Peccatum in Carne: Sins of the Flesh (The Three Sins of Mallory Moore Book 1)

by Coco Mingolelli

  Shaking her head, Dawn walked to hug her tight, toppling them both down to the hardwood floor. Ignoring the pain in her knees as she straddled Mallory.

  "I love your darkness. I'll be your light," she asserted, and waited for Mallory's eyes to open.

  After what seemed to be a war of wills in Mallory's swirling green eyes, she exhaled haltingly, and sat up to recapture Dawn in a kiss that put all others to shame. It was as if she were trying to test the limits of Dawn's love, and perhaps even the veracity of her statement as she did not hold back in nipping her lips, or when her mouth moved down to bite much too hard at her neck.

  Dawn thought that she must crave the noises that unfurled from her mouth, when Mallory didn't stop at her cry of pain. She did gentle her nips, though... but not by much.

  Wrenching her own shirt off, Mallory reached forward to assist Dawn in divesting her clothing. They rolled as they did so, biting, sucking, kissing and snarling in a game of chase and catch.

  Rather, Dawn realized, this was a dance of dominance, and submission. Their naked bodies reached the edge of a couch in the sitting area, and Mallory's face glowed in victory.

  Pinning Dawn to the foot of the couch with one arm, and hitching a leg around her hip with the other, she waited for acquiescence to bloom in Dawn's eyes.

  "God, fuck me before I explode, please," Dawn begged, weighed down by Mallory's stare. It had been her plan to request making love, but this seemed to be a point of no return - and her heart pounded in tandem with her heavy breaths.

  "As you wish," Mallory granted, her palm finding purchase against the slick wetness between trembling thighs.

  Not wasting time with pleasantries, her fingers slipped over the swollen nub of flesh that never failed to have Dawn writhing, and then inside her. Tonight's pace was faster than usual, and Mallory did not stop with each consecutive orgasm. She took each scream rent from Dawn as the other, without pause.

  It wasn't as though she didn't care about them. Instead, Mallory's smiles through her screams were that of triumph.

  Dawn threw her head back, shouting her ecstasy for the mysterious line between pain and pleasure that quenched her deepest desires. It was in these moments that all of her love's masks fell away.

  Honesty was found somewhere between Mallory's expression during this kind of lovemaking, and her tranquility afterwards.

  Chapter 14: Prima Facie (At First Sight)

  Falling asleep was never the hardest. The most difficult thing in her life was staying asleep – that blissful darkness which ought to envelop and comfort her with quiet and peace. Then again, Mallory knew that she was a study in opposites. She, who appeared to prefer shadows in the light of day, truly hated the darkness of her mind.

  Earlier, she had stared long at photo albums pulled off of dusty shelves, regaling Dawn with happy memories that poked forth from the visual cues. Snippets and flashes of her mother's bright red hair and cunning smile were a rare treat; the sensation of her father's strong hands lifting and spinning her while they danced across the marble floor of their summer home's large foyer in Sevenoaks, was rarer, yet. The house was just an hour and a half southeast of London, but a world away.

  “You were such an adorably silly teenager,” Dawn had giggled, staring at the last pictures of the album. “Who took these pictures?”

  “I don't remember,” Mallory had answered truthfully.

  Soft snores came from the young woman asleep next to her, but Mallory tossed and turned in the bed. The loft was meant for quick overnight stops for when their family when in London, not lengthy stays. As such, the queen sized mattress wasn't particularly comfortable, long overdue for replacement. She never had bothered.

  Rather, she had turned the space into a storage for her old life before college, and if she was being honest with herself, the place with its odd conglomeration of furnishings was beginning to feel suffocating. She knew that she ought to remember what each trinket and photo meant to her, but their significance had long been forgotten. Either that, or the memories had been stored away as well - in the dusty loft at the farthest recesses of her brain.

  She slipped into fitful slumber at long last, as the wall clock in the bedroom nook ticked to 2:31AM.

  Her mother's voice was furious. “I don't find it appropriate, James! She's fourteen for godssakes – my Mum just couldn't resist flaunting their newest acquisition, and they're using our daughter to do it!”

  “Mia, Mia. Talk softly... She'll hear you,” her father pleaded. She'd already heard.

  Flash.

  The cold weight of metal and gems against her neck and chest made her shiver. Grandma Evie looked so proud, tearing up as she brushed at the soft curls that fell around Mallie's face.

  “For my little princess,” the silver haired woman whispered. She cleared her throat, and adjusted the neckline of the satin and lace confection that Mallie had been coerced into wearing.

  “You'll have your choice of boys to dance with tonight!” Grandma crowed.

  Mallie wrinkled her nose at that.

  Flash.

  The straining, sharp sounds of string instruments playing.

  Mallory groaned, turning again in the bed. Her mind screamed to wake up, but the Zolpidem she took at 11:00PM wouldn't allow her eyelids to budge past a flutter.

  Drowning, she was drowning.

  More violin, a waltz this time. Tightly held hands guided her across the dance floor, and she spun in time with the music.

  A man's deep voice drew her attention. It stunk of tobacco. “Thank you for dancing with me. Are you enjoying your birthday?”

