FREAKS

by Hart, Callie

  It was different with Fix. Being his didn’t mean I lost a part of myself. He treasured my opinions. He encouraged me to use my voice. He might have wrestled with me for control, but he never forcefully took it from me. If I handed over the reins to him at any point, it was because I wanted to experience the rush and the freedom that being vulnerable with him invoked. Being Felix Marcosa’s queen was a title I cherished more than any other title I could ever possess.

  “I understand,” I said softly. “I want to be yours.”

  He snarled as he unfurled to his feet, running the palms of his hands along the sides of my body as he rose. “My blood’s on fire, Sera. I’m completely fucking losing myself to this. If I ask too much...”

  “I’ll tell you. I’ll stop you. But I know you won’t.” I wanted him so fucking badly. He’d already told me exactly what he wanted to do to me, and I hadn’t flinched. I’d surprised myself, but it was true. A deep rumble emanated from Fix’s chest, vibrating against my sensitive skin. Taking hold of me, he swept me into his arms and threw me onto the mattress.

  He rained down kisses all over my legs, my hips, my stomach, and the swell of my breasts as he climbed up the bed, hovering over my body. Mesmerized, I watched the muscles in his shoulders and his chest flex and contract as he shifted, reaching into a drawer next to the bed, and he pulled out a long length of cord.

  No, it wasn’t cord.

  Small, polished beads of obsidian shone in the dim light. Something dangled from the loop of the beads, undistinguishable at first, and then forming the shape of a carved, stone cross. A crucifix. Fix was holding a rosary.

  Taking my right hand in his, he looped the rosary around my wrist, once, and then again, and then he took my other hand and slide the heavy, cool rope of beads around that wrist, too, repeating the process until the small, hard orbs of stone were pressing firmly into my skin. My fingers tingled, the blood flow to my hands immediately restricted.

  Fix took hold of beads and looped them over the wrought iron bedpost to my right. There was nothing stopping the loop of beads from sliding down the post, all the way down to the mattress, where my bound wrists came to rest on top of the crisp white sheets.

  “Spin over, Angel. You know what’s coming.”

  My heart stuttered, climbing up my throat, but I swallowed it back down. I obeyed. With my bare back to him, and my buttocks on show, I felt suddenly very exposed. Fix climbed off the bed, was gone for a split second, and then he was back, his body bracing mine, arms and legs either side of me.

  His skin didn’t touch me anywhere, but I could feel the blazing heat coming off him in waves. He reached around and his hand came into view. In it: something white, bundled in his fist. “Open your mouth.” The order was low and brooked no argument.

  The white material he slid into my mouth was rough and rigid and tasted faintly of chemicals. What the fuck was it? What the fuck was on it? My mind cartwheeled out of control for a moment, but then…I knew what the piece of material was. The chemical taste on the fabric was starch; it was the Roman collar he’d tried to hide from me.

  Holy fuck.

  Flames licked at my face, down the skin of my neck, across my chest. There was probably a crimson blush covering half my body. A rosary and a Roman collar. His choice of restraints said a lot. Once, these items had been a sign of his faith. Tools of that faith. Now, he was using them to tie me up and gag me while he fucked me. I got the feeling that he was making a point. Here, in his father’s house, who had been cruel and harsh with him his entire life, who had forced him into a life he wouldn’t have chosen for himself otherwise.

  His actions were a fuck you to a man long dead, but I didn’t mind. These were relics of a religion I didn’t believe in. Fix could use them as he saw fit, especially if that use brought him some kind of closure.

  He rocked his body over the top of me, grazing his chest along the skin of my back. Over my buttocks, I could feel the long, hard length of his cock, pressing insistently against me. He was so fucking big. So fucking hard. How the hell was he going to fit himself inside me?

  “Shhhh. Don’t tense up. I’m going to look after you, Angel.” Fix could read my mind, or perhaps he was just really fucking good at reading my body. Either way, he knew I was wondering how badly this was going to hurt, and he was doing his best to put my mind at ease. Kissing the nape of my neck, his rough stubble caused goosebumps to spread down the backs of my arms and my legs. Shit. The sensation was devastating. I whimpered around the collar in my mouth, my muscles softening like butter beneath him.

