by E. S. Carter
Everyone remains transfixed on my husband, and I can see from the colours in the room that the vast majority want this and have worked with the Hunters to secure the new leadership. Although, there are a few here who did not want this change. I wonder if Cole knows who they are and if it is as obvious to him as it is to me?
Cole’s eyes scan the room before he continues, “It has become evident that we have a snake in our midst. I am unsure, as yet, if the Judas is singular or plural. But, trust me when I say that we shall find out who has betrayed us, and when we do, there will be blood.”
I once more turn my head to observe the room, my eyes ache with the onslaught of auras that pulse and change constantly.
Most are angry; these are the men who study the place much as I do, their glares assessing, trying to work out which one of their ‘brothers’ went against them. Some are worried, and I can’t tell if it’s because they have something to hide, or they are afraid they will be falsely accused, but one man stands out. His aura is thick with pride. He’s smug, his carefully blank face easily masking the deceit I can see encapsulating his entire form. He stares at Cole and Luke, never once letting his gaze drop and although I hear movement coming from the stage, my eyes remained locked on this man, so I see the exact moment his carefully composed demeanour slips.
Tearing my eyes from the man now surrounded by thick clouds of shock, anger, and surprise, I face the stage once more to find out what has broken him.
Grim stands between Cole and Luke, his macabre necklace resting proudly against his chest; a manic smile stretches his lips and a naked, bound and gagged woman huddles at his feet.
I know her.
Despite the ropes cutting into her skin, the gag cutting into her mouth and the wide blindfold over her eyes, I know her, I would know her anywhere.
Magdalene Cranmer. My former warden.
She is no more than ten years older than me, having taken the position of being my ‘personal assistant’ in her late teens/early twenties. Even as a young child I knew there was no good inside her. That didn’t stop me from seeking out her affection; I craved it and always fell for her manipulative games, ones that always ended badly for me.
I watch my former tormentor as she tries to make herself as small as possible on the large stage, shrinking into herself and attempting to cover her skin with her tied hands. I should feel bad for her but I feel nothing.
Well, that’s not entirely true, I’m curious. I want to know why Grim has her, and why the man on the opposite side of the room has such a strong connection to her.
I don’t have to wait long to get at least one of those answers.
I watch as Cole nods towards Grim, who smirks in return. Grim then leans down enough to wrap his fist in Magdalene’s long auburn hair, eliciting a whimper from her before she futilely tries to scuttle away from his grasp. I see the excitement flare around him as he watches her struggle, and he allows her a few seconds wait before he tugs hard and pulls her to her feet using just her hair as leverage.
She sways and totters at his side; her head awkwardly twisted as she attempts to lessen the pain in her scalp. Grim doesn’t allow her that respite, and pulls her in front of him, one hand still fisted at her head, the other squeezing her neck.
Cole continues to speak. “Let me introduce you to our warm-up act here tonight.” He raises his arm in her direction as if heralding a new performer to the stage. “This is Magdalene. Some of you may recognise her, some of you may not. You need not know who she is just what she’s done. Maggie, here, has been feeding information to Alec. Information that she could not have found out herself. Not only that-“, he looks at me briefly before continuing, “-she tried to break something of mine.”
Cole’s eyes scan the room as he talks and land on the man I was previously watching. I see a spark of red flare from his aura before he allows his gaze to fall to the next person.
“So… for jeopardising the very thing we’ve been planning for years and tipping Alec off, she must pay.” Again, he moves his gaze back to the man before once more moving on. “For getting Phillips killed, she must pay.” He nods at Grim, and I watch as his scarred face lights up, seconds before he brings his favoured hunting knife to Magdalene’s throat.
“And for fucking with something that belongs to me, she must pay.”
Grim presses the tip of the knife into Magdalene’s flesh hard enough for a trickle of blood to pour from the wound, roll down her neck and settle between her bare breasts.
“Normally,” Cole continues. “I’d offer her up to anyone who wanted to take her, to use her, to sodomise her, to show her the consequences of fucking with the new Red Order. But…” his eyes land on the man once more. “That would be too good for her.”
As the last word leaves his lips, Grim takes that as his cue, and he raises his knife from her flesh.
I know what’s going to happen, but I cannot look away.
In one swift move, almost like watching a hot knife cut through butter, he plunges the blade into the centre of her chest just below her breastbone and drags it down, slicing straight through her belly button and stopping once he hits her pelvis. He releases his grip on her hair and almost like it’s in slow motion, she slides to the floor and hits the ground with a slight thud. The impact and position of her body allows the fatal wound to gape wide and her innards spill out before her. The bloody mass of bowels seep from her body like a gory snake, tumbling and spilling into a meaty heap outside of her stomach.
Magdalene gasps and shakes in shock, her movements only aiding the path for more of her internal organs to disgorge from her gaping belly.
I vomit where I stand. It’s instantaneous and completely out of my control. My body is going into shock and desperate to expel the sights, sounds and smells that overtake this room.
No-one comes to my aid. My arched and heaving body is unable to follow my brain’s command to stop retching.
