by Nikki Landis
He’s not here.
My lover is a man I don’t know.
Tick.
The same man who tested me only days ago with the deranged doctor.
The one who claims my will and forces my submission.
Viktor.
Tick.
The deep guttural sound of his voice echoes.
“Harleigh, I love your taste Puddin’.”
Fuck!
Tick.
My body betrays me and I shudder, waves of bliss overriding my senses. I arch against him, my hips lifting on their own volition.
“Say my name.”
Tick.
I want to fight his command. I can’t.
“Viktor,” I moan breathily and he smiles sardonically.
He’s in control and pleased. The satisfaction in the dark, deep, unnatural green of his eyes unnerves me.
Tick . . .
“You’re mine. My property. The sooner you accept it the better.”
I want to scream he’s wrong but somewhere inside I know it’s true.
The ticking fades away with the intensity of my orgasm but he remains in front of me, staring into my eyes, a look of devastating fascination that borders on frightening presiding over his handsome face as he leans in and hovers close to my mouth.
“Next time I want more.”
There’s a large bulge in the front of his pants. He’s aroused but in perfect control.
A master in his element.
One hand cups my mound in a possessive gesture. The other slides up my torso, brushes across the peak of one breast, and rises slowly higher.
He’s sick, sadistic, a freak that’s ruthless and dangerous. A darkness hovers around him, oppressive as the one by the pool that day I was first attacked but attached to this aura is a shitload of bold and raw, explosive power. I’m drawn to him, unable to tear away from his gaze as he leans in and presses a sensual kiss against my lips. I’m suddenly caught unaware as his hand begins to squeeze my throat.
“Don’t forget Puddin’, I have all the control.”
His kiss this time is hard, bruising, and dominant as he crushes my lips with his own. His grip slackens as I kiss him back, my tongue twisting with his, thrusting back eagerly. I should be alarmed as he presses me back against the pillows, one hand fisting my hair, but I’m not.
He’s like a drug . . . and I’m becoming addicted.
“You’ll always be mine,” he whispers before I feel the sudden cold embrace my skin.
I’m left to shiver in the absence of his warmth. I don’t like it. The temptation to draw him close is undeniable.
The empty part of me is attracted to the lost part of him.
I nearly beg for his return.
For longer than seems necessary he pauses by the door, gripping the wooden frame until his knuckles turn white. “I’ve waited a long time Harleigh.”
I’m not sure why he tells me this unless it’s more manipulation meant to engage my feelings and emotions, draw upon my sympathy, and close in for the kill when I’m unaware. That’s the most likely scenario but there’s just a little too much sincerity in his striking eyes and dominant kisses. Both of us are caught in a deadly game.
The question is – am I the cat or the mouse?
In the back of my mind is the thought that he’s conditioning me. He’s controlling my body and mind, manipulating my thoughts, feelings, and desires until I’m molded into his creation. Fear snakes under my skin and across my limbs as I realize I’m falling under his dark spell. I’m being trained to respond whether I want to or not. It’s all a part of the illusion, the ruination of my mind and destruction of my will. He wants to break me . . . in so many ways.
I don’t trust him. I can’t. That much is clear.
Yet I can’t deny the dark shadows that hover close like ebony wings are pulling me in.
The fucked up part is that I know . . . but I want him anyway.
Chapter 17
“My father has developed a unique but effective way of conditioning the responses of his patients. A way to ensure they embrace those hidden gems inside themselves and activate the specific genes that lay dormant.”
I’m dazed as I listen to Viktor ramble. Only minutes ago I awakened to find my lower half clothed but the straightjacket still clasped tightly around me. He’s been speaking but I don’t quite grasp all of the words.
“I have a gift for you Harleigh.” He moves for the first time and leans down, reaching for the straps on the straightjacket. “I don’t expect you to understand the danger we’re all in. Nothing is as it seems.”