  I couldn’t move. If I moved, the rosary strained against my skin, making my hands throb like crazy, so I stayed as still as I could while Fix slipped his fingers down between my legs.

  “Fuck me, Sera. You’ve drenched the fucking sheets.” I could hear the hunger in his voice. It coated his words like thick, warm honey. “I’m going to make you feel so fucking good,” he swore.

  He’d already begun. My thoughts were splintered all over the place. As he slowly inserted his fingers inside me, and a string of colorful expletives formed on my tongue; mercifully they were muffled by the collar, otherwise Fix would have heard me call him something rather offensive. He was teasing me, moving too slowly. I needed him inside me right fucking now.

  He chuckled darkly under his breath. “It’s okay. Don’t worry. You can take it.” The timbre of the statement suggested I was going to have to figure out how, one way or another, because he wasn’t going to give in to my screaming desire before he was good and ready.

  I closed my eyes, breathing heavily down my nose, bracing for whatever was coming next. I didn’t have to wait long. With fingers slick from my pussy, Fix slowly began to rub between my ass cheeks. The tips of his fingers worked over me, moving in small circles, working me until I relaxed against the contact. It was going to hurt. I knew it was going to hurt, but when he slipped one of his fingers inside me, he did it gently, carefully, moving a millimeter at a time.

  His prediction came true; I began to sweat like crazy, beads of perspiration breaking out across my brow and down the center of my back. The feeling was so intense, the pressure so great, almost too great, but Fix took his time, moving at a snail’s pace, until gradually I began to feel myself sinking into the mattress. It was starting to feel good.

  Soon, Fix replaced his finger with the tip of his cock. I locked up all over again when he started to work himself into me, bit by bit. I had to bite down on the collar to stop myself from grinding out an uncomfortable growl between my teeth, but soon even that discomfort waned, and I was left with a pleasant, burning hot sense of pleasure instead.

  “I’m so fucking deep,” Fix panted. “Can you feel me all the way inside you?”

  I could. His touch was agony, and I was addicted to the pain. I couldn’t separate myself from it, even if I’d wanted to.

  I rocked my hips back against him as he drove himself forward, and a carnal, desperate pleasure spread through me, taking over. I was so close…

  So close.

  And so was Fix.

  We both summited the peak of our climaxes together, and Fix roared as he came. I stumbled, tumbled and fell, soaring and falling all at once, and the pressure at my wrists increased as I strained to feel more of him, to take more of him.

  The rope of beads that held my hands together strained, and then…snapped. Suddenly the pressure was gone, and a shower of obsidian beads exploded all over the bed, rolling off the mattress and scattering to the floor, each of them a prayer.

  Fix curved over my body, his breath ragged as he stroked his hands over my prickling skin. “Now you’ve heard my confession,” he whispered in a hoarse voice. “What will be my penance?”

  I pressed a kiss against the arm he’d wrapped around me as I closed my eyes. He was still inside me, and he still would be, even after he’d withdrawn and I’d washed the evidence of our sins away. “No penance required, Mr. Marcosa. You and I are square.”

  FOURTEEN


  SERA

  I woke alone. Bars of warm, honeyed light slanted through the open windows to the bedroom, and a gentle breeze tugged at the cream, floor-length curtains. When I turned over, I noticed the small beads stuck to my skin. The rosary beads from last night. A warm flush of horror washed over me, but then quickly dissipated. How was I supposed to feel bad for last night? It seemed as though Fix needed the release of the defiant act to dispel all the other memories that echoed at him from his bedroom walls.

  I listened, straining to hear some sort of sound that might indicate where the man himself was, but I heard nothing. I was a stranger here. Fix had told me he’d give me the nickel tour today, but in the meantime I would have to locate him by myself. I got out of bed, dressing quickly, and I walked out onto the landing, once again listening for any sort of voice or indication as to where Fix might be.

