Systematic Siege #4 (Siege Serial)

by N. Isabelle Blanco

  Mr. Drevlow and his heir caught on video fighting.

  Jesus. Seriously?

  Wait a second . . . I click open the link to the YouTube page for that video.

  “Oh. My. Fucking. God.” I struggle to breath as I take in where this fight took place.

  The yard of my old home.

  Shaking, I click play.

  Whoever took the video must have missed the beginning of the fight. Andrew is on top of his father, landing punch after punch. Suddenly, he roars in a demon’s voice, “TELL ME WHERE SHE IS!”

  I choke on a sob.

  One of the bodyguards comes up to the person recording and demands they stop, but not before I hear, “You. Will. Find. Her. You’re going to put every single asset you command to use to locate her and you’re going to do it RIGHT THE FUCK NOW!”

  The video ends, no doubt because the person recording was forced to shut it off.

  Shaking, freezing deep in my soul, I return to Google to continue my search.

  I know who Andrew is talking about. I know that he was demanding his father find me.

  Insane. Mad with loss.

  I barely saw his eyes on that video but there was no denying it.

  He’d been shattered by my disappearance.

  My shaking fingers are clumsy as I pull up headline after headline. Article after article. The accident in 2011 was national news. I remember where I was that year. It was the first year that I started working for Stephen and his now-deceased father.

  Willingly.

  He hadn’t raped me yet. Hadn’t infected my mother. Hadn’t forced me to go into a binding contract to try and keep me under his thumb.

  2011, as I was finishing my first year at college, Stephen convinced me he was innocent in the whole thing.

  That Kaylee and Andrew planned it all along.

  Barnard backed up his story.

  And I, stupid, lonely, naive bitch that I was, allowed Stephen to convince me that working for his father’s company would keep me safe.

  Would keep me hidden.

  Only one of those two promises turned out to be true.

  That same year, Andrew Drevlow nearly died.

  By the time I drag myself to bed, the room spinning, it’s 12:22am. As I collapse onto my bed, still clothed, face drenched by my tears I’ve finally admitted to myself the truth.

  Six years ago, Andrew Drevlow slammed his Porsche into a concrete divider at one-hundred-and-ninety-seven miles per hour.

  And I think it was because of me.

  61

  1 hour after Barnard Wellington’s death. . .

  A pinprick on my thigh. Cold liquid beneath my skin.

  Swallowing, I try to open my eyes. My lids are heavy. So heavy. I focus on my window, the one facing the fire escape. On the moonlight pouring in.

  It’s . . . it’s open?

  Another prick in my arm.

  Whimpering, I roll over.

  “I’m so sorry baby. I have no choice.”

  I squint at the large figure sitting next to me on my bed. “A-Andrew?” Why can’t I focus? Why is everything so blurry?

  “Shhhh.” He leans over me, caressing my cheek. “It’s over,” he mumbles, talking more to himself than to me. “Had to. Have to make sure he can’t take you now that I’ve hurt him.”

  What?

  Andrew begins easing away.

  “No!” My voice comes out slurred. I try sitting up but everything is too heavy. I’m too weak. Frantic to keep him with me, I grab his wrist. “Was d-dreaming about . . . you.”

  Andrew exhales and returns to me, the light from the moon illuminating his face.

  His . . . his eyes. They’re even darker than before, despite the fact that they’re glowing almost gold in the moonlight. Something’s off in his stare. Crazier. “What were you dreaming about, baby?”

  My breath hisses and my back arches. I’m so tired. So sleepy. Yet I can’t fight this hunger. “You were taking . . . me. Showing me pleasure again.”

  A choked groan echoes in my room. “Fuck Lexi. You’re out of it. Can’t—”

  I fist the sleeve of his white button down. Is . . . is that dirt on his sleeve? Can’t tell. Pulling on his shirt, I rub my thighs together, trying to ease the ache. “Only you.”

  Shuddering, he leans closer, his eyes screaming that he loves me. That he needs me. That he can’t live without me anymore than I can live without him. “Only me what, baby?”

