Fury

by Cat Porter

  I moved toward the small sphere of dim light over the prisoner. His head turned to me, and the eye only blinked. The jaw remained tightly held, screwed in place by mistrust, by anger, defensiveness. Or that last struggle to fight for his life no matter what I did or said. I couldn’t let go of his ferocious gaze. I didn’t want to.

  Some would have already given up by now. He’d been here in a cell two days already, and his expression had yet to change. He still hadn’t opened his mouth to curse me or call me some variation of cunt or whore or bitch like I’d expected. Despite his chains, he hadn’t tried to lunge at me or kick me. No, he was motionless, watching me like a snake waiting for the right moment to launch, fangs bared to do their worst. They hadn’t yanked too many of his teeth yet. Two only, in the back, but there would probably be more taken out tomorrow.

  Still, no reply.

  I opened the old yellow hose and the water spurted out, splattering on the spotted cement. “Drink. Come on, drink.”

  He didn’t move.

  “Get all that blood and gunk off your face and hands too.”

  He still didn’t move. Only the eye watched me.

  “Come on. I won’t mess with you.”

  A large shaky hand reached out toward the thick spray of water, his lips parted just a fraction. He glanced at me with that eye and cupped his hands, rinsing his face. The red water swirled and gurgled around the drain.

  I held the hose steady as his mouth opened, and he drank and drank and drank watching me. My face heated under his unrelenting hard gaze. I shut off the water. “You need to pee? Now’s the time.”

  He pushed his naked body up on the cement with his bruised and swollen hands. His dick stirred, and he peed in the direction of the puddle heading for the drain. That defined, sharp jaw finally slackened, his long hair falling over his face.

  I hosed down the last of his piss as he sank back onto the floor, his dick dropping over his thigh. His dark hair splayed out behind him. His legs wide open.

  I gathered the hose and arranged it in a tight circle, setting it back in its corner and went to him. “They’ll be back soon to fuck with you again,” I said, my voice low. “There’s no more food for you. Only that one piece of Wonder Bread you get every morning. So you better eat it the next time.” A shiver crawled over my skin. “I know what that’s like.”

  His eye narrowed at me. Why should he believe anything I said? But I wanted him to, I did. He couldn’t be much older than me, but he’d aged overnight, ever since they told him his dad had died. He’d stayed still, quiet. Like I had those first weeks.

  A lit bulb from the hallway shot a dim glow through the tiny window in the steel door. I took in his strong features. Muscular and lean, he had thinned out since they’d first brought him here. No, he wasn’t the gnarled and beefy type of biker with an attitude that I knew so well. A hard cut to his jaw, a slight indention in his chin, visible cheekbones, and the hollows beneath. His full long lips had a sensual curve to them. He was handsome.

  He didn’t seem to be the loud, arrogant asshole type, although, hell, I didn’t know him, did I? Making assumptions about men was a mistake. I never looked twice at any man, or I’d be in big trouble. Anyhow, that spring of desire had dried up inside, sparks of attraction no longer existed for me. I had shut it down because it only had gotten me into trouble. A magic potion releasing a thick sweet haze that would unfurl around me, blinding me, leading me into a maze of wrong turns and dead ends. And once, a cliff. No, acting on desire only led to being at the mercy of others.

  Like me, Kid was just a grunt who did what he was told. He too had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Something about him had made me stop and notice him from the very beginning. I recognized it. It mirrored how I felt on the inside. A quiet sort of defiance. Contempt with a spine of sorrow. That recognition had rooted me to the spot that first night after they’d chained him to the post. Only an eye glared at me, muscles straining.

  Yes, I see you.

  Vulnerability, that was it.

  I had forgotten that feeling; it had hardened inside me like melted chocolate over cold marble.

  I sat down on the floor next to him and that one eye stayed on me, waiting, wondering. My fingers roamed over his hair and face, and he let out a noise. Was it relief or annoyance?

