Wraith

by Joy Blood

  “Bullet,” I answer with no hesitation. If it bothers her she doesn’t let on. Her expression doesn’t change as she steps even closer to me. “What would you prefer?” There is a moment where she stops coming toward me and narrows her eyes, as if she is trying to decide how much of my blood she wants to see pooling on this very floor. The silence is filled with the whistling whirl of the wind outside and her breathing. Or maybe it’s mine. Then she opens that mouth of hers.

  “I would prefer to paint the white forest with your blood. Every inch of it, but that still wouldn’t be good enough.” Her voice is thick, laced with such contempt, I find my cock thickening at her words. She has such a firing grudge against me and I want nothing more than to draw her reasoning out. With quick precision, I launch off the bed and snatch her arms, getting a swift kick to my legs that I anticipate and deflect. Catching her off guard I slam her down onto the floor, much like she did me before, sending the air from her lungs and connecting the back of her head to the wood with a thump.

  “Enough with the games,” I bark in her face snatching her small hands into my large palm, pinning them to the floor above her head while my knees take up residence between her legs and my calves drape over her legs to hold them, leaving her powerless to escape. She struggles for only a moment before she stops and snaps her face to mine and spits. Fucking spits. “God damn it,” I growl, bringing my face to hers to wipe the residue along her jaw and neck, giving it back to her. “You’re a fighter.”

  “Go ahead. Do it. It wouldn’t be anything you haven’t done before!” she yells lifting her head off the floor as far as she can before slamming it back down.

  “Do it? You think I’m going to, what? Rape you?” I let out a dry laugh, “Please. I may be a horrible piece of shit but I don’t do rape.” Her eyes grow wide at my declaration but she doesn’t respond. Instead she slams her head onto the floor once again. “Quit that shit,” I scold but she does it again. She isn’t doing it soft either. I know it has to be getting to her. “Tell me what the fuck you mean?” I yell down at her but she shakes her head, silent tears spilling from the edges of her eyes. “Tell me! Who am I to you?”

  “You hurt me!” she calls out in a breathless screech, choking on the last word.

  “Hurt you how? Did I kill someone you loved? Torture your cat? God damn it, level with me!” My words burn coming from deep in my chest, scorching my throat on the way out.

  “Steven,” she says on a whimper, her head dropping to the floor, this time not slamming as hard and not coming back up for more. The name makes me release my grip on her hands and remove myself from above her. I haven’t been called by that name in so long, but with it falling from her pink lips it ignites a burning deep in my chest. If she knows my given name—

  “Who are you?” My voice soft now, horse from the yelling. She doesn’t answer, only pulls herself away from me and huddles next to the bed like a small child. Her dark hair cascades over her face covering her from me, but when she peeks up through the curtain her dark locks create, I catch the flash molten chocolate pools and I’m brought back in time.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The basket of clothes is unsteady in my grip as I try opening the door to the laundry room. It slips from my grasp right as I get the door open and all of the clothes go tumbling to the floor. It has been seven months since my failed escape attempt and during that time I have gotten to know Steven—or his habits that is. It didn’t take me long to figure out he liked things a certain way. Neat and clean. Hated it when things were dirty, even myself. Which is why I was on strict orders to shower every day. After being able to only take baths in scummy basin water I am all too happy to oblige him in that request. “Well now, you look like you could use a hand.” Trenton's voice comes from above me as I try to gather up the spilled clothes.

  “I’m fine,” I say hastening my movements. Every time he finds me alone he tries to corner me and today no different. His booted foot swipes away the clothes from the floor scattering them along the cement of the laundry room. Then he shuffles me out of the doorway enough to let it slam shut behind me.

  “Get up,” he orders making a chill break out all over me.

  “I’m Wrai—” His hand slaps hard across my face, making me dizzy.

