by Lane Hart
“You’re a bigger jackass,” he replies with a grin, and it’s just like we’re twelve again, teasing each other. Until that motherfucker decided to kill his wife and blame it on our dad. “We’re gonna get him out,” Aden promises, knowing my thoughts before I barely think them.
“All these years, I thought he was a murderer, that he’d done something so selfish to give us up…”
“He’s a good man, and he’s missed you,” he tells me, making me feel even guiltier.
“I’ve missed you both, even if you’re a pompous asshole now,” I tell him. When Aden steps forward, I meet him halfway for a long overdue embrace.
“Missed you, too, Brede,” he says with a pat on my back before we separate.
“If you hurt her again, I’ll kill you,” I warn him seriously.
“Fuck,” he grumbles, hanging his head. “I wasn’t thinking clearly. It won’t happen again,” he promises.
“I know it won’t, because I’m not letting her out of my sight,” I tell him. “Did you at least use a fucking condom?”
When he covers his face, I already know the answer. “Goddamn it, Aden. You know better, and I’m guessing she’s not on the pill or anything since she just left the fucking mental hospital.”
“Escaped,” he corrects. “And you’re right. It was stupid. We’ll get her one of those morning after pills as soon as the pharmacy opens in the morning.”
“Then what?” I ask him, meaning what’s our plan for getting the fuck out of this city.
“We go back to Charlotte, where our southeastern headquarters is to get Blair’s statement recorded, and then sort through all the evidence we seized.”
“How long is that gonna take?” I ask, thinking about our dad rotting away for even longer.
“Weeks, maybe months, I dunno,” Aden replies with a heavy exhale. “I know it sucks for dad, believe me, I do. I’m the one who’s been trying to get his ass out for the past four years. But we have to do it right.”
“Will she be safe there?” I ask. “And you know I’m coming too, right?”
“We’ll find somewhere safe to keep her, where only you and I know about,” he assures me, pulling out his phone from his suit pocket.
“Who the fuck are you calling?”
“The senior agent in charge,” he answers while typing away on the device. “My boss.”
“You sure you can trust him?” I ask.
“Yeah, and it’s better he heard about you and her from me, explaining what’s going –”
The sound of sirens wailing interrupts his words, and my heart stops.
“Fuck,” Aden curses as he turns around and jerks the bathroom door open. Both of us take off to the bedroom and my stomach sinks to the floor when I see that it’s empty.
“Blair?” I yell even though I know it’s pointless before I run through the house to look out the front. “The car’s gone,” I tell Aden, who’s right behind me.
“Shit!” he yells. Grabbing a lamp from the living room table, he slings it across the room where the glass shatters against the wall. “If the local cops find her in that stolen car before we do…”
The blood in my veins has never felt so cold, and all the oxygen flees my lungs.
“She’s dead,” I finish for him.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Blair
All this time.
The whole time both of them have been using me.
Brede was paid by my own father to kill me, and Aden was only using me to help their father. Their father who has been in prison for ten long years because of me.
All three men must hate me. It’s only about revenge for Aden and Brede. Neither cared about me.
Hearing their muffled voices filtering from down the hall, I feel so stupid for thinking I meant more to them…The soreness between my legs, my arms still aching from being tied up, tells me all I need to know.
Climbing out of bed, I quickly dress in more of my mother’s old clothes from the closet, a floral summer dress that I remember her wearing when we went to the grocery store or out shopping. My father once told her she looked like a slut in it. Bastard. I hate to think that his DNA is part of me, that I was created by that monster.
Well, it’s time to set things right. And since I obviously can’t trust the two men talking about me in the bathroom, I’ll just have to do it myself.
I walk through the house, pausing for a second outside the bathroom door where I hear the conversation even clearer.
“You watched us?” Brede asks.
“Yeah,” Aden chuckles. “How else was I supposed to know how to one-up you at night with her?”
“Jackass,” Brede mutters before I hear his own laugh of amusement.
That’s all it takes to cause tears to snake down both of my cheeks. I was nothing but a game or competition to them before they both got what they wanted from me. Brede was supposed to kill me; and at some point, he had agreed to it. How could he do such a thing?
Palming the keys from my purse, I pull them out as I walk out the front door and cross the lawn to the car waiting at the curb. Yeah, it’s stolen, so I know I’ll have to trade if for another one soon, or at least the license plate. That’s how I made it down here from Maryland after all.
Buckling myself in, I pull away from the curb and start heading out of town. I know I can’t trust the police here. That’s why I plan to go straight to the sheriff’s station in Guilford County to tell my story. It’s a bigger community; and from what I remember, my father’s reach didn’t stretch quite that far.
Just as I pull onto the highway, though, the flash of blue lights in my rearview momentarily precedes the screech of the siren. Shit. They’ve got to be local cops and are most definitely guys on my dad’s payroll.
Instead of slowing down, my foot, wearing one of my mom’s pair of ballerina flats, presses down harder on the accelerator. I may have only been driving for a few days now, but it’s long enough to figure out how to operate the two pedals.