Nobody moves, and despite being doubled over with painful tears blurring my eyes, I can still see the various swirls of colour spinning the room into a riotous frenzy, my mind unable to cope with the onslaught.
A single gunshot cracks the air, followed by the thud of a large body hitting the floor. It’s enough to make me shoot upright, the ensuing head-rush and flare of colours threatening to make me sick once more.
I look up to the stage to see Luke standing rigid, his handgun drawn in front of him.
I follow the path of his aim and see the man I’d been watching previously, slumped on the floor, a single gunshot wound marring his forehead.
All eyes in the room are either on the fallen man or Cole, and I have to take a seat before I fall.
I hear his voice but cannot focus enough to see his face.
“Well, that was as easy as offering a donkey a carrot.”
His use of my earlier words does not go unnoticed by me, and I listen intently as his deep voice continues to address the startled room.
“That’s two of our problems taken care of; I hope there will be no reason to find any more and that we all still share a common goal.”
Murmurs of agreement rumble throughout the room, but no one speaks out. Cole takes this as enough acceptance and finishes with, “Thank you for your time, gentlemen. As per our regular communication, you will all be briefed on the acquisition of the primary target tomorrow, and I will personally bring you the head of the man that saw fit to turn our organisation into one of disrepute. I hope you all enjoy the rest of your evening; my new bride requires some care and attention so I’ll leave you in my brother’s capable hands if you have any questions or concerns.”
I hear movement, and when I look up my husband is holding his hand out before him, waiting for me to take it.
When he sees I am unable to move, he steps forward, bends at the waist and scoops me up into his arms.
I’m completely shell-shocked.
That is the reason I tell myself it’s okay to lay my head on his shoulder, close my eyes and
block out the entire world. The only reason I have for willingly taking comfort from his strong arms.
We leave Impero without a word exchanged between us. He climbs into the back of his town car without putting me down, and I settle into his embrace. I’m not sure if it’s seconds or minutes, but my mind completely shuts down, along with my body, and I fall asleep listening to the powerful beat of Cole’s heart.
I’ve never held a woman like this before.
I’ve never felt someone’s body meld into mine, never felt warm curves as they settle against my hardness.
The only time I touch women is to fuck them.
I dominate, I control, I never offer comfort.
This is completely foreign to me and what is more unsettling is the rightness I feel.
As the car drives us back to Hunter Lodge, I sit with Faye in my arms and watch her sleep.
Her small breasts rise and fall with each peaceful breath and her pale face, even more drawn after the scene she just witnessed, is relaxed. Her deep pinky red lips are parted slightly, and I can feel every exhale of her warm breath as it passes through the cotton of my shirt and tickles at the skin on my chest.
This woman is beautiful.
This woman is mine.
I may have wanted to break her, I still want to break her, but beneath that I want to fix her too.
How fucked up is that?
How can someone as broken, twisted and ugly as me, ever attempt to fix someone like her?
The grotesque, repulsive, and utterly monstrous core that makes me who I am is sure to swallow her beauty and tear it to shreds.
And what’s worse is I will selfishly allow that to happen.
In return, I will use my ugliness to destroy all that has caused her harm.
In beauty there is peace.
I haven’t had peace for so fucking long; there’s no way I will allow anyone or anything to take it from me.
I wake alone surrounded by Cole’s sheets and encased in his scent.
Despite the darkness blanketing the room, I know I’m in his bed, and I’m naked.
Tentatively stretching my legs, I move away from the warmth of where I lay to the cooler cotton sheets, and quietly assess my body despite knowing that nothing has happened to me. The rational part of my brain, the part that fights to be heard, demands that I check.
Satisfied with my mental assessment, I listen intently for any sounds within the room and on determining I really am alone, I slip my arm from underneath the covers and fumble around on the nightstand until I reach the lamp.
The warm glow of the light confirms it is just me in Cole’s blue bedroom. The edge of the lamplight strikes the bottom of the painting that depicts his mother, highlighting the very tips of her toes, and although the darkness makes it impossible to see the full image, my eyes track their way to her face. I can’t help but wonder what happened to her that day in my vision. What did my father do to cause her death? Because I know he was the reason for it, even if it was Cole’s father who committed the act.
Her image, immortalised in oils, does not give up its secrets, and I sit and make a promise to dead mothers, both mine and Cole’s, that somehow, someway, the man that took them from their children, will pay the ultimate price.
The click of the door unlocking breaks into my silent vow, and seconds later my husband strides into the room, clad in the same suit he wore last night.
His rumpled appearance, and the dark rings under his icy blue eyes indicate that he didn’t sleep at all last night. I should feel relieved that he didn’t lay with me, but I don’t; I feel an unexplainable sadness. I track his movements as he walks across the floor and enters the bathroom.
“You were right, Princess.” His low voice sounds muffled by the slightly closed bathroom door. “He’s at Craven Hall.”
I hear water running followed by the sounds of him brushing his teeth. He emerges minutes later, bare-chested, the button and zip of his trousers open, exposing a dark blond trail of hair that disappears into his black boxer briefs, and with water droplets dripping from the ends of his long hair.
The sight of him tousled and wet, his sculpted chest shining in the dim lamplight is too much.