  Fighting for strength, I raise my hand, my arm feeling like it weighs a hundred pounds. It’s always so hard moving in my dreams. I’m always too weak. Defenseless.

  My heart breaks with that realization.

  I must be still dreaming. He isn’t really here.

  Doesn’t matter. I need to touch him.

  When my hand makes contact with his face, we both exhale with relief. “No one’s ever felt good. Only you.”

  Andrew tenses. “Because it’s only been me and Stephen, and that bastard abused you.”

  I pull on his shirt again, whimpering pathetically when he refuses to come closer. Shaking my head, I slip one hand down, out of control, needing to touch my pussy.

  Andrew’s eyes land on where my hand is slipping under my skirt, that madness in his stare spreading.

  “I-I tried.” Moaning, I play with my clit over my panties.

  “What the fuck do you mean you tried?”

  The anger in his tone makes me hornier. More desperate. “Tried to feel with someone else, but felt nothing. It’s you, Drew. It’s only ever been you.”

  A constant, almost-purring sound reaches my ears as he finally, finally, leans down. He cups my neck gently, so gentle, but the way he’s holding me still frightens me.

  Still groaning, he kisses my lips, and my fear disappears instantly. “Who?” He growls, rubbing our lips together. Is that cigarette smoke I taste on his breath? “Who did you try with?”

  It’s just a dream, but somehow I know I can’t answer that. My instinct tells me I’ll be putting Paul’s life in danger if I do. “Please. Please. Make me come again, Drew. I need it.”

  He shakes his head, hand tightening around my neck. “You can’t do this, Andrew. She’s out of it from the shot. Don’t take advantage.”

  His words are low, mumbled. Confusing.

  I don’t care. Growling, I force his hand between my legs.

  A broken moan escapes him.

  I cry out, coming instantly.

  “Fucccck, Lexi. Fuck!” He flies away from me, leaving me frantically undulating on the bed.

  Yanking my thighs apart, he falls between them. My thong is tugged to the side.

  And then it’s his tongue on me again, piercing me with unbelievable pleasure. My hands fall to cup the back of his head, holding him against me. “Drew. Drew. Drew.” I thrust my hips against his face, rubbing all over his tongue. “Eat it, baby. Eat my pussy, Drew.”

  He growls out against me, making out out with my cunt, his moans just as out of control as my own.

  “Oh God. Oh God. Drew. Coming again!”

  An animal’s snarl vibrates along my pulsating cunt.

  I cry his name one more time, my heart stuttering in my chest . . .

  It all recedes just as quick as it hits, leaving me boneless. Weak. Heaviness presses in on all sides.

  Drew moves away and the sudden cold I feel at his absence makes me want to cry.

  So long without you . . . Can’t take it anymore . . .

  The last thing I remember is the sound of my voice, begging him to please stay.

  62

  I stare at the girl in the bathroom mirror and cringe.

  No bones about it. I look like utter shit.

  But that’s what a night of back-to-back wet dreams does to a girl.

  “Stupid, Lexi. So stupid.” I practically drag myself out of the bathroom. Like a mindless zombie, I head toward my kitchen, mind fixated on coffee.

  And those two dreams from last night.

  Fuck. The second o
ne felt so real.

  No surprise, I woke up with a soaked pussy. I think I actually came in my sleep.

  From a creepy, twisted wet dream featuring Andrew Drevlow injecting me with something before eating my pussy out until I saw stars.

  That’s it. Introspection is bad. I pause by the living room and turn on the TV, leaving it on the news. Need something to drown out the thoughts and distract me.

  Popping the little K-Cup into the machine, I choose the ten ounce option and fire the machine up.

  The heavenly smell almost cheers me up.

  Almost.

  Usually, just the smell of coffee is enough to set my world to rights. For a little while, at least.

  Regardless of the fact that I took a cold shower, my body still aches. My pussy is tender, almost as if it had been kissed and sucked last night.

