Fortunes Fool

by Gale, Eva; D'Arc, Bianca; Kent, Cassidy; March, Selah

  Donnatella inclined her head toward the barmaid. "Shannon, please summon Yugiya."

  Who the fuck was Yugiya? How many nutcases were in this joint, anyway?

  Shannon left the room for maybe thirty seconds. When she returned, she was accompanied by a short but well-muscled young woman with black hair and blacker eyes, dressed in the Hotel California employee uniform of a black Latex cat-suit. In her right hand she held...Christ, was that a katana? It had to be. The slender, curved blade was hard to mistake. The young woman struck a pose of subservience, holding the weapon before her as if presenting it for a blessing.

  The Madre, who'd been standing near the fireplace, smiled in her general direction. "Yugiya, so good of you to join us on your day off, cara."

  Yugiya nodded, lifted the katana over her head and spun in a graceful circle, cleaving the thick, stale air in an intricate set of movements. Obviously some sort of martial art. Marcus appreciated the competent wielding of nice weaponry. Under other circumstances he might've liked the beauty in it, but all he could see in his mind's eye was his own blood and Leah's dripping off the blade.

  Shannon asked, "Should I release him now, Madre?" and gestured in his direction. He stared at the blonde, not believing he'd heard her right. They were letting him go?

  " Sí, cara, you may free him," the Madre replied. Then she turned her attention to Marcus, facing him with dead eyes that seemed to see right through him all the same. "Do you observe Yugiya and her lethal friend, Detective?" she asked. "I would consider most carefully before making any foolish choices, if I were you. One wrong move and she'll take a limb, or perhaps some other part you may not care to live without."

  "You're going to kill me anyway." The first words he'd offered in many hours. His voice sounded disgustingly weak in his own ears. He watched Shannon remove a key from a chain around her neck and move toward him, hating himself for flinching as she bent over him and reached for his wrist.

  The Madre Donnatella shrugged, as if this were a foregone conclusion. "Then perhaps I'll choose to punish our little sparrow in your stead, sí? Yugiya could hack her to bits in the blink of an eye. I feel sure you wouldn't want that, honorable man that you are."

  Leah looked at him, just a quick flick of a glance, but he saw the warning in her eyes. Still, he couldn't quite manage to contain the single syllable that did a swan dive off his tongue... "Cunt." Shannon punched him hard in the gut. "We don't speak that way to the Madre," she said from between clenched jaws. As he struggled to suck in air, doubled over and grunting, she unlocked the second shackle. Then she grabbed him beneath his arms and hauled him to his feet. The bitch was strong. Even when he slumped against her, unable to support himself on his numb legs, she held him upright. And all the while, Leah remained kneeling at the Madre's feet, staring at the floor.

  Pins and needles began to crawl down his legs and his arms as the blood flow returned full force. Uncomfortable, but he was glad enough to have use of his limbs. "Can he perform, Shannon?" The Madre asked. The barmaid groped his dick, yanking on it with no finesse. "I think

  he needs more time, Madre." "Shall we inject him again, cara? That would be entertaining, no?" "It's not been twenty-four hours yet, Madre. Some of the drug may

  still be in his system. We could lose him." "That would be a shame. I believe we can use him further—perhaps two more days, if we are cautious, sí? He is so strong. So stubborn." Donnatella pressed a finger to her pointed chin, appearing to consider her options. "Tell me, Shannon, when Clarice approached him at the bar, how did she lure him? What did she promise him?" "She asked him if he was into bondage games and spanking." "And did the good Detective seem to respond to her suggestions?" Shannon gave him a shove. He stumbled against the wall, scraping

  his back. "He did, Madre." "Molto bene. I believe I know how we shall proceed," said the Madre, her face beaming, her blank eyes darting around the room. "Prepare the tall bench, Shannon, and then make our little sparrow ready for her test."

  Marcus watched as Shannon strode over to the corner and struggled to drag a large, obviously heavy piece of furniture to the center of the room. It appeared to be a tall, padded bench that looked like a pommel horse minus the handles. Leather restraints hung open at the bottom of each of its legs. He glanced at Leah, who never looked up from the floor. He could see the rising color in her face.

  Finally, the bench positioned to her liking, Shannon turned to Leah. "Strip. Now. But keep the shoes." There was a cruel twist to her smile when she glanced at Leah's pumps. "They amuse me."