  “You ain’t shit. That fucker ain’t laid no claim on you. You are only the help.” He lets the P pop on his lips as his body comes at mine, cadging me to the wall, much like he has done in the past. He runs his nose along my skin and gropes at my breasts that have come in over the years. Now that I’m older, I’m not lacking in the virtue department, or so he says. “So God damned sweet. Can’t believe he hasn’t fucked this pussy of yours yet,” he says dragging his hand along the juncture of my thighs. From somewhere deep down inside me I pluck out the lie.

  “He has!” I say in almost a shout as if the words will repel him. They do as I hoped and he backs away just enough for me to slide past him and out the door forgoing the spilled clothes still on the floor. I run as fast as I can back to the room and slam the door shut when I get inside, as if it will shield me from the world.

  Hours later I sneak back down to the room to find the clothes still on the floor and thankfully no Trenton in sight. I get the load in and wait for them to dry before heading back to the apartment to fold them and put them away before Steven gets back.

  I wake with a start when the front door to the apartment slams shut and heavy footsteps pound their way to the room he had made up for me shortly after I became his roommate. I jolt from the mattress ready to run if I need to when he comes bursting through the door. His breaths are coming fast and his face has a purple bruise growing along his jaw. I want so much to ask him what is wrong but he barks out the firm words, “Get on the bed!” Shaking, I do as he says not wanting to make him any angrier. So far, he has been almost absent to me. The only person I see is the tutor he insisted I have and Trenton whenever he catches me off guard. “Don’t move,” he growls, stalking his heavily booted feet in my direction with purpose. Its right before he reaches the mattress that he pauses. He brings his hands to the hem of his shirt and pulls it over his head tossing it to the floor. My body goes stock still at the action. It’s a declaration of why he is here. I’m frozen to the bed, my skin chilled underneath the silk nightdress I wear. Right now I’m wishing I would have dressed in layers when I went to bed. He looks down on me as if I’m already naked to his eyes, there is a hunger there that I have only seen in Trenton and it scares me.

  “What is going on?” I squeak out. My voice scratchy. “Please whatever it is, I’m sorry. Please,” I whimper. Seconds tick by then he is shaking his head silently telling me no apology is going to work before he descends on me. My thin body is trapped underneath his much bigger one. He covers me from head to toe, his knee pressing between my legs to pry them open. “Please.” I try to plead with him again but his hand goes to my mouth.

  “You told him I was fucking you. This is what you want, isn’t it?” he hisses, his hand still covering my mouth not letting me answer as his free hand drifts underneath the nightgown. “Just…be quiet.” There is a pain to his words as if what he is doing hurts him as much as it hurts me, but I don’t want to notice it. As much as I want him to be my friend, I know in these next few moments he will cease to ever be anything but my tormentor. There is quick movement after he releases my mouth and starts to unclasp his jeans and pull down his zipper. The next thing I feel is his fingers stroking along my sensitive parts making me feel things I never have felt before. “Relax,” he whispers into my ear, his face brushing along the shell as his finger presses into me. I let out a gasp and try to do as he says and relax, but it doesn’t work. I’m too on edge. What he is doing to me almost tickles but feels good at the same time. It isn’t long before the tickle becomes so intense that I feel like my body explodes all over the room and my head feels light. What was that? I don’t have time to process what just happened before his hand leaves me and something bigger starts to
press into me. This doesn’t tickle at all. In fact, I want to crawl away from him with each inch. Panic sets in and I start to wiggle away from him but his grip on my hips holds me tight until he surges forward and I see white. Pain rips through my body like someone has stabbed me and it doesn’t stop. It only intensifies as he pulls from me and pushes back in. I yell out for him to quit what he is doing but he doesn’t stop. He starts touching me in that spot he did before, trying to make the tickles come back. It isn’t long before they do but the explosion doesn’t happen this time because he starts grunting then finally stops and holds himself above me before collapsing. It’s only seconds until he rolls to the side, letting me regain my air once again, and he gets off the bed. Our eyes meet for a brief second then he mouths the words I’m sorry and turns to walk out the door. Leaving me a sticky mess on my bed wondering what just happened.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  When I pull away from her and stomp out of the room I don’t go back to my apartment for three days. In that time, I keep myself hidden in the basement. Down with the lost causes and hopelessness. The scum on the floor is where I fit in. A piece of shit who went and took something that wasn’t his to take. When I overheard Trenton boasting about fighting me for Lara I went all out and beat his ass hard. He only got one hit in before I crushed his trachea with my boot. Then Roman was informed.