  Or it could just be years of neglect. I never gave myself willingly to Stephen. Never. Even after he broke me, all he ever had was the dead sex doll he loved to fuck. The one that stared at him blankly and gave no reaction except for when he turned brutal.

  Eventually, he accepted it. Hated me for it, made it very clear, but he took the little I had to give.

  It was never about my pleasure with him. Could never be. And not just because he forced himself on me, abused me.

  He just wasn’t capable of making me feel anything good, and he hated both me and Andrew more because of that.

  Scowling at the reminder of how little pleasure I’ve had in my life, I pull my mug out of the machine.

  “Yes. And this just coming in. New Jersey’s own Barnard Wellington, CFO of Menahan Industries, has been reported missing.”

  I gasp sharply, fingers going numb.

  The mug slips out of my hand. Almost in slow motion, I watch it fly toward the ground, coffee arching out of it.

  The glass shatters on impact.

  The hot liquid drenches my foot; scalding me, I’m sure. But I don’t feel anything other than that cold shock.

  “Reports claim that the elusive CFO of Menahan Industries had been in hiding for months now.”

  Because he refused to pay an old debt. ‘Till this day, I haven’t been able to find out who he owes money to. All I know is that about six months ago, Barnard stopped coming into work entirely. We were all told he’d be working remotely from home.

  Then, two days later, I overheard Stephen arguing on the phone with Barnard about his debt.

  “Sources also claim that Mr. Wellington has only been missing for about five hours. At this time, there are no leads or suspects. Authorities request that anyone with information please contact—”

  I stop paying attention. Ignoring my red, wet foot and the mess on my floor, I run back to my room to find my phone. It’s still on the charger. Ripping it off the nightstand, I find three texts from Paul.

  Paul: Have you seen the news?

  Paul: Apparently Stephen is pushing authorities to treat this as a missing person’s case although it’s only been a few hours.

  There goes that sentence again. A few hours. My eyes take in the time—7:26am. A few hours ago, I think I was deep in that second dream . . . What if it wasn’t a dream?

  Don’t be stupid, Lexi, I tell myself. There were no signs of someone being here when I awoke. Nothing but a phantom pain on the inside of my arm where that needle pricked me in my dream.

  I already checked three times; there’s no marks on the inside of my arm. Needles always leave marks. Don’t they? Heart pounding, I read Paul’s third text.

  Paul: Lexi did you by any chance tell our new boss about what Menahan did to you?

  No, I didn’t, but he guessed it all on his own.

  Oh my God. Does Andrew have something to do with this? I think back on the video, how he fought his own father for me . . and my gut shouts out, Of course he has something to do with it!

  I’m not due into work until 8:30am.

  Fuck it.

  Rushing into my closet, I throw on the first thing I can find and run into the bathroom to fix my hair.

  63

  I watch the news on one of my many monitors as New Jersey society implodes into chaos, and I can’t help the smirk that tugs on my lips.

  That fucking asshole honestly thinks he can flush me out by making this a public scandal. What he doesn’t realize is that I already knew he would do this. Expected and planned for it.

  The body hasn’t been found. I don’t know if it ever will be. Suppose it’s up to the mafia and how much of an example they want to make out of him.

  But I know Stephen is aware of his death. Considering he now also knows I found out what he did to my Lexi, I’m sure he put two-and-two together and came up with the right answer: Andrew Drevlow killed your best friend, asshole.

  One of many. Not only do I plan to kill everyone that hurt Lexi—I plan to take down anyone that even thinks of getting in the way of that.

  My plan puts Lexi in danger. Stephen is going to want her back twice as bad now. That’s why I had no choice.

  I shift in my seat and rub my head, trying to ignore the taste of delicious pussy still lingering in my mouth.

  Fuck, man. It’s bad enough that I snuck in there five hours ago and drugged her with the same shit my father once used on me the day we fought . . . But did I have to practically molest her while at it?

  Shit, but she went wild at my presence. I’d just injected the nano-tracker into her arm when those big-grays shot open and stared at me like I’m her everything.

