pictures went forward in time. The fear grew and was easier to see as they aged. The mother disappeared from the pictures first, and the first true smile Martin showed was in the woods when he was a teenager, posing with his father. Probably around the time of his first kill. The father disappeared next, and the rest were just of Martin.
Jack noticed the clip hooks scattered close to the floor in the dining room. He wondered how many mortal girls he kept chained like animals.
"This could have been easy, Marty. But no, not you mortals. You have such weak little minds. Your daddy pushes you around, chains you up as a kid, and instead of simply killing him, like a normal person, you just snap."
"You don't know anything about me!" Martin shouted. "How do you know my name?"
"I've been following you. While you've been following that girl, I've been following you. How does that make you feel?"
"Shut your mouth!"
Jack was halfway through the dining room when he saw a flash of movement in the living room. He saw tan legs from the knees down, feet bound together, a white pair of socks, and two sneakers. The legs disappeared from his limited view, and he knew what he'd see.
He leaned in the doorway, putting his hands in his pockets. Martin had dragged the blond teenager to her feet. Her hands were handcuffed behind her back. He hugged her from behind. One arm was around her waist while he pointed yet another knife at her bare belly.
The teenager was terrified. Red eyes, swollen cheeks, struggling to breathe. The blade dug into her skin just enough to draw blood. The blood trickled down her navel onto her blue shorts. She nearly stumbled once, having a difficult time keeping balance, but Martin held her up. Despite the situation, he kept his nose near her hair, to smell her.
"So," Jack said. "You like to kidnap little girls?"
"You don't know what you're talking about. You don't know me. You don't know…us. This isn't like the others. Kara and I, we love each other."
Kara shook her head violently, indicating no. Martin laced a hand through her hair and drew her head back, exposing her neck. He put the blade to her throat.
"Honey, please. I love you. I don't want to hurt you. But so help me, I will kill you if I have to. Do you hear that?" he shouted to Jack. "If I can't have her, so help me God, no one can! I will kill her!"
Jack rolled his eyes. He sat on the arm of the couch, strategically in front of a vase on the end table.
"Oh no, dear me," he muttered under his breath. "However will I go on?"
Martin heard the comment, and blinked in surprise. His knife hand trembled.
He was in the middle of making the same mistake every living person, mortal or supernatural, made when dealing with Jack Kursed.
Overestimating Jack's compassion.
"I-I mean it!" Martin stammered. That imposing presence, the strong will he used to break his girls was slowly disappearing. "I'll—"
"Yeah, yeah. I know. You'll kill her. And how exactly does that affect the rest of my day?"
Martin's jaw dropped. He didn't know how to respond. Even Kara was surprised. She kept her eyes locked on Jack.
"Let me explain something to you, Marty. Tonight, I'll have me a nice dinner. I might play with the iPad a little, watch something on TV. I might even see if I can pull off some sexy time with my girlfriend. After that, I'm going to sleep for six glorious, blessed hours. Now, all of that will happen whether the cell-phone-queen there is breathing or not."
The silence stretched. Martin simply stood there, Kara and he both dumbfounded. Jack noticed the TV was on, the audio barely audible.
"Oh, shit," he said, and grabbed the remote from the cushion next to him. He turned the volume up. "Judge Judy is on."
He watched one of his favorite shows for a moment while letting Martin chew on his words. He loved how the good judge would cut down the idiot mortals before her.
He glared at Martin. "In case that was too much for you, let me make it simpler…" The smile left his face. "I don't care."
Martin was trapped. Killing the girl wouldn't benefit him in any way. He knew it, and Jack knew it. It was Martin's move. Jack waited patiently. There were times Jack's patience was stretched, such as the time his best hope for a cure to his curse, Kevin Mishnar, told him he would have to wait. But for the most part his patience was extraordinary. After being awake for two centuries, patience was a necessary trait.