I wince as he pulls the straightjacket off and begins to rub feeling back into my arms, from elbow to fingertips. The massage is surprising but not unpleasant so I let him continue until I feel the strength return to my jelly filled limbs. As soon as I’m able I lunge forward and he’s thrown backward on the mattress as I straddle his hips. He’s quick. Both my wrists are clasped in his strong grip. We struggle for a minute as I realize he’s toying with me, again.
I’m flipped onto my back so fast all I can do is blink.
“As much as I enjoy having you beneath me, there’s no time for it now.” He jumps up and pulls me with him, leading me to the doorway before he spins and places one of those scorching dominant kisses on my lips. “Give him a show Harleigh. It’s the only way you’ll be released.” He whispers that last part in my ear and then says louder, “enjoy your gift Puddin’.”
My gaze focuses on the ceiling and I notice the new security cameras anchored to the corners. I’m being observed. Of course, I know I have been all along but now it feels creepier than before. I don’t have time to dwell on it because my door opens and a savage, dirty looking man is shoved inside. The door is shut and the lock clicks confirming the show is about to start.
He’s not a big man. An average build and shoulder length greasy hair, dull blue eyes, and a scar on his right cheek, these are his best attributes. When his eyes meet mine, I know why he’s here and exactly what Viktor meant. Mutual recognition is reflected in each other’s eyes.
He’s my mugger. The one who nearly violated me.
My body freezes for just a moment and then relax. He can’t hurt me here. In fact, he’s at my mercy now. If the Blackstone’s want to give me a gift. So be it.
I’ll enjoy every moment.
There’s no way I’m passing up the opportunity to inflict torture. I simply can’t resist.
This is probably more conditioning, a deliberate attempt to force me into another life or death situation. I’m being forced to confront my triggers since the moment I arrive here and primed, used, and sharpened like a single serrated blade. I’m a weapon. A loose cannon, ready to explode.
Exhaling slowly I crouch, facing him as I smile, all the wicked ways I want to destroy him burning in my eyes as I feel the red haze of anger build underneath my skin. All of the trauma of that night surfaces at the same moment I hear my theme music begin to start. I’m transported back to that night, the dark alley where he shoved and attacked me after a late yoga class.
That old familiar feeling of weakness and inadequacy launches through my bloodstream. The fear returns, so real and frightening that I clench my hands into fists. My ears ring. My vision is dotted with flashes of light and dark spots. I break out into a sweat. Reliving this moment is usually a disaster as I freak out and succumb to a panic attack.
Not this time.
Right now, at this moment, I’m no longer the scared victim. The knowledge that I have all the power makes me edgy but in a good way. I flash back to that moment when the knife is at my throat, when the metallic scent of my blood fills the air, and I scream for help.
A cruel and triumphant grin surfaces as I open my arms wide, taunting. “Care to try again?”
The music grows louder in my head as I snap forward and collide with the mugger who once stole so much of me, who took my self-confidence and peace, my sense of safety and security. He’ll pay for that.
/>
The man before me doesn’t resemble the one I remember. As I attack, kicking and punching, I feel the music retreat to a low consistent volume. The black ski mask of the attacker who squeezes my breast and promises me a good time, the scent of cheap cologne and stale cigarettes, the stale odor of sweat and dirt, they all disappear. The grimy hands pull away from the waist band of my yoga pants.
I’m still screaming, but it’s only in my head now, locked in my past.
My elbow connects with his nose as he fights back and stumbles, his hands rising instinctively. While he’s distracted I punch him in the groin and he drops to his knees, shouting curses at me. Humored by his pain I laugh and look around the room. The only weapon in the vicinity is a thin coiled piece of wire and a pair of toenail clippers. I didn’t notice them before but it’s hardly important.
Grinning like a freak I grab the items, uncoiling the wire as I stalk forward, slowly, swinging my hips seductively. It’s really sick how much I enjoy the thought of inflicting pain. The mugger’s eyes are watching me as he cradles his nose and balls. I don’t give this asshole time to guess my next move.