  Then she started begging.

  Confessing.

  My jaw clenches as I remember everything she said. Who was the other asshole she tried to be with? God help me, was it more than one man?

  How many soon-to-be-dead guinea pigs did she experiment with before she realized none of them could ever work out for her? Because none of them were me.

  That new, demented, blood-thirsty voice echoes in my head. Kill them. All of them. Fucking hypocritical since only God knows how many women I fucked in her absence, trying to just deal with the catastrophic hole she left in my heart and brain.

  But . . . “Fuck!” I need a goddamn cigarette. Face burning with rage, I send my mug flying into the wall. My broken mind spins on its axles.

  Guilt. Love. Desperation. Fury. More guilt.

  I smother my face with my hands and groan. Originally, I’d resolved not to stalk her beyond the tracker in her car, but then I realized that Stephen might find a way to get to her.

  To take her.

  And Asad? I have an entire file with information on that sadistic, perverted bastard. After the way he stared at my girl, I can’t rest easy. If it wasn’t for the fact that his company is secretly under contract to develop nano-tech for Menahan, I wouldn’t be dealing with him at all.

  I struggled with my decision to inject her with the tracker, but at the end of the day, it was necessary.

  Damn me to hell, molesting her in her drugged-up state wasn’t! I don’t even know the details of what Stephen did to her, but that stark despair in her eyes tells me that it was extensive. Brutal.

  And here I fucking come, manhandling her in the back of her truck, practically mouth-raping her with my cock, then taking advantage of her last night.

  She begged me to stay. My already cracked heart breaks a little more at that thought. Don’t lose it. Keep it together for her. Ensure her safety. Heart pumping with violent pain, I pull up the tracking software on my phone.

  Just as I recognize what I’m seeing, the elevator doors open.

  Most people would tell you that the sound of heels clicking is all the same. Doubt that’s true cause everytime I hear her walking, my body recognizes it’s her immediately.

  She came early.

  Lexi comes into view, looking as exhausted as I feel. Stopping at the glass wall, she ignores it as it automatically slides open. Instead, she focuses on the mess of ceramic and coffee on the floor by the wall.

  Her eyebrow raises.

  No time. I need her
ready by tonight. So, without giving her a chance to even speak, I rise from my seat. “Good morning. Get your tablet ready. We need to start planning.”

  That raised eyebrow turns in my direction. “Planning?”

  “Yes.”

  64

  He made me come all over his tongue in that dream.

  It’s all I can think about as he paces in front of me, his tall, muscular body encased in that charcoal suit.

  He’s talking about some event he’s going to tonight on behalf of the company; that much I know. His raspy, deep voice has become the perfect backdrop to my pounding heart.

  My phone’s vibrating in my palm. I’m busy pretending I’m taking notes as Drew speaks.

  In reality, I’m watching the headlines come in, one after the other, thanks to the alert I set on my phone.

  I dare a quick peek at my notifications bar.

  Barnard Wellington Missing.

  Son of Corporate Tycoon Had Been in Hiding Prior to Disappearing.

  Barnard Wellington: Everything You Need to Know About His Fall.

  My heart races harder and I quickly return my attention to Drew, my mind a confused whirlwind of contradicting thoughts.

  I don’t know why, but I know this has to do with you. Bullshit. I know why. The psychotic look in his eyes when I refused to tell him what Stephen did to me is one I’ll never forget.

  God damn it. Your tongue. I had forgotten how good it feels. He made me feel pleasure for the first time in seven years.

  First, in the back of my car.

  Then, he began haunting my dreams again.

  Fuck. That dream I had seemed so real. As if he’d actually been in my room, eating my pussy so lovingly.

  You’re my enemy. Yet he decided to help my mother of his own volition, before I even asked him to. The gratitude is still a heady sensation in my veins. I want him, this man who is my enemy. This man that once betrayed me.

  I shouldn’t. God help me, I shouldn’t. Hating him is second nature. Has been for the last seven years. It hasn’t gone away.