by Nikki Chase
I still remember my first brush with Walter’s victims.
But let’s start from the beginning, from the time I got to know Walter.
When we met in prison, he was the leader of one of the stronger groups. In there, you need to belong to survive, you need people standing behind you to fight those who hurt you. Otherwise, people would just walk all over you.
So Raphael and I, we started hanging out with Walter’s boys, who were running a little black market from inside their cells. We started out at the bottom of the hierarchy, doing the shit all the higher-ups hate. Eventually, we got trusted with bigger and bigger responsibilities, until eventually we were two of Walter’s most trusted men.
One day, when he got released, he gave us a piece of paper with his number on it. He said, “I know you two want to live like Boy Scouts when you get out, getting real jobs and being productive and shit. But I also know how hard it is to get any legit work out there with a criminal record. If you ever want to work for me, just give me a call.”
I got out before Raphael did, but only by a few months. It didn’t take long for us to realize how right Walter was. It was impossible to get a job.
Many job application forms required the disclosure of criminal history, so we were already ruled out of most interviews. Even if they didn’t find out about us being ex-cons early, they’d eventually conduct background checks, and then we’d never hear from them again.
So we were fucked. We had no money, no job, and were about to be homeless, having exceeded our welcome on various friends’ couches.
Guess who we decided to call? That’s right, our old friend Walter.
Raphael and I knew he was doing some real shady shit. But we chose to ignore it. We never talked about what it was that Walter was actually doing.
It was the only way we could think of to earn some living, and we didn’t want something as trivial as morals to get in the way of that.
We did know a few things, but not enough to implicate us in anything. We knew he was running an asparagus farm, and we knew many foreigners were living and working there.
We didn’t communicate with them, though, because they couldn’t speak English. And we didn’t want to anyway. We didn’t want trouble. We just wanted to work. The job was actually a good fit, and the pay was really good, better than any entry-level vacancy we could find.
All we had to do was patrol the perimeter of the premises, preventing anyone from getting in or out. That was it. No questions asked.
But everything changed one rainy night.
I was already feeling like shit, but the oppressive weather made me feel even worse. Fat drops of water covered the ground and seeped through my clothing. It was fucking cold.
I was walking my usual patrol route when I saw him. I didn’t actually see the workers much. Most of the time, there was a high concrete fence and bushes that separated us from them. I only saw them when they first arrived, usually by the truckful.
Maybe I should’ve suspected them for transporting people in the backs of trucks. But like I said, I didn’t care, if caring meant risking the only job I could get.
The man’s skin was dark from having spent much of his time in the sun. I remember taking note of the way it contrasted with his white hair.
He was older than the others I’d seen; maybe in his late forties. He was thin—extremely so. That was the first time I saw someone I’d actually describe as emaciated.
“Hey!” I yelled at him.
He jumped and turned around when he saw me, but I wasn’t just going to let him run away. I went after him and quickly wrestled him down until he was lying flat on the wet soil, rain pelting down on his skin. He was soaked through, and I was starting to get just as wet.
“You’re not supposed to be here.” I pulled his hands and held his wrists behind his back as he lay down facing the ground. “Are you lost”?
“No,” he said.
“I’ll take you back.”
Despite my attempts at ignoring everything that was going on around me, it was easy enough to figure out one thing: the people working in the farm were illegal immigrants. I thought Walter probably hired them because they were cheaper, paying them low wages and giving them food and accommodation.
Wouldn’t this guy be in danger if he were to get outside? How was he going to make it back home? Would his family be able to find him again?
“No!” He screamed and struggled weakly, rainwater getting into his open mouth.
“You need to go back,” I insisted.
“No! Please, please,” he pleaded. “I can’t work. I’m sick.”
“Yeah, no kidding.” No wonder he looked so frail. If he was really sick, it would be best for him to stay inside and wait for the weekly doctor’s visit. Taking a stroll in the rain was probably not the best thing to do for a sick man.
“Let me go,” he said.
“The doctor should be coming on Thursday. It’s only two more days. You should just wait for him,” I said.
“No,” he said. “No doctor inside. I need doctor.”
I let him stand up after securing his wrists with a pair of shiny handcuffs. He was shivering in the rain. As he got up, I noticed one leg of his pants had been pushed up in the scuffle, and there was a black plastic thing around his ankle, the red light on it blinking.
“What the fuck is that?” I asked.
He shrugged.
“Who made you wear it? What is it for?”
Before the man could answer, I heard the explosion of a gunshot and the thud of something blunt hitting the ground. Next thing I knew, the man had collapsed into a heap on the dirt, mud staining his tattered clothes.
I wince.
There’s just no fucking way I could remember that moment without feeling the weight of a thousand regrets crushing me.
I’m a lot better now but, on bad days, I still ask myself a lot of what-ifs.
What if I didn’t stop him—would he have made it out safely? What if I knew what the whole farm was about from Day One—would I have worked there anyway? What if there was some way for me to save the guy, some way for me to prevent a senseless death, and I didn’t do it?
These memories flow into my brain now, flooding me with shame and anguish. I was on the side of the guy who casually murdered a man like it was just another Tuesday.