  Leah nodded, set her bag on the floor near the pile of Marcus's clothing, and did as she was told. Marcus tried to watch without watching. Couldn't deny he wanted to see...but couldn't help feeling bad about it. Chivalry was not dead. Only beaten into submission.

  When she was naked, Shannon directed Leah to bend herself over the bench and prepare to be restrained. The barmaid closed the leather cuffs on Leah's wrists, From Marcus's vantage point, he could see how tightly she buckled them. Leah's fingers brushed the floor. Her light brown hair shook loose from its pins and fell in her face. Shannon left her legs free to angle down to the floor behind her, allowing her to rest her weight on her toes. The shiny black stilettos gleamed in the candlelight.

  He tried not to let his gaze travel higher, to where her smooth, white skin was pressed into the leather. Or to where it was exposed to the warm, damp air of the room. "She's ready, Madre." "Bene. Fetch a ball-gag from the cabinet. A large one, please." Leah made a sound, something like a stillborn whimper. Her eyes squeezed shut, and her lips moved in what Marcus assumed was a prayer. Why was she doing this? What could she possibly hope to gain by it? Now both of them were trapped, bound, and at the mercy of a sadistic, homicidal crazy person.

  He stuffed down a groan of frustration as he watched Shannon grab Leah by the hair and lift her head. "Open." Leah said, "Wait, please, what time is it?" "What difference does that make?" "Just...please. What time is it?" Shannon rolled her eyes and checked her watch. "Two-thirty. Now

  open the fuck up." Leah shut her eyes and parted her lips. Marcus watched as Shannon stuffed the black leather ball inside her mouth and buckled the leather strap behind her head. Then he closed his own eyes, unable to stand the sight of it. Of her. Of everything. "Is Detective Colton able to stand? Support his own weight?" "Yes, Madre." "Bene. Give him the special crop, please." Shannon crossed to the glass-fronted cabinet, opened it, and brought out the item the Madre had named. Then she brought it to him, holding it out in front of her as if it were some kind of ritualistic offering. Eighteen inches long and made of black leather with a chrome handle, it looked fairly harmless. But he knew nothing here was harmless. Its slender, flexible body was designed to leave marks. Cause pain. Pull muffled shrieks from its victims.

  Shannon thrust it at him. "Take it. Use it on her." She pointed at Leah.

  He knew he needed to be careful. Knew this could get very ugly real quick. That's what his brain was telling him when his mouth opened and "Fuck you" jumped out.

  This time, when Shannon moved to punch him, he dodged her. But he'd forgotten about Yugiya. The smaller woman had the blade of her katana pressed just under his jaw before he could step forward to take the barmaid down. Shannon's face was purple and twisted with rage. "Madre, he—" "Silence, Shannon." Donnatella's voice was icy as she spoke to her acolyte, but warmed and became almost cajoling when she directed it at him. "Detective Colton, you do not seem to understand. We will accomplish a great thing today. A marvelous thing. Our little sparrow has returned to us to do penance. You've been offered a great honor."

  He opened his mouth to speak, but Yugiya applied more pressure to the katana. He felt the skin break beneath the blade. Felt warm blood begin to seep down this throat. If she wanted, she could kill him with a twist of her wrist.

  The Madre continued speaking, her pale face creasing in a grin that chilled him straight through. "Such a great thing requires suffering. Down deep, where the soul abides, wai
ting to be set free. In the flesh, Detective. In the bone."

  Chapter Eight

  Marcus looked down into Yugiya's black gaze. Then he glanced at Shannon. The loathing in her face could've singed his eyebrows. "No," he said. "I won't do it. You can't make me."

  "You think not?" Donnatella's grin widened. "Let me tell you, Detective, that in my cabinet of treasures I have tourniquets. It would take but a moment for Leah to lose her right hand, sí? And to tie it off at the wrist so she does not die immediately. Such a horror that would be, no?"

  For the first time in many minutes, Leah made a sound—a muffled exclamation behind her gag.

