Feyness

by E. S. Carter

  “He wants you to follow him. It’s a trap. He knows you’ve seen the video. He knows you killed Jack. He’s one step ahead. You need to…”

  The sentence dies on his lips, his body falling limp, and his aura disappears.

  “Fuck!”

  Luke storms to his feet, upturning everything in his path.

  The cage is picked up and thrown against the wall; the bench tipped over in his rage. His eyes fly to the cross on the wall, and he begins to try and rip it from its fixings, his bloody fingers gouging at the wood, his nails breaking away from his flesh in his violent attempts to wreck every torture device in this room.

  Cole watches his brother, never once trying to calm him. He understands his need to release the fury inside. But, unlike his brother’s inability to calm, I watch as Cole uses his rage to feed him. The darkness around him grows until it threatens to take over the large space.

  “Doc’s coming.”

  Grim pushes past me, his body dropping to the floor alongside the dead man.

  “How the fuck did he know? Who the hell tipped him off?”

  His questions overflow with the need to kill. It pours off him in waves. Whoever this man was, they all mourn him. He was important to them. They feel his loss sharply. He was one of them.

  “I don’t know, but get someone to pull the surveillance feeds. I want to find out who is responsible for this, and I want to know where that bastard’s gone.” Cole looks once more at his dead comrade. “Phillips warned me of a trap. If that sneaky fucker thinks I will be easily caged, he’s wrong. The Red Order is mine now, and I will use all of its resources to secure his head.”

  His eyes lock on Grim’s, both men still ignoring the fact that Luke is destroying the room.

  “Find the rat. Bring him to me by nightfall.”

  Grim nods, his face splitting wide with a manic grin.

  “Oh, and stop Luke from wrecking the rack. I want it shipped to Hunter Lodge. I have some customers that need to feel its pull.”

  “Fuck, yeah!” Grim thumps his chest, in agreement.

  Just as he’s about to rise, he leans closer to Cole and pulls something from around his neck showing the item off proudly.

  Cole smiles, “I see you have your trophy, brother. I hope she doesn’t miss her diamonds.”

  “Ash and bone can’t wear earrings; she doesn’t need these where she’s gone.” With that, he stands, and I can’t help but look at the items around his neck.

  As he gets closer to me, their shape becomes clearer.

  Threaded through a thick leather strap are two human ears adorned with large diamond earrings.

  Emily Renshaw. Grim’s mother is now reduced to a macabre necklace proudly hanging from her son’s neck.

  Grim makes eye contact with me as he passes, his teeth shining straight and proud from his wide grin. He has perfect teeth; his incisors are sharp and look like they are capable of tearing out your throat.

  Once he leaves the room, Cole focuses on his brother who has finally stopped his rampage of destruction and is facing the wall, his forehead touching the bare plaster, his back heaving with exertion.

  Cole approaches him like one would a wild beast. Slowly, warily, just waiting for Luke to pounce.

  When he’s less than a step away, he places his hand on his brother’s shoulder and leans in.

  Luke’s entire body straightens and goes rigid. His fists are balling at his sides, blood dripping from them and joining the stains on the heavily soiled floor.

  “It’s time to leave, Brother.” Cole’s tone is firm yet soft. He’s conscious of his brother’s pain but doesn’t pander to it.

  Watching them together at this moment feels strangely intimate. Their bond is obvious, as they give and take strength from each other.

  The fight drains out from Luke’s body, and Cole removes his touch, stepping back and carefully around the lifeless body of Phillips.

  He pulls his phone from his pocket, a simple command issued, “Send in the cleaner.” Then he remembers me. His head turns to mine; his face is void of emotion, his thoughts locked down.

  He’s assessing me. He’s wondering if I had anything to do with my father’s little surprise. I can almost see his head shake at the impossibility, but it still pinches at my chest that he entertained the thought in the first place.

  Then again, who am I to be trusted?

  He is right to be wary of me. I’m the enemy after all.

  “He’ll be hiding in plain sight.”

  His eyes narrow at my offering.

  “Why would you think that, Princess?”

  I clear my throat, my words getting the better of me.

  “Speak.”

  The command comes from Luke. A very composed, yet utterly terrifying Luke, who has moved to stand alongside his brother.

  I swallow past my dry mouth, licking my lips nervously, praying I’m about to pass on the right information.

  “He has protocols in place in case of a coup. Only the highest Pyramid members are aware of them.”

  Luke grinds his teeth and steps forward.

  “We know, Pet. His safe house in Scotland…”

  I interrupt, unable to hide my sudden burst of anger, “If you let me finish, I will tell you why I know your information to be false.”

  Both men glare at me and instead of cowering I stand tall, straightening my shoulders, before I continue, “Yes. The house in Scotland is a fortress and its location so confidential that only a few know of its whereabouts, but a few is too many for my father. He trusts no one. I know where he will be hiding, I remember him telling my mother long ago how he would keep her forever, how she would never be found as she would be hidden in plain sight.”

  “He’s at Craven Hall.”

  My eyes land on Cole’s and a burst of anger flares brightly from him before he grins.