There was only one course of action left for Martin to take. Jack simply had to wait for him to make his move. He studied his body language, the twitch under his eye, the shake of his shoulders, and could see the wheels turning in his head.
"Ooh, the pain I'm going to give you, Marty," Jack said. "I told you, if you let her go, you'd be fine. I didn't want the distraction. But now, the gods above will wince at what I do to you."
Martin finally caught up and came to the same conclusion Jack had. There was no point in keeping Kara around. She would only hinder his escape.
He shoved her forward. Jack was already on his feet. Kara couldn't keep her balance. She tumbled shoulder and head first into the end table on the opposite side of the couch. The table broke under her weight, and there was a loud popping sound as she crashed to the floor. Perhaps Martin thought Jack would tend to her, but he couldn't have been more wrong.
Jack threw the remote at Martin as he ran for the front door. It struck him in the back, and was just enough to slow him for a second. Then Jack reached for the vase next to him and chucked it across the room. The ceramic object shattered against Martin's head, and he fell to the floor. The knife flew against the wall.
Martin managed to crawl to the door. He reached for the doorknob and opened the door a crack, which was unfortunate for him, when he heard a voice behind him.
"Where are you going, Marty? The fun's just starting."
Jack assaulted him without mercy. He kicked him in the stomach, the ribs, the head. Grabbing a broken leg from the end table, he beat him without slowing down. Jack's immortality, his curse, meant he never felt fatigue. He didn't even need to breathe.
Martin tried to cover up and pull himself forward. He coughed up blood as his hand reached the screen door.
Jack shoved his face against the jamb. He slammed the door on Martin's skull. Twice. Three times. He tried to get a hand up to protect his head, only to get a broken finger for the effort.
"Please…" Martin begged. "Please stop."
Jack imagined Martin's victims used those very words, many times.
"No."
Hoisting Martin to his feet, Jack kneed him in the groin. He gra
bbed Martin by the shirt and spun him back inside the living room. Martin crashed into a bookshelf behind the couch and pulled it down on top of him. Various knick-knacks and books fell on him as he collapsed.
Jack strode toward him, to continue the assault, when movement caught his attention to the left.
Kara was on her side on the floor, in obvious agony. Wrists still cuffed behind her, she cried and bawled as her chest heaved. Her shoulder didn't look right under her shirt. The remnants of the end table were around her. Dried blood was caked over her lower stomach, with a few drops on the hardwood.
Jack paused a moment, to survey the scene. The living room was in shambles. Two mortals lay on the floor, in various degrees of pain. The only thing left to do was drag Martin to the police station, deliver him to one of the many detectives he slipped large amounts of cash to every now and then. The teenage girl didn't fit into that plan. He could simply leave her be.
What would Tiffany do?
He frowned and clenched his fist, annoyed at the thought. It was a simple mantra he tried to repeat to himself, ever since the nine-year-old Tiffany fell into his life. He hated mortals. Their short-sightedness, annoying ability to naturally sleep whenever they wanted, their ever-worsening taste in music. For two centuries he had to put up with them. But the most fun he'd had in his life, besides hunting evil with Victoria, the vampire he thought of as a sister, was the past few months he'd spent with Tiffany, his adopted daughter.
Now, as maddening as it was, a simple goal of his was to be a good father to her. He wondered what she would do if she were in between a man that deserved a beating, and a girl that needed to be tended to.
Jack knew the answer, as much as he hated it. He sighed as he glanced down at Martin, who still lay sprawled on the floor.
"We're not done yet," he said.
He unleashed his senses on Kara. Cute girl, probably popular with the boys. She liked to keep herself in shape. Her legs were much toner than her upper body, either the result of track or soccer. Left handed. She had a hell of a dye job, as her hair wasn't naturally blond. Two marks on her nose told Jack she wore glasses, no doubt the result of staring at the screen of a cell phone like it was a portal into another world.
Damned and Cursed (Book 2): Witch's Kurse Page 5