  Fuck. They weren't getting out of this part of the program. He stared at Donnatella, trying to read her intent behind the opaque surface of her eyes. "Yugiya?" "Yes, Madre?" "Give Detective Colton a...how do you say it...demonstration of

  what you can do, cara." "Yes, Madre." Before Marcus could protest, the small woman ducked and whirled, bringing the blade around low, near his legs. But it was the leg of the table she took out, dividing it cleanly in two. The table toppled to the floor. The drawer opened, spilling its contents—all the syringes and small bottles of go-juice—onto the cement. Some of them shattered.

  Solid oak, that table-leg had been. He would have sworn to it. And not a fragile thing, but a good ten inches around. If the katana could do that— "Fetch a tourniquet, Shannon. A small one, I think—" "No!" He stepped forward, and Yugiya was there, her weapon level

  with his chest. "Don't. I'll...do it." "Sí, I thought you might reconsider." He closed his eyes, sucked in a deep breath and held it, forcing down the roar of hatred and rage that rolled and churned in his gut like an incoming tsunami. Then he opened his eyes, took the crop from Shannon and approached Leah, where she was stretched over the bench.

  "Have you ever done this before?" Shannon asked him, her voice low and amused. Bitch. He'd show her amused.

  He shook his head. She grabbed him by the elbow and dragged him to the side of the bench.

  "Stand here, you'll get more power behind your swing. Lift the crop up and back, and bring it down hard. Don't try to cheat. If you do—"

  "Yeah, I get it." He lifted his arm, and held it at the peak of the swing. Just as he was about to deliver the first blow, Shannon grabbed his other elbow again. "Wait." She looked at Donnatella. "Madre, we forgot the mirror." "Of course, cara. Uncover it so that Leah might observe her

  punishment." Shannon crossed the room, passing Donnatella and moving toward a long, black curtain next to the fireplace. She reached behind the curtain and pulled a cord, and the black fabric parted, revealing a wide, fulllength mirror. When Marcus looked into it, he saw his and Leah's reflections clearly. Leah only had to turn her head to see herself.

  "Look, sweet sparrow," the Madre said, her voice almost a croon. "Look and see yourself. How helpless you are. Your suffering will be a thing of beauty."

  Leah turned her head and looked. Marcus watched her face in the mirror. Saw her eyes widen and then blink, rapidly. He watched as the muscles in her shoulders tightened. The ripple moved up her back, over her ass and down her legs. She was preparing herself.

  When he looked again at her face, she met his eyes in the glass. She nodded, once, short and quick. Giving permission. Permission to beat her? With a fucking crop, like a piece of livestock?

  No, he couldn't do this. This wasn't happening, this was not who he was, God damn it—

  She made a sound, low and urgent. He met her eyes again. She nodded once more, frowning and clenching her jaws on the black rubber ball-gag. She looked...determined. Demanding, almost.

  All right then. Maybe she knew something he didn't. He sure as hell hoped so.

  He returned her nod. Then he bent and made a show of flicking away a piece of broken glass from the floor near his foot. Before he stood, he brushed his hand against her leg and murmured, "I'll make this as easy as I can."

  Then he straightened, swung the crop high and brought it down. The first blow fell in the space where the pale columns of her thighs bloomed softer and became the rising curve of her ass. She jerked hard against the restraints. He watched with fascination as the white stripe he left turned red and raised up into a welt.

  "Again." Shannon said. "Give her forty. And make them good, or so help me—"

  He turned and looked at the barmaid, and whatever she saw in his face in that moment shut her mouth.

  He went to work, lifting the crop in an arc and bringing it down. He counted in his head, and tried to concentrate on the numbers. And on placing the blows in different spots, so that he'd avoid breaking the skin. He wasn't entirely successful, but he did his best.

  By the time he counted fifteen, he'd fallen into a grim rhythm, the sound of the crop striking Leah's flesh a counterpoint to her stifled cries. Somewhere around number twenty-five, he noticed how she flexed her hips, rocking her ass up into each blow. Now the sounds she made were more like moans. Longer in duration. Higher-pitched, with a rising and falling lilt.