  “The fucker thinks he’s got one over on us, we’ve cased the safe house and have eyes on it ready to alert us of his arrival, but we didn’t bother to watch Craven Hall. How stupid would one be to flee to the obvious place?”

  “Not stupid. Clever.” Luke interjects.

  “Not clever enough.” Cole’s smile is deadly, the gleam in his eyes enough to terrify most, but not me. I need the killer in him to rise stronger than before.

  “Come, Princess, or should I say, my Queen? Our subjects await and none will be expecting to see you at my side. I like to have the element of surprise, and you are turning into my secret weapon.”

  I don’t think he meant that as praise but as the emotionally starved woman I am, I take it as such and have to fight down the urge to smile, basking in the warm glow his words evoke.

  He reaches out to take my hand, but Luke stops him, grabbing at his forearm to halt his movement.

  “Do you trust the Craven whore, Brother? Are you willing to jeopardise our years of work on her say so?” He spits the words through gritted teeth, the venom in his tone indisputable.

  Cole eyes me thoughtfully before replying, “Trust is a strong word. If you’re asking do I believe her, then my answer is yes.”

  He doesn’t trust me and why should he.

  “If she’s wrong…” Luke’s words slice at my chest like a knife.

  Cole removes his arm from his brother’s grip and motions for my hand once more. “If she’s wrong, you’ll get to punish her, Brother.”

  “Without conditions?”

  Cole looks directly at me but speaks to Luke, a slight nod of his head accompanying his words, “Without conditions.”

  If I’m wrong, I will suffer the fate meant for my father.

  If I am wrong, it will be my blood dripping from Luke’s fists.

  I take the hand of my husband and accept my fate.

  Alec Craven has always managed to remain one step ahead of us.

  His great-grandfather was the one to begin this long-standing feud, one that we Hunters have kept secret through generations, just biding our time to take down a dynasty, but it ends w
ith Alec.

  The day he lured my mother to her demise, the very first day my brother and I were stripped of our childhood, is the day he sealed his fate.

  He will die at my hand.

  And his lineage will die with him.

  Killing Phillips was a smart move. The man has been faithful to us since the day he walked in on Craven raping my mother across the ornately carved desk in his Holland Park house.

  Not only did he rape her, but he also made her act like she loved it.

  He recorded her moaning his name, her manicured nails scratching his back as he ploughed into every one of her holes.

  She bled for him, staining his desk with her virtue.

  Then he left the evidence for my father to find and the rest is history.

  What makes a loving wife and mother scream in forced ecstasy, as the devil himself fucks her arse dry?

  Love.

  Her love for us killed her.

  He showed her the live feed of us in his torture chamber. He described in vivid detail how he and his men repeatedly raped a five-year-old to death. They raped her while forcing her parents to watch. Then they defiled their teenage son. Forced objects into his body until he bled from the inside out.

  She listened to every torturous detail while crying for her boys who she watched helplessly on a grainy television screen observing this horror first hand. When he was done with his story, he gave her a choice.

  She chose us.

  My father turned into a monster because of Alec Craven.

  He killed his one true love, because of Alec Craven.

  His revenge?

  Alec Craven’s wife.

  Faye’s mother.

  The Craven whore.

  She earned that name for taking our father from us.

  For luring the monster we feared to her bed.

  Our young eyes knew he was a killer.

  Our ravaged hearts didn’t understand why he slaughtered our mother for a sin he kept hidden.

  Our innocent lives turned into ones of punishments, retribution and beatings, all while he flaunted the Craven whore in front of us with his gentle touches and heartfelt promises to save her from the life in which she was trapped.

  It is only now I can see that was another forced sin.

  Payback for our mother’s death.

  Retribution for an affair that never was.

  Our father hid his newly awakened beast whenever the Craven whore was near.

  She fell in love with his promises of safety.

  When all the while he was baiting her husband and forcing his hand.

  He didn’t love her.

  He despised her.

  Faye and I both have another thing in common.

  Dead mother’s both destroyed by love.

  Love kills.

  It’s not hearts and flowers.

  It’s death and blood.

  Once again, I find myself in the bowels of Impero.

  A different room to the last, this one is lavishly decorated with dark wood floors that have been polished so much I swear you can see your reflection in them and the deep red walls with heavy draped windows give it a womb-like feeling.

  Plush sofas in the softest velvet are scattered throughout the large space, all focussed on the circular raised platform at the very centre of the room that is about three feet higher than the floor. Mounted on the middle of this stage is a bed. A huge, vinyl covered bed that could comfortably accommodate a dozen people, maybe more.

  Although the room is spotlessly clean, no amount of bleach or cleaning products could ever remove the stench of sex.

  It clings to the air, coating everything and everyone in a haze of filth or lust, whichever way your opinions lean.

  The room is empty save for me, Cole and Luke, who I dutifully follow towards the most prominently visible seating area as they take a seat while I remain standing quietly at my husband’s side.

  Nerves begin to bubble up in my belly and my thoughts start to whirr, as I wonder why Cole has chosen this as the room to address all the head Pyramid members.