  “Look, never mind,” she stuttered. The man gave her the creeps. Muttering her goodbye, she was surprised when his cold grip bit into her wrist.

  “You must be ever so happy to receive such a necklace,” he whispered. “You look beautiful in it, if I may say so.”

  Mallie shrugged, tugging at the man's grasp. “It's okay, I guess.” She didn't like the necklace. It was heavy, and made her Mother angry.

  A grin spread across the man's lips before he spoke again. “Did you receive your gift from me, yet?”

  “I... I don't know,” she said, confusion lacing her words.

  “Oh, you'll know. You'll like it, I'm sure,” he declared.

  The hand on her wrist disappeared then, leaving only the throbbing reminder of the sheer force of its hold. The man turned away smoothly, and he walked towards her parents.

  Once he reached the throng of well wishers surrounding her parents, the man turned around to spare one last glance at her.

  Steven Rose's frigid glare cut through Mallie like knives.

  Gasping for air, she couldn't breathe. Dawn's voice sounded submerged under land and sea as she begged her to wake up. A wall of blackness fell.

  Screams echoed the room; both a girl's plaintive cries, and vicious henchmen taunting her with theirs.

  “Where is it?” a mouth twisted in hatred spat down at her.

  Mallie howled in pain as the knees of the man sitting on her chest dug into her arms. “I don't know!”

  Fingers snapped as the man requested something from his goons. A tall, bald one pulled a chain garrote out of his coat pocket, and tossed it to the man's waiting hands.

  Those hands lengthened the chain into a taut line, making a clear show of it to her. The jangle of the chain's sharp links only made Mallie cry even more.

  “I know what you're doing,” Steven Rose warned. He was masked, but she recalled his voice from the party. “I don't want to kill you. One last time... Where. Is. It?” he demanded, spittle flying from his clenched teeth.

  What lay in store if she didn't tell made Mallie scream all the harder. The trouble was, Mallie had absolutely no idea what he was looking for.

  She bolted upwards, clawing at her throat. Anguished shrieking assaulted her ears, only interrupted by her punctuated gasps for air.

  Dawn scrambled backwards to cover her ears, face awash in fear.

  Breathe, sc
ream. Breathe, scream.

  The steel door to their side was being pounded from the outside. “Ma'am! Ma'am, are you alright?” male voices pressed, but the noise only frightened her more.

  Mallory scrambled up and away from the sound, grabbing at the headboard. She wanted to the climb the wall.

  Screaming... she couldn't stop screaming.

  “Oh... God!” Dawn shouted. “We're fine! We're okay!”

  Dawn threw a sweater over her nightgown. Once she'd done up a few buttons, she tried to wrap Mallory's body in the duvet.

  It wasn't easy. Mallory leaped away from her – she didn't know why - over the pillows and back against the headboard. Eventually, Dawn heaped a mess of sheets and blankets on top of Mallory, and laid across her.

  It helped, and Mallory slowly becoming aware of her surroundings.

  Of course, it was not any use to tell the armed guards that Mallory was just dandy, when they had very clearly heard her carrying on. She had no idea how long Dawn had tried to wake her.

  They stormed through the door with hands on their side arms, and took in the scene. Dawn stood at the foot of the bed, arms held out protectively against their advance.

  “I said... we're fine. She's just had a nightmare is all,” she cried, tears rolling down her sweet cheeks.

  Still, they had to make sure. They were paid well enough to.

  The lead guard stepped forward a bit, reaching a hand forward. “Ma'am ...? Are you truly all right?”

  Mallory glared over the edge of pile of blankets. “Get out,” she rasped.

  Swallowing in fear at her wrath, the uniformed men stepped backwards a good ways before turning to walk back out of the loft's door.

  “Ma'am,” their lead nodded, the last out of the loft, and slid the door shut behind him.

  Dawn spun towards the bed, shivering with nervous energy. “We're going back to Middlesbrough first thing in the morning. I don't care if it's dangerous, Mallory. This place is hurting you!”

  Mallory burrowed deeper into the blankets, trying to disappear from Dawn's sight.

  “I couldn't agree more,” her voice cracked as she tried to speak, giving away that her veneer of sudden calm was thin, and easily breakable.

  She remembered. She remembered everything.

  _____________________________________

  Steven's head barrister stalked along the corridor in the Barts Heath Royal London Hospital's non-emergent inpatient ward. Coming to the second last room, Edward Carey spied his employer's hired gun on a hospital trolley. Lenny was an ex rugby player turned enforcer; proud, but intensely dumb. He looked away as Carey entered, pulling the thin blue curtain closed behind him.

  Lowering his voice to just above a whisper, the lawyer placed a hand on the side of Lenny's gurney. "Did you retrieve the property?”

  "What do you fookin' think?” the thug snapped. "She may be a fit bird, but kicked the living shite out of me, the bitch did. I'd have fooked her up good, but she don't play fair. Took a bloody stick from a dustbin to my ribs, and jammed her heels in my bits..."