Yesterday, Alice was completely naked in my bed, except for that ugly thing, that same kind of tracker around her ankle. I felt a pang of regret when I spotted it, but it was quickly replaced by the urgency of lust.
I hate to think she feels just as trapped as that guy, who was willing to risk his life to get out. Because Alice can never go outside again on her own, I think it’s only fair that I give her whatever I can to make her life easier. Unlike me, she didn’t ask to be involved in this.
So I’m going to give her a chance to regain a little bit of her freedom. I know it’s going to make my position more vulnerable than it already is. But what can I say? I have a soft spot for Alice.
I grab the box on my desk and walk out my office to find Alice. I take deep breaths, hoarding air like it’s both my armor and ammunition.
23
Alice
“Hey! Haven’t you ever heard of knocking?” I protest as my bedroom door opens and Seth walks in.
I’m glad I was only reading a cookbook in bed and not doing something weird. It would’ve been so embarrassing if I was reading one of my steamy romance novels with one hand down my pants.
“I got you something,” Seth says, holding up a white box with a classy black ribbon wrapped around it.
Of course he wouldn’t apologize for something as trivial as barging into my room without my permission. It’s his house anyway, and he can do whatever he wants. I should already know that by now.
“Thank you.” I take the box he’s offering.
The mattress dips as he sits down on the edge of my bed, on the same spot where he sat when he gave me his spaghetti. I want to bury myself i
n his arms, but I restrain myself.
We haven’t seen each other since we had sex yesterday because he was doped up on whatever the doctor gave him and practically passed out right after.
I feel like there could be a pattern here. The last time he came here with the pasta, he had just taken away my phone and locked me in my room. Now, he gives me a mystery box, right after I almost got shot under his watch.
Could Seth be feeling guilty about letting someone so dangerous get so close?
“Open it,” he says.
I pull on one end of the ribbon and take it off. The white box doesn’t give any clue as to what’s inside, but it looks expensive.
I wonder if it’s jewelry. It seems early for a man to give me jewelry at this point, when we’re not actually in a relationship. But maybe Seth has too much money than he knows what to do with. And, technically, we do live together.
I open the box and see the last thing I’d expect to see in there.
It’s a knife.
A chef’s knife.
A nice one. Like, one that’s worth a few hundred dollars.
I raise my gaze up to look at Seth, my mouth hanging open.
“This is…”
“I already have all the knives you need in the kitchen, but I thought this would make a nice addition.”
“I don’t know what to say. I’ve always wanted to buy this but I never had the extra money to pull the trigger.”
Seth winces at my choice of words.
“Thank you,” I say quickly.
“I’m glad you like it.”
“I like it. It’s just…” I narrow my eyes at him. “Are you sure it’s a good idea to give me a knife? I could use it against you.”
“To run away? You’d never get past my guards. That guy who managed to get into the garden yesterday, he’d probably done constant surveillance for months and he still didn’t manage to accomplish anything.”
“I could stab you,” I say, annoyed at the implication that I don’t have the ability to do some damage.
“You could,” he admits. “But you won’t.”
“How could you be so sure?” I challenge him.
“You care about Swiss cows going deaf because of their bells, and now you’re talking about stabbing an actual human being? I don’t think you have it in you.”
“Fair enough.” I shrug. I suppose I can take that as a compliment. “It looks sharp enough to slice through a human being pretty easily, though.”
“You can try it out on the tracker,” he says so casually I almost miss what he means.
“Are you saying…”
“You can slice off the tracker.”
“You don’t think I’ve tried that?”
He chuckles. “Of course you have.” He takes my ankle, the one with the tracker around it, and pulls it toward him on the bed. “I’ll stick in a key in here, and then you’ll have to cut it off right here,” he says as he points at various parts of the tracker, his fingers grazing my skin, sending a frizzle of pleasure up my legs.
“You’re really going to let me take it off?” I ask before I can stop myself.
Shut up, idiot, I tell myself. Don’t ruin a good thing.
“Yes,” he says.
“Why?”
“You can keep it on if you want to.” Okay, so he’s not going to give me any explanation. Typical.
“No, let’s take it off.”
“Okay.” He pulls out a small metallic thing from his pocket and inserts it into a tiny hole in the side of the tracker. It beeps.
Seth pulls on the tracker with both hands until a part of the band that looks like it’s made of a rubber-like material is exposed. He looks up at me and says, “Cut here.”
I pull my ankle back so I can take a closer look at the damn thing. I grab my brand-new knife and put the blade to the spot Seth is pointing at, but it’s a tight spot and the knife is not exactly travel-sized. It’s an awkward angle, too.
“Can you help me with this?” I ask.
“Sure.” He grips my ankle with one hand, while his other hand holds the knife.
It’s the same knife, but in Seth’s hand, it becomes something more. The moment the cold metallic blade touches my skin, I feel goosebumps all over my body. A powerful thrill thunders through me.
What is wrong with me? It’s a damn knife!
Seth seems to have noticed it, too. He slices off the band of the tracker and it falls off onto the bed easily. It looks strange. Something that has made me feel so trapped, now looks so innocuous.