  I came across Richard first. The old man was standing at the foot of the wide sweeping stairs, as if he was waiting for me to appear. He was wearing the same crisp white shirt and black trousers as last night, except now the red tattered robe that had been slung over his shoulders had vanished. At his throat, a smart black bow tie had been tied, and a white linen cloth was draped over his left arm, as if he were waiting to accept an empty champagne flute from me.

  “Well, good morning Ms. Sera,” he said. “Been waiting on you. Not surprised you slept in late, I heard the pair of you caterwauling until the dawn.”

  Oh, perfect. Juuuuust fucking great. I probably wouldn't have given a shit if Fix's parents had heard us, but somehow, knowing the poor old man had been kept awake by us, especially in a house this big, embarrassed the crap out of me. “Yeah. Well, I'm sorry about that.” I said, smiling awkwardly. The old man returned my smile, an impish light glimmering in his eyes.

  “He be waiting for you in the dining room with Ms. Monica,” he told me. “They already had breakfast, but I saved some for you. I'll go and warm it up now."

  My stomach tightened and twisted at the mention of food. I hadn't even realized I was hungry, but the thought of eating now made me realize just how ravenous I was. Richard threw the white linen cloth over his shoulder and beckoned for me to follow after him. I would never have found the formal dining room if he hadn't found me at the bottom of the stairs. Guiding me through a series of wide, well-lit hallways, we passed a number of beautiful oil paintings and many more side tables bearing vases full of beautiful flowers. Knick-knacks, keepsakes and all kinds of treasures rested on shelves and bookcases, along with tome after tome. Fictional works, autobiographies, books on philosophy and theology. Countless works that covered the natural world. The sciences. Economics and politics.

  Underfoot, plush rugs covered the parquet, and then the marble flooring, which was the color of freshly poured milk, flecked with hints of gray and gold that shone in the early morning light.

  Eventually Richard led me through a right-hand turn, and I found myself within the formal dining room he had mentioned. A long, heavy, worn oak table dominated the room, with chairs enough for twelve people. At the far end of the table, Monica sat in front of an empty plate, and Fix sat beside her, rotating a coffee cup around and around on top of a coaster by its handle.

  Monica's nurse’s scrubs were gone. She was wearing a dressing gown, a lot like the one Richard had been wearing last night, and a pair of oversized navy-blue pajamas, shot through with a white pinstripe. She looked up when she noticed we’d arrived, and her entire demeanor changed. She’d been at ease and very still, and now she was like a startled deer, fidgeting in her seat.

  Fix, on the other hand, seemed just fine. Better than fine. A secret, devious smile played over his lips when he glanced up from the coffee cup. Patting the seat next to him, he motioned for me to join him. Richard grumbled as he turned about-face and left the room, grousing about fetching my food.

  There was something very Victorian about the whole affair, as if, when we'd driven upstate and entered this house, we’d stepped back in time to a more genteel era, where servants were still a thing, and luxury was expected. Where the lord and lady of the manor were waited on hand and foot.

  My body ached as I sat down. My wrists were banded by a chain of small red marks, too—more evidence of last night’s encounter; I’d be remembering and replaying the way Fix had masterfully manipulated my body long after the physical signs had faded away, though. I was probably never going to forget.

  There was a light, unburdened air to Fix as he poured me a cup of coffee and placed it in front of me. The razor-sharp tension that normally hung over him was gone this morning, leaving behind a side of Fix I was unacquainted with. Happy-go-lucky Fix. Wonders would never cease.

  The coffee was acerbic and slightly bitter, but as soon as the caffeine hit my lips I suddenly felt very, very awake.

  "Monica has good news," Fix said.

  The woman squirmed, tugging at the bottom of her navy-blue pajamas. She didn't say anything until Fix gave her an encouraging sidelong glance. “Carver emailed,” she said. “He wanted to thank me for helping him locate you. He thinks…” She paused. “He believes that you're dead.”

  So, it had worked then. Staging my own death, lying in that stairwell, my body twisted like a pretzel, had paid off. Despite my misgivings, Zeth had done as he’d promised. He’d convinced his boss, who, in turn, had convinced Carver. I didn’t even know how to react.