  “Tell me why one of my men is being carted away in a body bag?” he yells at me in front of the rest of the men. They are all silent, waiting for me to answer.

  “He has been after what is mine,” I rumble from deep in my chest, getting a swift hit to my gut from Roman.

  “What is yours? You mean to tell me you killed him over pussy!” His voice raises to near screeching, getting in my face as spittle flies from his mouth. “So help me, boy, if you aren’t fucking that pussy I will drag her from your room and let them all have at her while you watch then I will take my gun and blow a hole in her fucking head!” The vein sticks out on his neck nearly bursting through his thin pale skin.

  “Sir,” is I all I get out before he punches me in the gut again.

  “Fuck her or she is gone,” he demands before leaving me and the men in the courtyard.

  I had been a wreck when I went to her room and took the only thing she had left in the world. She begged me to stop but I didn’t let myself hear a word of it. I was Sebastian all over again. A piece of shit taking something that didn’t belong to him. Innocence.

  So now as I lay here, the cold seeping into my back through the cement, I try and fit together a plan of some sort. I need this shit to stop. “Get your ass to the boss’s office. He needs a word.” Someone pounds on the door to the cell pulling me from my self-loathing. Reluctantly, I crawl to my knees and stand up to leave. The walk to Roman’s office seems long as each step I take drags along the concrete.

  “You wanted to see me, sir?” He stands from his chair as does one other man.

  “Esteban, where the hell have you been, boy?” Roman barks, trying to school back his anger.

  “The basement,” I tell him, uncaring what he might say about it. But he doesn’t comment, instead he starts talking.

  “Rodney here is here to acquire a list. You remember, that one I had you put together?” Roman’s brow raises waiting for my nod of confirmation, when he gets it he continues. “Good. Rodney is our middle man for this sale. Some uppity-up in Chicago they call The Dean wants to take over the business, and since I’m getting too old for this shit I have decided to retire,” he tells me, rubbing at his bulging belly as if that explains the whole reasoning behind him not wanting to sell women and children into sex slavery for a living anymore. Because getting old would constitute a person no longer being able to continue on in this business.

  “I will get it to him. Anything else?”

  “Yes. How was the girl?” The question fills my veins with molten lava. I breathe deep, but it takes an army of little over-worked angels on my shoulder to hold me back from plunging his golden letter-opener through his eye socket.

  “Good. Tightest pussy I have ever fucked,” I grit out, the words leaving a sour filth in my mouth.

  “Ha! Did I not tell you? This boy wouldn’t fuck the girl, kept putting it off. Now look at him! Good, boy,” Roman boasts to Rodney making me want to kill him, too, just for being there to witness the mentioning of her. I want the both of them dead and in that moment my plan starts to take root.

  “There is one thing,” Roman stops his belly laugh and regards me, “I seem to be out of prophylactics. I rather not have her knocked up. I require one of those pills for her, the ones we give the women.” His eyes narrow at me, as if trying to assess the truthfulness in my request until he nods.

  “Very well. Much rather deal with it now than when it becomes a problem,” he agrees, flicking his hand toward the door. “Get Rodney his list first, then be on your way.” I nod and head out the door satisfied with the outcome.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  He hasn’t been here since the night he stormed into my room. I still can’t wrap my head around what happened. It was almost like he was mad he had to do it but at the same time, he was gentle with me as if he cared whether or not it felt good. He didn’t care. If he cared he wouldn’t have done it. Pacing back and forth in my room in my pink nightgown, I try to ignore the grumbling in my stomach as it calls out for food. I haven’t wanted to eat today and that decision is now catching up to me. Like now when the pain cramps and crawls up my throat. When I think I’m about ready to collapse onto the hard floor the door opens, revealing Steven. He steps inside the room, closing the door behind him with his boot. “Here.” He thrusts out a glass of water along with his other hand that holds a small white pill. “Take it.” His demanding growl rolls through me and for some reason, I do as he says. I take the pill and wash it down with the water. Swallowing the rest before bringing my gaze back his way. His head is bowed down, eyes hooded but still regarding me as if he might start talking, but I know he won’t. Not unless it’s an instruction.