  I offered him a small smile. “You okay?” It was a totally stupid question, but I wanted to know.

  His tongue lazily licked at his dried and bloodied swollen lower lip. His lips moved once more, but still, no words came out.

  “Are y—”

  “Who are you?” his voice creaked.

  “Just a girl.”

  “Yeah right. You doing a number on me, being nice?”

  “Being nice is no longer a good thing, huh?”

  “I don’t think so,” he breathed, his tone haunted, his eye widening. “I don’t know anymore.”

  My stomach dropped. I didn’t know either.

  “Why are you here?” he asked.

  “I live here.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah.” I tucked my legs underneath me, my sweaty palms pressing into my thighs.

  The quiet and the darkness of the cell crept over me like a thick dirty blanket, and I didn’t like it, but I had to wait for them to unlock the door for me. Although, knowing Motormouth, who was pretty drunk and high, he was probably busy with his girlfriend. Who could blame him? I was forgotten about, for the time being at least. There would be hell to pay later, that was for sure.

  “What’s wrong?” came his voice.

  “Nothing.”

  “You’re nervous.”

  “Do you have bat radar?” I snapped.

  “What’s wrong?”

  My pulse dragged. “I don’t like the dark much.”

  “You must be kidding.”

  “No, I’m not kidding.”

  “There a reason?”

  “I used to get locked in a closet.”

  “When you were a kid?”

  “No. Here.”

  “Oh.”

  “You ever been locked in a closet before?” I asked.

  “No, but I’ve been locked in my own room.”

  “By your parents?”

  “Didn’t really have parents.”

  “What do you mean ‘didn’t really’?”

  “My mom was never around much. I don’t think I’d even recognize her anymore if I saw her again. My dad took me with him to his club and stashed me there.”

  “Stashed you?”

  “Yeah. He had his own family. I stayed at the MC clubhouse, grew up there. You grow up here?”

  “No, no, no. With my grandmother. She looked out for me while my mom worked. My dad joined the Marines and didn’t come back.”

  “Sorry.”

  “No, I mean he came back alive, but not to us. He found himself a new family he liked better.”

  He let out a grunt. “Yeah, gotcha.”

  Silence. The chains scraped the floor.

  “See that?”

  My back stiffened. “What? A rat?”

  “No. You weren’t so nervous once you got to talking.”

  I settled back on my legs and let out a tiny breath, wiping my damp hair back from my face. “I guess.”

  “How’d you get here from Grandmaland?”

  “I went to a club party one night. I was dating this guy, Jimmy, who wanted to prospect for the Demon Seeds.”

  “The Seeds in Montana?”

  “Yep, I’m from Montana. There was a party at their clubhouse, and I went with him.”

  “Shouldn’t have gone.”

  I snorted. “I didn’t know that then. Neither did he. Jimmy thought I was the bomb. He thought bringing me on his arm would score him some points with his brothers-to-be.”


  Kid didn’t say anything. He just stared at me, his eyes hard. He knew what was coming.

  “I got noticed by a member of a visiting club. I didn’t know who he was. He’d covered up his colors, his patch. I was having a good ol’ time, laughing, talking. He kept getting me drinks and flirting with me. I got up to find Jimmy, to leave. I thanked him for the drinks and everything, and suddenly he got all serious. People were looking at me funny. He grabbed my arm and said, ‘This is how it’s gonna go down, baby.’

  I hadn’t thought about these details, the details that got me here, in a long time. I’d quit stretching and snapping them like rubber bands in my brain after the second month. Now, an odd relief washed through me as I released the words and Kid listened.

  “I tried to explain that I was with another man from the Demon Seeds. All he said was ‘You come willingly or little Jimmy gets a beat down.’

  “He’d targeted you, huh?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And good ol’ Jimmy?”

  “Jimmy said nothing. Did nothing. Only slunk into the crowd. I’ll never forget that look on his face. A mix of fear and powerlessness. Giving in.”