My body barrels into him fast, laughing as I shove him back, his head smacking into the wall. I wrap the wire around his neck as he claws at my wrists, not stopping as I continue to wrap it around as many times as I can until his faces appears purple. He’s digging at the wire but I have a tight hold on it as I twist. His eyes widen as he gasps. I’m called every bad name you can think of but I laugh gleefully.
He’s kicking out, his movements frantic and erratic. The muscles in his arms and legs twitch. He’s losing control over his body, his oxygen deprived brain in survival mode. I know he’s going to die much faster than I want but I’m left with little choice. Deciding to enjoy the moment while it lasts I smile and sway to the music playing in my head, resisting the urge to jump and skip about the room.
The lights in the overhead flicker sporadically, flashing in pretty patterns of pink, purple, and red. I wait until the mugger stops moving, all of his twitches gone. When I drop the wire and jump up, laughing as I spin around in circles, I’m mesmerized by the pretty colors as they blur.
The toenail clippers catch my eye as they gleam in the light and I drop to the dead man who can no longer hurt me. I lift his shirt as I hear low laughter over the intercom above, knowing I’ll finish the most spectacular show of my life. Digging into the warm flesh, I carve a single solitary sentence into his chest, and revel in the warmth that trickles over my fingers.
Crazy is as crazy does.
With a giggle I wipe my hands on his clothes and turn toward the door as the sound of applause fills my ears. There’s more laughter over the speaker system but I ignore the sound and bolt for the open doorway. The familiar darkness starts to creep into my consciousness but this time I’m unaffected by the shadows that seek to snuff my coherency and rob my conscious thought.
Viktor awaits me as I see his handsome face twisted in a combination of awe and regret. He reaches for me, one hand outstretched but my freedom is too close to risk running to him. I lift my hand in response, tilting my head to the side as I wink. He grins and ticks his head toward the door as I hear another voice, louder and deeper, more menacing, yelling his name in fury.
There’s someone else here but I don’t care.
“Run Puddin’,” Viktor advises as he turns toward the stairs, his shoulders squared back with determination as his aura leaks a combination of raw anger and visceral pain. He’s hurting . . . and it has nothing to do with me. I know he wants me to stay but he’s letting me leave.
With surprise I realize that this ability I have to sense feelings, thoughts, and the auras of others is one of my unique abilities, just like Chaos said they would emerge.
“Viktor,” I whisper. A quick flash of longing nearly convinces me to follow him.
But I can’t. I won’t be used again.
ESCAPE IS MY ONLY THOUGHT. I don’t pause or second guess my direction, I simply run.
It’s not long before I’m enveloped in the darkness, surrounded by foreign trees and empty houses, a subdivision that’s in the middle of construction but not yet finished or occupied. Large pieces of machinery like Bobcats gather in the dark night, hulking in silence. Scattered dumpsters hold industrial debris while scaffolding is stacked to the side. The coarse ground beneath my feet is full of rocks and wooden splinters and I hope I don’t puncture the skin with any rusted metal or nails.
Time passes slowly as I begin to falter. My body is week. I’m dehydrated, hungry, and tired. The drugs in my bloodstream distort reality. I’m not sure any of what I see or hear is real.
“Harleigh!”
Derek’s familiar voice sounds like a dream – a wonderful, warm, deceptive twist of reality. I don’t know what to think as I stumble through the dark night, shivering, clad in the ugly green hospital scrubs that have become my only wardrobe. My bare feet are scratched and bleeding, small rocks and debris piercing the sensitive skin as I walk, the pads of my feet aching with every step, unaware of the trail I leave behind for anyone to follow. Stumbling, my arms wrapped around my middle, I try to keep the world on its proper axis – sky upward and ground below.
It’s no easy task.
My vision blurs and clears constantly, my senses both hyper aware and dulled by the constant influx of mind altering and hallucination inducing drugs that have pumped through my blood stream without stopping for days, maybe weeks, on end. I shake my head to clear the cobwebs but only succeed in becoming dizzy.
“Harleigh!”