  “Lay down,” he orders, sending a shiver through me. I think twice about telling him no but I know it isn’t going to turn out good if I do, so I lay back on the bed, much how I did before. Flat on my back trembling, waiting for him to crawl on top of me. The thrill of him doing so presents itself but I quickly dash it away. I know I shouldn’t be enjoying what he does. Enjoying his eyes on me, but deep down in the darkest parts of me I know I do.

  He is quicker this time. Crawling over me and getting into position. Buy when his mouth goes to my ear his words catch me off guard, freezing me. “Fight me as hard as you can.” Time stops at that sentence. It’s as if I fly out of my own body and look down on myself. The girl barely seventeen, being towered over by a man twice her size as she lays there waiting for his assault on her body.

  It takes only seconds for me to start thrashing. Jolting upward, pushing and clawing with my hands. Punching kicking, just like he instructed, I fight him, but he doesn’t just take it, instead he defends himself, holding me down to the bed. Then when I bring my head up hard into his nose and hear a sickening crunch that makes me dizzy. I swear I see him flash a smile at me through bloodied teeth. It doesn’t last long because he brings up his hand and slices it across my face. The sting radiates through me, making my eyes swim from the contact. I manage to regain some control and bring my knee from his side and land it between his legs. I’m not sure if I connect but it stops his advance. Instead, he brings his hands around my neck and squeezes hard. My eyes fill with pressure and I feel as if my face is about to explode as I try in vain to get out of his hold. “Let go,” he whispers, barely loud enough for me to hear but I do. The edges of my vision start to blur until it goes completely black and he succeeds in killing me.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  The road is blurred in front of me. The double lines fading together into one as I drive down the highway to the one destination I didn’t want to make. I killed her.

 
She is fucking dead!

  No! She can’t be. The damn pill is just taking a while longer to wear off. The pill I had Doyle get for me, the one that was supposed to look as if it might be some form of birth control— if Roman questioned— but was actually a pill that would slow the heart rate enough to make a person think one was dead. And she fucking was. Choking her had been part of the plan, to make Roman think I had lost my temper with her, and he bought it. I knew he had to have cameras in my apartment, and was more than likely watching the whole thing. So I made it look real. Too fucking real. She was dead! Jesus, I killed her while trying to save her.

  Scrubbing at my jaw, I take the long dirt road that leads to the one place I picked out in case things went south, and they fucking had. Putting the truck in park, I pause behind the wheel wondering if I could have squeezed too much. I had to leave bruises but I didn’t think I did enough to block off oxygen for too long. Shit. I slam my hand down onto the wheel and shove myself from the truck, eager to get to the back. Maybe she woke up along the ride. My stomach sinks when I get there and find her still rolled in the tarp, unmoving. Not even a shadow breath. I fucking killed her.

  I shake it off. Taking the makeshift body bag from the truck bed I cradle her in my arms, close to my chest. I failed her. I tried to get her out of the pit of hell and only sent her to the underworld. At least she was no longer under Roman’s sick game, under the one I had to play with her on his behalf. Fuck. Placing her down onto the cold ground, I unwrap the tarp from around her face and feel under her nose. Nothing. No shallow breaths. No pulse. Not a fucking thing. She is dead.

  I sit there, kicking myself for being so stupid. What if Doyle had lied and this was all a set up. He promised to keep the request from Roman but could I really trust that? I didn’t even kill the man whom he thought I had. Neither one of us were true to our word. “I failed you, Lara. I’m so fucking sorry,” I tell her pale unmoving face. The tint of her lips slightly blue and skin now cold and clammy. I really fucking did kill her.