  My shoulders bunched together. Jimmy had slunk into the crowd that night the same way my dad had slunk away and never returned. The same way my mom would slink out the door every afternoon after sleeping all day, preferring to be at the bar she owned than at home in the grind of real life. Maybe that’s why it hadn’t shocked me that much when Jimmy had left me in the frying pan. I’d been upset, but not so surprised.

  “Fuck,” said Kid.

  “Even though Jimmy and I both gave in, he got beat down by the other club anyway. They made me watch while I got groped, then we took off. We did a lot of traveling those first few months. I’d either be locked up in a motel room or locked in a closet, always being told it was to protect me from the other men.”

  “Probably true, but...shit.”

  “We finally settled here. He kept me like his doll, I guess is the best way to describe it. He’d show me off. Do me the way he wanted whenever he wanted. Once, a couple of his pals thought I was the club toy and tried to play with me. One got his eye gouged out for touching me.”

  “Ouch.”

  I let out a dry laugh. “Yeah, I got to watch that too.”

  “He gets off on it, huh?”

  I wiped my hands up and down my legs. “Hmm.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Thanks.”

  “What the hell for?” he asked.

  I shrugged, my skin tightening. Was it stupid to want things from him? Things like understanding, compassion. Kindness. I thought I’d shut that off, dammit. If I exposed myself in the tiniest degree, let anything through the cracks, I was fucking doomed in here. I had trained myself to cut that off. Now what was I doing? Suddenly, I couldn’t stop talking.

  I licked my lips, biting down on the edges. “Thanks for getting me, I mean.”

  He propped his head up on his hand. “You stay cool to survive, don’t you?”

  “Yeah. I felt I’d have better luck getting free one day if I stuck it out with him than if I got tangled up with some other asshole. So I got to know his buttons, his habits. He hates the word no, so I avoid it. He wants dedication, enthusiasm. I do my best to provide it. For now at least.”

  “I do a lot of that myself. Doing what I’m told.”

  “I don’t like it much.”

  “Me neither,” he said on a sigh.

  “You’re a prospect, right? Doing what you’re told is what it’s all about.”

  “Hey, I’ve been around this shit almost all my life. My dad was a member, and so was his dad. My grandad was an original founding member of the Flames of Hell, in fact.” He was proud, but his voice seemed distant, far off.

  “Wow. Do they know that?” I gestured toward the cell door. “They must. Shit, they scored big with you.”

  “Yeah. Real big.” His tone was flat, ironic even.

  Our eyes held each other’s in the dim streak of light. We held on, all right. There was nothing else in this room, in this world right now. Nothing but me and him.

  “I hope you make it out of here alive,” I said.

  “You do?” He wasn’t convinced.

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “Hope you make it out, too. If that’s what you want.”

  “That’s what I want.”

  “Yeah? How bad?”

  “Real bad,” I whispered roughly.

  His leg pressed against me. “You feeling better now, about being in here in the dark?”

  I took in a tight breath. “A little.”

  “I’m edgy. What the fuck did they shoot me up with? I can’t relax. I can’t—”

  “One of their special brews.” My hand touched the hard, smooth planes of his chest, and we both sucked in air at the contact.

  A ripple of tension spread through my insides as I stroked his pecs. Back and forth. Down his middle, his abs shuddering under my fingertips, his body flinching slightly and easing. My heart picked up speed, thudding in my chest, as my hand slid over his thigh and around his length. His breath caught, his eyes gleamed at me. His long fingers clamped around my wrist, a noise escaping the back of his throat.

  Or was it from me?

  “Let me give you something.” I stroked over his cock, and his hips jerked. “Relax. I don’t have any weapons on me. I’m not going to cut your dick off or anything.”

  His brows jammed up his forehead.

  “Check for yourself.” I presented myself as close as possible for his inspection. My pulse pounded as his hand shuffled over my chest, quickly around each breast, my middle, around my waist, the small of my back, in and around my boots.