  As he noticed Carey's grip tighten on the bed rail, Lenny's external rambling drifted off. He might not have been the sharpest tool in the box, but he knew fear when he saw it. Without another word, Carey hurriedly left the room.

  Lenny leaned back, wincing at the broken rib he'd agitated by moving around while speaking.

  'You're a dead man, Edward,' Carey thought to himself, as he walked back through the hospital.

  Steven had killed people for less. While Lenny didn't know what was in the file that he'd been ordered to acquire, the specific instructions had been to get the item, even if it meant sending Lilith LaFey to the morgue. Carey had also instructed him not to make Mr. Rose aware of the situation. Nobody had bothered to tell him that the spoiled rich brat had grown into a raving madwoman. That scared him even more.

  Carey dealt with these types of characters on a daily basis, and thought of what he should do next. He wasn't going to end up like Lilith LaFey would – dumped in the Yorkshire moors with a bullet hole in the back of her head - just to cover Lenny's cock up. He scrabbled inside his jacket, and lifted a mobile from his inside pocket. Mr. Rose would not be pleased, but he dialed the numbers anyhow.

  After leaving a coded voicemail, Carey sat in the smoking shelter of the hospital's car park. Thankfully the park was mostly empty, allowing him time to think, and not panic. An item which could send Steven Rose to prison for the rest of his life was either in the hands of his temperamental teenage daughter, or his greatest enemy, born of blood and hate.

  His firm would sack him for sure when his involvement in the concealment of a quadruple murder came out. He'd be disbarred from the legal profession. Those issues were the least of his worries, however troublesome. Edward's hopes of retrieving the file were dwindling.

  Getting up, he walked quickly towards his car. He had already decided to ring Bertie Windsor, one of the Senior partners of their law firm, to discuss options with him. Edward wanted the best representation upon going to the police, the only other viable way out of this mess.

  If Steven Rose had a teenager's entire family brutally murdered over a small case of trading hypocrisy, what would he do to someone who permitted the only existing proof of it to fall into the wrong hands?

  A small part of him dwelled upon Lilith LaFey, and whether or not she had seen the contents of the file. A wave of sick struck him, after realizing the offending material could have sent the woman into some sort of breakdown. What would she do if Dawn Rose was still in her midst? He highly suspected she was, even after Steven's daughter had told him straight-faced that she wasn't. Perhaps the apple didn't fall far from the tree; the ability of deception being ingrained into the girl's very being by the sins of her father.

  Knowing his career and life were over, though not necessarily in that order, Carey walked warily in the underground car park. As he pulled his key fob out to unlock his black Lexus, he was thrown into the side of the vehicle as two shots ripped through his lower leg and chest.

  He slid down the driver's side door, blood pooling hot and heavy down the front of his suit.

  _____________________________________

  Mallory's lead foot had the sedan borrowed from the Christopoulos Trading, LLC fleet speeding down the M1.

  Dawn grabbed the security bar. They had left ridiculously early to make the drive back, shrugging on their clothing as soon as the sun had risen.

  No amount of Dawn's pleading to come back to bed had convinced Mallory in those precarious hours between nightmare and flight. Her love had clammed up like a vice – her movements tight and painful as she summarily ignored Dawn's questions about what she dreamed.

  Instead, Mallory stomped madly around the loft space to gather their belongings and pack. The last thing her hand came upon was the trifold velvet box, which she unceremoniously shoved into the deepest part of her bag with a grunt.

  That had made Dawn flinch, thinking that the expensive jewel inside ought to be treated better than that, no matter how much it was hated.

  Coming back to the present, she sought to distract Mallory with conversation; anything to calm her down enough to reduce the speed at which they were traveling. “So, you'll be happy to be back in Middlesbrough, right? All of your friends are there – Elisabeth, and Claudia...”

  An achingly slow glare came from Mallory's green eyes, rimmed in red from tears, and lack of sleep. She didn't answer the question; instead reaching down to the console for her pack of cigarettes, lighting what Dawn had counted as her tenth in six hours. Large, black sunglasses slid down from her head and back over her eyes. They'd been worn out of the loft earlier as a disguise, and now they were being used as a tactic to her out.

  Frustrated with being ignored, Dawn snatched the cigarettes from the console and lit one. She blew the smoke out rapidly to fill the cabin with the noxious fumes, and puffed again. That got Mallory's attention.

  “Don't...” she pleaded, barely
above a whisper, before sighing. “It's an awful habit.”

  “Yes, well... If you're set on poisoning my lungs with second hand smoke, then I might as well enjoy it,” Dawn quipped. “What the hell is going on, Mallory? I've never seen you like this before. Angry, sure. Scary, even! But...you're as cold as ice,” she rambled, hurt lacing the words. “Are you scared?”

  Mallory snorted indifferently. “I'm fine.”

  “Bullshit!” Dawn shouted.

  Groaning when Mallory visibly startled and swerved a bit, she quieted her voice. “Sorry. Look, I know you think you're this... I don't even know what. My protector? Let me help for once. God!” she muttered, taking another drag of the cigarette before flicking the ash out the window. “Your friends can help too, if you'll just let them.”