This time Derek’s voice is closer. Through the hazy fog of the dense cloudy night I think I see him running in my direction but I can’t be sure. Maybe I’m hallucinating. I’ve been seeing people that aren’t there, engaged in conversations with no one present. More than once I found myself whispering to ghosts in that padded room. Maybe I’ve finally cracked.
Like a nut. A loon . . . like both Harley and the Joker.
Perhaps the doctors were right. They said I was unstable after the mugging.
Maybe I need to be locked up tight. Maybe they should throw away the key.
“Baby? Can you hear me?”
Derek. At least I think its Derek. I smile lazily, tilting my head to the side as I contemplate how to answer. I’m most likely still in my padded room, the straightjacket clasped tight as my arms slowly become so numb I stop feeling the stinging pain of needles dancing across my skin.
It’s possible.
I decide to answer. If I’m still in the room there’s no harm in responding. “Derek?” The name sounds as if I’m choking as it tumbles from my dry, cracked lips.
“Leigh?”
Warm calloused hands press against my cheeks as concerned amber eyes search the depths of my soul. His lips move but I can’t understand his words. My vision narrows. Spots dance in my peripheral, black round orbs haunt the edges and then bright, white flashing lights flicker sporadically. They disorient me as I fight the urge to close my eyes and never open them again.
Ever.
I frown, open my mouth to speak but I can’t. My throat is tight and constricted as a painful burn rises up my esophagus. Falling to my knees as my chest heaves I vomit loudly all over the rock strewn ground below. Cold sweat clings to every surface of my body. I’m certain something is wrong. My palms slam to the ground as I drop. I’m vaguely aware that I tip over to my side, only a foot away from the rotten stench of stomach acid and bile.
“I’ve got you Leigh.”
Strong arms pick me up. For a split second I wonder if I should try to run. What if this is a trap?
“It’s alright my Leigh. Trust me.”
My only thought is to snuggle into his embrace and tuck my head into Derek’s neck.
It might not be Derek. It could be Dev. Might as well be the Easter Rabbit.
Laughter bubbles up and out of my throat, raw and aching from moments ago when I hurled everything in my stomach from the last eight hours.
Wasn’t much. Bread, water, medication. Maybe a piece of fruit?
I think of the Easter Bunny again and I can’t stop laughing.
Pastel colors swirl in front of my vision and brightly colored eggs dance and bounce on the colored streams. Raising a finger I touch the eggs, flicking them away and laughing as they pop off like fireworks on the fourth of July. It’s sort of magical but really fucking weird at the same time.
I think I’m high. Like bad trip and I hope I don’t die – paranoid high.
Shit.
I must be hallucinating.
Someone who smells musky, clean, and a little like cinnamon candies leans forward and wraps their arms around me. I’m in the bed of a truck. Devon has a truck.
There’s movement. The truck lurches forward as the grip around my body tightens.
“I’m sorry Leigh. I’m so sorry baby.”
I hear the words but I can’t comprehend why he’s sorry.
“I should have found you sooner. I’m so sorry.”
Warm fingers caress the side of my face but I can’t see his eyes. I like to see a guy’s eyes. They’re the mirror to the soul. I’ve been told that lots. Mom always says that.
Where’s my parents?
Where am I? I’m so confused.
“Shhh Leigh, I’ve got you baby and I won’t let go. I promise.”
It’s that precise moment when I start to tremble, small tremors that increase until I’m shivering uncontrollably. My skin is cold and I feel the wind whipping in the air around us, pulling at my meager thin clothing. It’s so dark. I can’t see anything and it makes me feel panicky, like I’m still locked in my padded room without oxygen, suffocating.
I’m whimpering as the arms surrounding me pull me close to a hard masculine chest. I feel a jacket surround me as I’m tucked into the warmth, my cheek pressed tight against bare skin, resting over a racing heartbeat. Someone is anxious.
Maybe it’s me. My own heart is jackhammering in my chest.
I close my eyes as the chill begins to evaporate. I’m so tired . . .