I should not desire this man, despite our shared goal.
I’ve watched this man kill and I’ve watched him enjoy killing and yet I still ache for his touch.
I tear my eyes away from their over-eager perusal of his naked torso and keep them trained on the sheets wrapped around me. My fingers absentmindedly fiddle with the seam of the cotton, my mind needing the movement to distract me from my unwarranted thoughts.
“Look at me, Faye.”
I lift my gaze, slowly, as if my eyes are heavy, and it takes all my strength to obey. In reality, I know what I will find when I raise them, and that knowledge forces me to hold back, sending a shiver of anticipation down my spine. These are shivers of fear because I don’t want to see what he wants to show me, but they are also shivers of need because I never want to look at anything else.
Then, my eyes lift, staring brazenly at his body, roaming from his face to his pecs, down, down, down, unable to stop until they land on his bold erection straining through the fabric of his pants.
With a slow sigh, I exhale. The sight of him semi-naked and hard for me leaves me instantly aroused, the ache immediate between my thighs.
My nipples tighten and rise into sharp peaks, and the thin fabric of the sheet feels oppressive against my fevered skin. The air in the room turns from cool to stifling in a matter of seconds.
I watch as Cole’s fists tighten at his sides, his left hand twitches almost imperceptibly before it moves with purpose to pull his hard length out of his pants. His hand slides down before circling the base, his grip firm, and the head of his cock weeping at his touch.
I swallow past my dry mouth.
“Watch me.”
A command. Always a command. And his tone forces me to comply.
His demand wasn’t necessary as I am already transfixed, my gaze cemented to every rhythmic stroke of his shaft.
“Shall I tell you what I am thinking about right now?”
A question.
The words are an unwelcome intruder to the scene playing out before me.
“No,” I whisper, hoarsely and without truth.
“No?” His voice holds a hint of teasing but it is not light, it is cruel and only serves to intensify my desire to an unbearable high.
“Don’t you want to know the kind of thoughts that make me this hard? That despite every fucked up thing that has happened over the last few days, these thoughts are never far from my mind. Mocking me, pushing me to take you and break you until you no longer answer to anyone but me.”
“No. I don’t.” More weak words. Ones I wished I meant, but we both know I don’t.
“I don’t believe you.”
His movements slow as he begins to tug in languid strokes all the way to the head where his palm leisurely rubs across a bead of pre-cum before he slides his firm grip back down his length.
He smirks; I can hear it in his voice, despite my eyes greedily continuing to take in the show.
“You like to watch, don’t you Princess? I noticed that at Impero. How you wriggled in your seat, clenching your thighs as those girls ate each other’s cunts. The way you shifted and squirmed as you watched that man ram his cock down his slave’s throat.”
I shake my head, unable to verbalise anymore.
“I like to watch too, but it’s not anyone else’s lips wrapped around my cock that I think about when I do.” He takes a step towards the bed, and I instinctively scuttle back across the mattress. “And it isn’t anyone else’s tight cunt that I feel milking me to orgasm.” Another step forward, but I have nowhere else to go. “It’s not their long hair I’m picturing twisted around my fist.”
His stride picks up pace, and I manage to shuffle away to the furthest edge of the bed until my back hits the wall, and I have nowhere else to go.
/> I chance a glance at his face, and his smile reminds me of that of a lion, just before it pounces on its prey.
He stops when his shins hit the edge of the bed. The strokes of his length never once missing a beat.
“I’ll tell you a secret, Princess. Since the second I laid my eyes on you and vowed to make another Craven whore pay, I’ve battled with this.” He motions to his rock hard cock, tugging it angrily.
“Now it’s time for you to do your wifely duty and relieve your husband of his burden.”
I yearn to do just that, and I stare wantonly at the flushed and swollen head of his cock that he is ruthlessly squeezing in his fist, and I want, no I need to taste it but I won’t. He said he would make me beg for him. He’ll be waiting a long time. One cannot miss what one has never had.
With a stubborn tilt of my chin, I lock my eyes with his lust filled blues. “If you want something from me, you’d better take it. I will never give it willingly.”
He laughs then, the sound foreign to my ears in a way that is both erotic yet worrying.
“Oh, Princess. Your body has already submitted to me, many times, or have you forgotten? You can fool your mind into believing untruths, but your body betrays you.”
I shake my head, refusing to agree to that which I know is true, and I foolishly think that pulling the sheets tighter against me will stop whatever is about to happen.
I squeal when his free hand snatches out and pulls away the sheet with one sharp tug. Shocked by my exposed nakedness, I don’t move fast enough to escape the clasp of his hand around my ankle and with one more powerful tug, I am at the edge of the bed, splayed out and breathing heavily.
I could kick, scream and scratch but it would be futile.
There is no escape for me, and we both know, at this moment, I don’t want to break free.
Another tug and my legs dangle from the edge of the bed on either side of his massive thighs. My core exposed and open.
He continues pumping his huge, angry looking cock, while his eyes devour the sight of my pink lips spread wide, a few days hair growth on my previously shaven mound darkening the sensitive skin.