  He looked into the mirror and caught sight of her face. Her eyes were half-closed, and the flutter of her lashes against her pink cheek struck him as obscene somehow. Then she opened her eyes, and he couldn't mistake her expression. Even as he glanced away and tried to deny what he saw, he remembered her whisper in his ear, telling him to surrender. The wet burn of her mouth on him. No mercy for his strung out and screaming nerve endings. Relentless. His cock remembered, too. He let the fortieth blow fall in exactly the same spot as the first and watched as blood beaded in the welt. Tossed the crop away and stood there, panting. Sweating. Half-hard and disgusted with himself for it. "He's finished, Madre," Shannon said. "He did a satisfactory job." "Bravo, Detective." Donnatella moved a step nearer, stretching her hand out before her. The look on her face was almost one of...enchantment. Marcus tried not to stare, for fear he'd begin to heave the water Shannon had forced on him. "Feel her, Detective. Sí, push your fingers into her and see if she's ready for the next part of her penance."

  "What the—? No!" He backed away, trying to avoid glancing at the juncture of Leah's red and swollen thighs. Failing. Funny how it was hard to miss the tell-tale rosy blush and glisten of moisture once you were looking for it, wasn't it? Damn. So twisted. All of them.

  Including him, apparently. His cock agreed, but didn't shrink away from the knowledge that he was one sick fuck.

  Shannon grabbed his wrist. He fought her—of course he did. But there came Yugiya, prodding his back with the very tip of the katana, forcing him forward. Still, he struggled. "He's resisting, Madre." "Perhaps the good Detective doesn't like women? Such a pity." He snickered. He couldn't help it. Her ploy was too damn cute. "That game won't work, Donnatella. I'm pretty secure in my heterosexuality."

  Shannon and Yugiya gasped, hissing like leaky air-valves. Maybe because he'd laughed at their Madre, or maybe because he'd called her by name. Either way, the pair froze where they stood and stared at Donnatella as if waiting for her cue to butcher him on the spot.

  But the Madre only inclined her head in his general direction, as if conceding his point. "Bene, Marcus. We are to use given names now, sí? Bene, molto bene." She steepled her hands before her and smiled at him, sweet as rat poison in a sugar bowl. "Perhaps you would prefer that Shannon have the honor of first penetration? We have some lovely toys in the cabinet..."

  Shannon made a predatory sound in his ear, something like the grunt of a wild boar. "The studded one, Madre. Let me use the big studded one, please?"

  He saw Leah's body stiffen, the backs of her calves bunching as if in protest. Her whole body must've been sore, stretched over that thing for so long, with all the blood running to her head...and now she had to fear that cunt, Shannon, raping her with some random torture device? "No. I'll do it." Shannon grunted again, in obvious disappointment. "Is he prepared, cara? Can he perform?" There was a note of anticipation in Donnatella's tone that might've turned his stomach if he let it.

  "He was, Madre
, but he's faded a bit." Shannon made a grab for his dick. He dodged her, earning a poke in the ass from Yugiya's katana. Amazing how he kept forgetting she was there, what with the fact that she was the probably the one who would slice open his throat before the sun went down. He bared his teeth at Shannon. "Just...give me a second, okay?" "Whatever you say, Detective." Before he died? He was going to rip Shannon's head off and shove it up her ass. That was the promise he made to himself as he approached Leah once more. Just as he was about to speak to Leah—to say something reassuring and tell her it was going to be okay—Donnatella piped up again.

  "You should know, Marcus, that our little sparrow always had a special dislike of being penetrated while she was bound. Sí, I believe it makes her feel too vulnerable." The Madre seemed to roll that word over her tongue just to enjoy its flavor. "Before she left us so suddenly, we were planning to break her of this silly fear. Is that not true, Leah?"

  "She can't speak, Madre," Shannon reminded her. "But I can see her face in the mirror, and it's very red."

  Donnatella's grin was blissful. " Bellissimo. Proceed, Marcus. Take our little sparrow, and teach her that she cannot dismiss us from her life as if we are nothing."

  He swallowed, trying to dislodge the dry lump that had formed in his throat. This was wrong. It was a violation. Rape, even. Not even Leah's eyes on him in the mirror—not even the nod of her head that gave him permission to go ahead and fuck her—could change that. But he had to do it. No choice, yet again. He could feel the katana's kiss, just over his left kidney as Yugiya urged him forward. And now Shannon had produced a knife from somewhere, as well. There were stains on the blade. Clarice's blood, probably, though it didn't really matter. What mattered most, right at this second, was getting his cock hard enough to push inside of Leah before Donnatella lost her patience and gave the barmaid permission to haul out the studded dildos.