  “Okay? It’s just me.” I stroked him again. He stiffened in my hand, and my insides tightened. For the first time in a long time I wanted to touch someone else. For the first time in a long time, I really liked it—the feel of his skin, his muscles tensing, his uneven breaths.

  That eye pierced mine. “Why are you here?” his voice was husky, scratched, damaged from Motormouth’s assault.

  “I’m not supposed to be here.”

  His grip on my wrist tightened. He didn’t like my answer. I only kept stroking. He still didn’t let go of my wrist. My eyes held his fierce one as I stroked harder, firmer, faster. His jaw loosened, his breathing grew loud and choppy, his hips flexed a few degrees, rocking toward my hand.

  The drawn face of the young warrior became softer. Pleading and full of need. A need that was savage and deep. My insides pulled and twined as his grip tightened around my wrist. He held me against his cock, his face drawn tight.

  I knew about that kind of need.

  I leaned down closer to him, and his face tilted up toward mine. He didn’t want to lose contact either. He wanted more. Was this crazy, searching for pleasure in hell? All I knew was I felt compelled to offer him something, some measure of comfort. Just for a moment.

  And I wanted some myself.

  A groan escaped those bloodied lips, and his one good eye winced shut, his head knocking back. He hadn’t groaned or grunted or cried out very much at all as he’d endured the beatings, the slaps, the punches, the slashes the past two days. But here he was, crying out and moaning for me, coming in my hand. There was something thrilling about it, exciting.

  Our secret in the dark.

  He cried out softly. My heart lurched.

  “That’s it, yeah,” slipped from my mouth, my pulse racing at the throb of him in my hand, the swarming sounds of his pleasure in the throes of all that pain still clutching his body. I swept back his long hair from his sweaty forehead.

  What the hell are you doing?

  His head stirred under the contact, and he moaned a little louder. My heart lurched under its bolts as he came in my hand, his cock pul
sing, cum spurting, his head thrown back. I gently stroked his spent cock, and his tense features finally softened. Those lips wobbled. He wanted to speak, to say something, but words didn’t come out.

  I released him, and his breathing deepened. I leaned over the puddle of water next to us and swirled my hand in it, rinsing off his spunk.

  “Sleep now.” I took in a deep breath and ran a hand lightly across his forehead, down the sides of his face, his shoulder. The inside of his arm where his skin was smooth and hairless. Down and up again. His skin cooled under my fingertips, and that eyelid drifted shut and didn’t open again.

  “You have to go?” he asked, his voice suddenly small, that vulnerability coloring it like a wash of indigo blue over a canvas. Moody, soft, eerie.

  “No. I’m stuck here ’til they come get me. They forgot about me.”

  “Huh. I get forgotten about a lot too,” he said. “Lie down next to me.”

  I laid down next to Kid and curled my body against his. He smelled of perspiration and blood, and I inhaled it in, focusing on that, the warmth of his skin and the movement of his chest beside me as he breathed in sleep. Yes, he was lost in sleep. I wanted to be too. Badly.

  I closed my eyes, my lips brushing his flesh.

  At least, this time, I wasn’t alone in the dark.

  3

  There was only that one slice of motherfucking Wonder Bread every morning, or at least I assumed it was morning, but I couldn’t be sure, here in this dark cell in the bowels of their fort of a clubhouse. My cell.

  The first day I spit it out.

  The second day I didn’t even open my mouth.

  The third day I ate it, and I got a reward for my good behavior. I got her mouth on me.

  “What are you doing—fuck!”

  No. Stop. I’m not giving in to you. You are the fucking devil.

  But I didn’t want her to stop. I looked forward to her visits. Her voice was slightly deep, and every time she spoke, each word out of her mouth went straight to my dick, making my blood jump in my veins. A turn on and a relief, plain and simple. My flesh began to feel her touch before she even came close. And she came close. I’d eat the bread, and then I’d get her mouth.