Approaching eighty on the speedometer and passing several cars on the right, I chance a look in the rearview and see that there are now three police cars on my tail. Oh, crap. Maybe I shouldn’t have left alone. All I can do is drive faster, try to make it at least out of this county.
I’m doing pretty well too until I take a sharp curve going so fast I don’t correct the tires in time. The wheel jerks out of my hands, and then the car races off the side of the road, bouncing down the embankment, heading for the woods. My last thought before impact is that at least I’m wearing a seatbelt.
Maybe I shouldn’t have, and this could all be over.
…
I wake up stretched out on a soft bed, my forearms throbbing, along with my forehead. It takes me a few moments to remember that both body parts smacked into the steering wheel of the stolen car before I crashed and blacked out.
Blinking my eyes open, sharp pain stabs them from the bright light as I try to look around to see where I am.
“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” a familiar voice on my right says.
My neck burns to tilt it in that direction, but I manage and see…what was his name? Rob? No, Rog. Brede’s friend is sitting in a chair across from me. Glancing to my left, I see that I’m in an unmade bed, so not at the police station thankfully.
I try to sit up, but Rog objects and gets to his feet. “No, you should rest,” he says with his hands on my shoulders, pushing me back down.
“Brede?” I ask.
A grin spreads across Rog’s face. “Now that he’s finished with you, it’s my turn.”
“W-what?” I ask, my head hurting when I try to figure out what he’s talking about. But when his hand goes down to his zipper, it starts to unfortunately make sense.
“Brede had a job to do for your father. And since he didn’t do it, now I will.”
“A job?” I ask, even though I already know.
“To take care of you,” he answers, which I know is a lie. He’s gonna kill me.
Not right this second, but afterward. And while Roger is not a very big guy, with a lean build, he’s still twice my size. And unlike me, his entire body isn’t sore from being in a car wreck.
Shit, shit, shit.
No white knight is gonna come to my rescue and save me, and neither is Aden or Brede. If I want to get out of this, I’ll have to wait until the right time, not waste my energy fighting him from the beginning. Instead, I’ll wait until he’s naked so he doesn’t have any weapons and then make my move before I run.
Oh fuck, what is my move? My pounding head hurts too much to think.
I watch as Roger removes his pants and boxers, then his shirt, trying to keep the fear off my face. Hopefully, it’s working. I even lick my lips, knowing that usually turns Brede on.
“Mmm, like what you see?” he asks with his hand stroking his cock.
God, no. He’s lanky and has reddish, coarse looking hair all down his chest. His dick is slender and not very impressive, not like Aden and Brede’s. But sticking to the plan, I nod in approval.
Reaching for my shoulders, Rog pulls me into a sitting position. “Now, let’s get you undressed,” he says. I don’t resist letting him remove my dress, slipping it over my head and tossing it to the floor. “Oh, fuck yeah,” he says. Pushing me back down on the bed, he climbs on top of me, straddling my waist to squeeze both my breasts in his hands. It feels wrong and gross to have him touch me, unlike all the times with Brede and Aden, which doesn’t make sense. They didn’t give a shit about me either. Brede wanted to kill me for money, and Aden needed me to help get his dad out of prison. But I wanted both of them. Maybe that’s the difference.
When Roger’s hot mouth covers one of my nipples I barely keep from pushing him off me, but I know I need to wait it out. The perfect idea comes to me as he sucks greedily on my skin, so I do push him. He, of course, refuses to budge. So to show him what I have in mind, I slip my hand down and fist his spaghetti noodle cock.
“Oh yeah,” he says. “Such a horny little slut, aren’t you?”
I nod and squeeze him tighter, causing his eyes to close on another groan. The next time I push on his shoulders, he goes willingly to his back with me following. Hovering over top of him, I keep stroking his cock, tighter and tighter until his hips start to rock with the movements and his eyes close even longer.
“Suck me good,” he says, and when his hands grab my head and push down I don’t resist. I swallow back the bile rising up in my throat, and then I reluctantly cover the crown of his cock with my mouth. “Mmm, fuck, yes,” he says when I start to apply suction.
He pushes again on my head at the same time he thrusts his hips up, plunging his cock deep into my mouth. I don’t fight it, not yet, taking him as deep as I can, which is easy based on his unimpressive size.
And then, when I take all of his cock into my mouth, I bite down as hard as I can.
Roger shrieks like a little girl, and I can’t hold back my grin of triumph as I start backing away to slip off the edge of the mattress.
“Fucking bitch!” he exclaims before he shoves me backward off the bed, my aching body landing on the hard floor. “I’m bleeding! My cock…my cock’s bleeding!”
Even though my entire body is hurting, I’m pleased that I made him bleed. Now I just wish I had some mouthwash to get rid of the taste of him, erasing the salty, copper flavor, from my mouth. Oh, and it would be nice if my body didn’t ache so badly that I can’t even make my arms push me off the floor.
The room goes silent, and at first I think Roger’s gone, left maybe for the hospital, but then a hand grasps tightly around my ankle and yanks on me, pulling me across the carpet so quickly that it burns my naked back.
“Stop!” I yell at him, and he does. Long enough to drop down and cover the front of my body with his.
Oh, fuck.