  Monica rose from the table, quickly getting to her feet. "I just wanted to say that I was sorry, Sera," she said. "I didn't mean…I didn't mean to cause so much trouble. If I'd known how strongly Fix felt about you, I would never have…" She trailed off, her eyes cast down at her feet.

  "It's okay.” I tried to scrub the hard edge from my voice. "I understand why you did it. You don’t need to say another word about it.”

  Fix gave my knee a thankful squeeze under the table. I raised the coffee mug to my mouth, hiding behind it as I took a deep swig. Apologies were difficult things. It was my experience that they were hard for the person who owed them, but just as hard for the person who had to accept them. A few words, even if they were heartfelt, didn’t necessarily banish the consequences of someone’s actions.

  “Monica’s going to stay here with Richard for a while,” Fix said. “The old bastard’s so intent on keeping the place tidy, but he’s breaking more shit than he’s cleaning. She’ll be able to help him. Make sure he doesn’t end up having a heart attack while he’s polishing the silverware.” His words were more for Monica’s benefit than mine. He wanted her to feel useful, like she had a purpose.

  But did that mean…?

  I put my coffee cup down, just as Richard reappeared with a plate piled with eggs and bacon. I thanked him with a smile as he set it down in front of me. I waited until he left before I asked the question burning in my mind. “What about the business?” There was nothing else I could call it. Essentially, the operation Fix and Monica had been running for the past five years was a business. They provided a service, and they got paid for it. Or Monica did. And just because the service they were providing was highly illegal and would almost certainly earn Fix a one-way trip to death row, didn’t mean there was no industry involved with it.

  “Shut down,” Fix answered. “At least for now. I think we need a break from all the…”

  Murder.

  “…stress,” Fix finished carefully. Richard probably didn’t know how Fix had been occupying his days these last five years; he clearly didn’t want the old butler finding out now, because of a few errant words.

  “I’m going to need a uniform,” Monica said quietly. “A black and white one. Like in the movies.” Black and white, like the very first uniform she put on back in Canada. The nun’s habit.

  “I’ll order one for you,” Fix said. His shoulders tensed as he glanced down at the ring of faint bruising around my wrist; he mustn’t have noticed it until now. Tracing his finger along the mark, he hummed softly under his breath. “And I am finally going to take you back
to Seattle,” he informed me. His focus had drifted, his eyes a little glazed over. I knew exactly where he’d traveled to: last night, to his bedroom, to that Roman collar gripped between my teeth, and my hands bound over my head. To the outrageous, deviant things he’d whispered in my ear. I sucked my bottom lip into my mouth, trying not to turn red.

  “And who said I wanted to go back there?”

  “Your apartment’s there. Your business. Your friends. You at least need to go back and tidy up some loose ends. See Sadie. Pack up your place. Assign someone to take care of your company.”

  He was right. And I’d already come to that decision myself; to have someone step in as temporary caretaker for the business, until I figured out what I wanted to do in the long term. Jasmine would be thrilled to be appointed temporary CEO. She was good at her job and deserved the opportunity to prove herself. She’d been holding down the fort for a long time already. She’d be more than capable of doing so indefinitely, or at least until I decided if I wanted to sell or not.

  I did need to go back to my apartment, too, if only to pick up some extra clothes and some of my personal items. And Sadie. God, I really fucking missed Sadie. I hadn’t had chance to check my own emails in days, and I didn’t have a cell phone anymore. I’d told my friend I’d meet her for lunch at the beginning of the week, and I hadn’t called or messaged to let her know I wasn’t going to be able to make it. She was probably going out of her fucking mind, bombarding the Seattle police department with countless missing person’s reports.

  Monica excused herself, wrapping her dressing gown tightly around herself as she hurried out of the dining room. I dug the tines of my fork into the food Richard had scrounged up for me, sighing. “Fine. We’ll go back to Seattle. But on one condition. I know how much you love driving, but I am so fucking sick of sitting in cars. We either fly across country, or we don’t go at all.”