Seth keeps holding the knife against my skin. He moves it up my leg, pushing the hem of my pants up to my knees. The touch of the blade feels light as a feather, if feathers were also cold and hard and dangerous. He stares intently at my face, watching my reactions. My heart jumps in my chest, and my breathing grows heavy.
“You like danger, my angel?” He asks with an amused smirk. “Don’t answer that. I know you’re just going to lie, but I already know the answer.”
My cheeks are hot, and I’m sure Seth can see how much this is affecting me.
Without asking, he starts to cut through the leg of my pants with the knife in his hand. He puts the knife aside and rips the fabric with his bare hands, the muscles in his arms flexing and bulging under his suit as he does.
He does the same to my panties, cutting with the knife and tearing them off with his hands. Maybe I shouldn’t have worn the nice lace panties today, after all, even if Seth does get to see them.
He climbs up on top of me and pushes me down, flat on the bed. I swallow. Could I be this messed up in the head, that I’m excited by a weapon that can potentially kill me?
Maybe, I realize. Maybe Seth is right. Maybe I do like danger. I’ve never felt more alive than when Seth is by my side, and he’s a dangerous man, his skin hardened by violence, his wealth and power making him virtually untouchable.
His body feels hot and hard on top of me, his searing gaze branding me with his desire. Keeping his eyes on my face, he slides the tip of the blade down my neck and holds it against the top button of my shirt.
With one flick of Seth’s wrist, the button goes flying across the bed. My heart is hammering so hard against my rib cage I’m worried Seth might really cut my skin, even if he doesn’t mean to. But he quickly goes down my shirt, cutting off the buttons one by one.
“I told you to wear the uniform, didn’t I?” He asks, his blue eyes dark and dangerous. He knows I’m completely vulnerable now, and that seems to excite him.
I’m not the only sick person who gets off on danger here. Lying on the bed with my clothes in tatters, looking at the excitement in Seth’s eyes, I realize that he does, too. We’re two sides of the same coin.
“Sorry,” I say, looking up into his eyes in submission.
Just like he trusts me to never hurt him with this knife, I trust him.
I don’t know if I should, since Seth is perfectly capable of violence. But I’ve lost the ability to think. All I know is letting Seth take control feels good, and I want more of this giddy, intoxicating feeling.
“Looks like I’m going to have to punish you,” he says. He slices through the center gore of my bra and peels the cups off my chest. He puts the knife on the nightstand. Now that all my articles of clothing have been torn, it has done its job.
As he turns to put the knife away, I inhale deeply, suddenly realizing that I’ve been holding my breath.
Seth kicks my knees apart, spreading my legs wide, and gets on top of me. He’s fully clothed in his business suit, which for some reason makes me feel even more naked and powerless.
“How am I going to punish you?” The glint in his eyes tells me he already knows exactly what to do to me, and it sends a thrill right to my core.
I whimper as he grinds his hard bulge against me, rubbing against my pussy through his pants and my tattered clothes. His lips capture me in a bruising kiss, crushing me with the force of his desire.
“Your lips are delicious,
” he says as he pulls away. He looks at me and smirks. “I bet they’d feel good wrapped around my cock.”
He gets up to his knees and climbs up my body until he’s straddling my chest. He unzips, then pulls out his impressive cock. This is the first time I see it from up close. It still looks impossibly big, and I almost can’t believe I had it inside me.
“Open,” he says.
I look up at him, meeting his cocky stare, and part my lips.
“Bigger.”
I open my mouth wide.
Seth slides his cock past my lips and inside my mouth, groaning as he does. It’s such a sexy, manly sound, and I love knowing that I’m the one causing him to make that noise.
He pulls back, then slides back in, again and again, while his hand grabs my hair painfully, keeping my head in place.
This feels degrading, like he’s only using me to get off, but it drives me crazy. My pussy is tingling with arousal, my clit aching with yearning. I can even feel wetness trickling out of me.
He gets so deep I feel the head of his cock poking into my throat, and I gag. He pulls out and lets me cough.
“Lie back and open wide,” he orders.
I do as he says.
When his cock touches my throat again, he stops mid-thrust. He says, “Breathe.”
I suck in as much air as I can through my mouth. Seth’s cock blocks my airway, but there’s just enough space to let some air in and out.
“Stay still,” he says as he slowly pushes his cock deeper inside me. “Keep breathing, just like you were doing.”
I realize I can still breathe even with Seth’s hard cock lodged in my throat, the thickness stretching me.
“Good girl,” he says. For some reason, his praise makes me more eager to please him. I want to worship his magnificent body and let him use me for his own pleasure.
Still, as he thrusts more and more violently into my throat, it gets overwhelming. I put my hands on his thighs and push him back.
“No hands,” he says as he grabs my wrists.
He pauses and hovers over me, letting me breathe, as he pins both my wrists down over my head with one hand. With his free hand, he undoes his belt buckle, making a metallic clanging sound, and yanks if off. He loops the belt around my wrists, the leather warm from his body heat, and pulls it tight until my wrists are secured.