I try to buck him off of me, but his hips pin mine down to the floor. His hand closes around my throat, cutting off my oxygen as he squeezes. There could be worse ways to die, I think, before his other hand reaches down and jerks my panties down my legs.
“I’m gonna fuck you until the last breath leaves this pretty throat of yours,” he says as his twisted face sneers down at me. “And after you die, I’m gonna keep fucking you, you little cunt.”
Now I fight. I dig both sets of fingernails into his hand as hard as I can, while trying to raise a knee to nail the asshole in his nuts or stomach, his bleeding cock, anywhere that will get him off me.
“It’ll be a helluva lot easier…to fuck you…when you’re dead,” he says before he starts choking my neck with both of his hands, so hard that the room goes dark, right before I hear a loud crash and then a boom.
Dying is apparently loud, I think to myself before my arms drop limply to my sides.
I welcome death. It has to be better than living.
To be continued in Redeemed…
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Tainted Love
A Lovestruck Novella
By Lane Hart
Chapter One
Josie Carter
“Oh my God, Josie. Check out that ridiculously horny guy,” my best friend Reagan says. Her words are followed by a knobby elbow nudge to my ribs, directing my eyes to the row of white canopies on our right.
“Where?” I ask, searching for him at the same time I concentrate on walking and not breaking both of my ankles. My nude stilettos are the equivalent of walking on stilts in this grassy field. I swear there must be a village of moles partying it up underneath our feet based on how uneven the ground is.
“On our right, shirtless, with the, um, brown plaid skirt,” Reagan directs, reaching over to steal a handful of popcorn from my bag.
“I don’t see him,” I tell her. “But I think we should turn around and go find those two knights. Boy, do they know how to handle their swords.”
“Yummy,” she mutters.
My wandering eyes finally land on the epitome of horniness. I nearly inhale a piece of kettle corn and break my neck when I’m unable to suppress my giggle.
“Wow…” I say when I catch my breath. “That dude is by far the horniest we’ve seen.”
“I know, right!” Reagan snorts.
While most of the guys walking around with horns that are no more than three or four inches long, this one is sporting horns that curve up and around like a ram. Overcompensating much?
So what brings me to a field in the middle of nowhere on this muggy spring day, surrounded by knights, horny men, fairies and mermaids? Reagan, my best friend of twelve years, is a bohemian dress wearing, save the Earth spewing, flowerchild hippie; and somehow she convinced me to attend the Festival of Legends in Apex, a small, country town about an hour and a half away from our apartments in Greensboro.
As if I wasn’t already regretting my decision to let her talk me into this freak fest, the sky picks that very moment to open up and start pelting us with big, fat raindrops.
“Shit! I told you we needed to bring the umbrella,” I bitch, as we both hunch our shoulders up to our ears and duck into the nearest tent. Great, and now my sky blue sundress may as well be white for all the protection the water soaked fabric is giving my full braless bosoms.
“It wasn’t even cloudy when we left!” Reagan argues, swiping at the wetness dripping from her face.
“Hello, ladies.”
Reagan and I both turn at the sound of a woman’s voice greeting us. Sitting behind a small, round table is an attractive red-headed lady, smiling warmly at us and dressed in a medieval style burgundy, bustier dress, complete with black laces. In front of her is an array of lit candles and ince
nse, putting off a sweet, cinnamon scent…wait, is that a freaking crystal ball?
“Hi,” I reply softly.
“I’m Madam Tess. Care for a free spiritual reading?” she asks.
“Heck yes,” Reagan says without hesitation. I, on the other hand, am rather skeptical of such voodoo weirdness. My best friend plops her tiny ass right down on the empty stool on our side of the table and tosses her long, stick straight brown hair over her shoulder, clearly ready to get started.
“Your hands, my dear,” the woman says, and Reagan gives her both, palms up. I’m almost certain the girl has done this whole deal once or twice before.
“Ah, you have a bright and generous aura,” Madam Tess starts with her eyes squinting at Reagan’s hands. “Pure of spirit.”
So far she’s hitting the nail on the head, but of course her statements are vague and general.
“Losing a loved one suddenly when you were young has made you too cautious with your heart.”
Okay. That’s a bit more specific and also very true. Reagan lost her father to a heart attack when he was only forty and she was just eleven years old.
“You will find true love soon, just as you turn a new corner in your life.”
I barely refrain from snickering, recalling seeing similar words just last week on a fortune cookie from Panda Express.
“Thank you,” Reagan says, before standing up somewhat wobbly on her Birkenstocks. See, I told you she was a hippie, right down to her toes.
“How about you?” Madam Tess asks, turning to me. “No charge,” she adds when I continue to gnaw on my bottom lip in hesitation.
“Sure, what the hell,” I eventually say as I take Reagan’s vacated stool and sit my popcorn bag down on the table. I offer my hands to the so-called psychic. Her skin is cool when she flips them both over and then runs a red fingernail down the center of my right palm.
“Your life line is long,” she says optimistically. And despite my total disbelief in all that is the psychic arts, I have to say I’m glad she didn’t say some bullshit like I’ll die next week when I least expect it. “You are rather stubborn and quick to lose your temper.”