  This room is obviously used for sexual entertainment. The bed is large enough to suggest it has seen its fair share of mass orgies and the sofas dotted around the room, all with a prime view of the stage, indicate that whatever acts take place here, many are eager to watch.

  Cole and Luke sit in relaxed silence, but with every moment we wait my anxiety only increases. We do not have to wait long before numerous men quietly begin to enter the room. As soon as they take their seats, a staff member seems to appear out of nowhere to wait on them.

  Cole clasps the hand that I have rested on the arm of the sofa and tugs me down to sit at his side.

  From behind a semi-opaque curtain, nubile, young girls, in various states of undress, proceed to tailor to the men’s every whim.

  Drinks are ordered and served.

  Girls are ordered and served.

  Some are merely made to sit next to the men they are here to attend to, while others work in pairs and begin to perform sex acts on each other on the floor at the men’s feet.

  As the room gets fuller, the services start to get more debauched.

  From where the three of us sit, in a prime place to the side of the room in full view of everyone that enters, I watch, drinking in everything and everyone.

  I file away the names of the men that I know and memorise the faces of those I do not. I’ve lived this life long enough to know that knowledge is power, so I drink up every drop.

  Cole and Luke make eye contact with quite a few men, and nods are exchanged before they find their seats.

  My eyes flicker across the room, purposely never settling for too long on any of the scenes playing out before me, but it would be impossible not to notice everything that is going on and some of the sights cause me to squirm in my seat.

  A man to my left leans back on his sofa; his legs are spread wide as one hand brings a crystal glass of scotch to his lips, while the other is fisted in the hair of a pretty blonde girl, as she swallows his cock from root to tip with the ease of a pro. Never once does she gag as his lazy thrusts pound mercilessly deep into her throat. His trousers remain fastened, his cock only visible from his opened zip, the scene all that more erotic because of it.

  Another two men share a sofa to my right; both sip their drinks before placing them on the back of a naked slave they brought in with them who kneels on all fours at their feet.

  Behind them, another two men chat animatedly, barely sparing a glance at the two girls who lay before them. Two girls sprawled out sixty-nine style, eating each other’s pussies with an unbridled hunger. The girls writhe on each other’s faces in ecstasy, crying out loud with lustful moans, totally oblivious of the room around them. I notice they do not wear collars; these are not slaves, just seemingly willing participants in this den of debauchery.

  I squirm once more on hearing a guttural moan spill from one of the girls’ lips as she comes all over the other’s tongue. Cole stills my agitated movements by placing his hand on my thigh and squeezing firmly.

  He leans into my side, his soft lips ghosting over my ear. “Are you uncomfortable, Princess? Or are you unable to sit still because of the ache you feel between your thighs?”

  His hand grips me tighter, moving higher up my leg, his large palm and fingers searing heat through my clothes deep into my flesh, but not quite close enough to the very ache of which he speaks.

  I should be disgusted, not turned on, at having to witness all this and to an extent I am. It’s only the thought of doing these things with Cole that transfers the beat of my heart into a pulsing tattoo at the apex of my thighs.

  His cock in my mouth.

  His lips on my sensitive flesh.

  His hips relentlessly thrusting, driving himself deep into my core.

  My breath hitches audibly when his fingers flex and the tip of his pinky grazes over my sensitive mound.

  I simultaneously want to push it away and drag him closer
, not wanting more of his touch but needing it as much as my very next breath.

  Not here, do not take me here.

  My mind silently begs him to go no further.

  My body knows it would be unable to stop him should he so chose to take what is his.

  I am his to have. His to use. His to inflict pleasure… or pain.

  His little finger remains resting against my covered sex, never moving, nor increasing its pressure, yet I can barely breathe at the escalation of sensations inside me.

  I am concentrating so hard on keeping these feelings trapped within, that the room is full, and the grand double doors sealed before I’ve regained full control of myself.

  “Show’s about to start, Princess.”

  His voice tickles my ear; shivers erupt down my spine, and my gaze follows the path of everyone else’s to the circular stage.

  Anticipation thrums in the air, and I have to close my eyes from the burst of colours that swirl in the room. Excitement, lust, and from some, apathy. If I could concentrate, I would watch the faces of those whose aura tells me they don’t want to be here, for whatever reason. Would I find a friend or foe in the eyes of the men who do not wish to take part in whatever is about to happen?

  I’m completely absorbed in blocking out the emotions of everyone in the room, so it takes me a moment to notice I am now sat alone. My panicking eyes, search for Cole and Luke and land on the stage where both men stand, their presence demanding everyone’s attention before any words are spoken.

  Silence blankets the room.

  The girls who were attending to every whim of the men gathered here are dismissed with a flick of a hand, and they leave without looking back. Only the slaves remain, eyes locked on the floor, their countenance meek, servile and obeying.

  My eyes once more find the Hunter brothers.

  Cole, with his powerful body and face of an angel, and Luke with his equally impressive frame but dark, handsome looks.

  Once they are sure they have everyone’s attention, Cole speaks.

  “Brothers, tonight is the night of the new order. The Red Order, as it was, is dead, and like a phoenix rising from the ashes we are reborn with a hunger for our new beginning.”