Broken Blue: The Complete Series

by Amy Cross

  "You know what I mean!" I say, raising my voice a little. "You tested me tonight, and I passed. You can't just drop me off at the side of the road like some girl you want to forget".

  "I'm protecting you," he replies. "I never should have let you get so far. I was weak, but there's still time to make sure you're safe".

  "Safe?" I ask. "Safe from what?"

  "From me. From the game". With that, he turns the car toward the Embankment. As the tires screech, I see the Thames appear on the right hand side of the road.

  "I don't want to be saved," I say. "I want to keep going. I want to play your stupid game". I pause for a moment, shocked to hear these words coming out of my mouth. Whereas a few hours ago I was so tentative and timid, now I feel as if something has awakened deep in my soul. Now that I've seen what Mark has to offer, I'm drawn to him; I want to know what he has in store, and I want to experience something more extreme than everything that happened tonight. Maybe it's an obsession, or maybe I'm just scared that the alternative would be to go back to a safe and cosy life with no excitement. Either way, there's no way I'm going to just let Mark drop me like this.

  "Calm down -" he starts to say.

  "Calm down?" I shout back at him. The car clatters a bump as we reach Millbank; the brightly-lit towers along the edge of the river flash past, and I'm pretty sure Mark just sped up a little. "I'm calm," I say after a moment, "but I'm also pissed off. You can't just take me home when you're finished with me. I know my initial reaction wasn't great tonight, but it was the first time. You have to let me keep going!" I wait for him to reply, but he just keeps his eyes on the road ahead; it's as if he's supremely confident that he's in complete control, and he thinks I'm just some kind of rag doll he can toss aside when he's finished fucking me.

  "Elly -" he says.

  Without warning, I suddenly lean over and start unzipping his trousers.

  "Elly!"

  Before he can finish the sentence, I've got the zip open and I gently ease his large, soft penis out into my hand. I plant a gentle kiss on the tip, and I can tell he's already starting to swell. All around me, I can hear the roar of the engine and the occasional swishing sound as the car flashes past a nearby building, but I force myself to focus on Mark's body. I take his flaccid cock into my mouth and gently caress it with my tongue; within a minute, he's already getting hard, and soon he's fully erect.

  "Stop," he says.

  I don't reply. After all, if he really hates this so much, he can always slow down, park the car and throw me out. Instead, I focus on taking him all the way into my mouth, until I can feel the dome of his penis pressing against the very back of my throat. The car rides a small bump as I slowly take his penis back out of my mouth. Reaching into his trousers, I take his balls in my hands and then start gently sucking on them, feeling his testicles resting in his scrotum as my tongue slips over the wrinkled skin. After a moment, I start kissing all the way up his shaft until finally I'm back to the dome again, at which point I start slipping him in and out of my mouth, feeling his hard, shiny skin running against my lips.

  "Please stop," he says, though he doesn't sound too angry. In fact, I can tell that he's enjoying it, and I keep going, adding a little more pressure. I can feel his pulse, pounding away in his penis, as I start to speed up. This lasts for a couple of minutes until I feel him become a little harder, and finally he cums. Even though he came a few times earlier tonight, he's still got plenty left, and my mouth quickly fills with his sperm as he ejaculates onto my tongue. I'm careful to suck it all up and swallow, feeling the semen slip down my throat. Once he's done, I stay in place for a moment, enjoying the feeling of his throbbing penis deep in my mouth. Finally, I sit up and wipe a little cum from the edge of my lips.

  "Are you still pissed off I wasn't wearing my seat belt?" I ask.

  Saying nothing, he swings the car a hard right onto London Bridge, the tires screeching in the process. I grab hold of the dashboard, momentarily freaked out by the speed. Outside, the river flashes past and suddenly Mark makes a hard left and brings us onto the next road. We're speeding east now, and it's as if Mark is driving faster and faster. Staring at him, waiting for him to say something, I see a curious look in his eyes, as if something's changed. For a moment, I start to wonder whether I was wrong to give him a blow job; I just wanted to show him what I can do, but instead I seem to have put a crazy look on his face, as if he's blankly staring ahead and he no longer gives a damn what happens to us.

  "Maybe you should slow down," I say, looking down at the dashboard and seeing that we're going close to a hundred. My heart is racing and I'm starting to get scared, though I'm determined not to let him see my fear. I sit back in my seat and force myself to stay quiet, and I focus on the far side of the river, which at least doesn't look to be flashing past so dauntingly quickly. Every time the car goes over even the slightest bump in the road, however, the whole vehicle shakes, and it's pretty clear that no-one's supposed to go so fast through the streets of the city.

  "Mark -" I say.

  "You want me to stop?" he asks, still staring straight ahead.

  "I want you to be careful," I reply.

  "You don't trust me?"

  "I -" I pause for a moment. Do I trust him? There's a self-destructive side to him, and I can't be certain that he wouldn't do something insanely stupid just to prove a point. "I trust you," I say, figuring I don't want him to know about all the doubts that are flooding my mind. Right now, all I want is for him to slow down, but if anything he seems to be actually increasing the car's speed.

  "Why do you trust me?" he asks. "You don't even know me".

  "I know you," I reply.

  "Not very well".

  I take a deep breath, determined to stay calm. Gripping the seat, I watch as the road flashes past us. Any moment, Mark could lose control and send the car smashing into a wall or, worse, into the river. At the speed were traveling, we wouldn't have a chance, even if we had a hundred seat belts. I close my eyes, trying to lull myself into a sense of security and calm, but the roar of the engine seems to be getting louder and louder. I'm starting to think that there's an unhinged part of Mark's personality, a part that I'd maybe noticed earlier but had been able to ignore.

  "Are you okay?" he asks.

  I open my eyes. "Fine," I reply.

  "Put your seat belt on," he says.

  I grab the seat belt and slide it into the slot.

  "Good," he continues. "Just in time".

  I stare straight ahead. "Just in time? What does that mean?"

  "It means I'm going to do this," he says, suddenly turning the wheel and spinning the car. For a moment, it's as my heart stops entirely and everything goes completely silent. I stare straight ahead as the car whips around in the dark street, mounting the pavement and flashing just inches away from the corner of a building before screeching off the pavement on the other side and pirouetting across the tarmac. The tires are smoking and the engine is revving out of control as the car spins and spins, bumping against the side of the opposite pavement before finally coming to a half in the middle of the street.

  We sit in silence for a moment. Suddenly I can feel my heart racing, and a cold sweat breaks out all over my body. I'm still gripping the seat in terror, and I'm worried I might pass out at any moment.

  "Are you okay?" Mark asks.

  I swallow hard. I'm pretty sure he can see that I'm not okay. After all, for a few seconds, I actually thought we were going to die.

  "If it's any consolation," he continues, "I was in complete control the whole time. I'm not stupid, Elly. I know these roads better than I know my own body. I know this car, too".

  I nod, still catching my breath.

  "Come here," he says, leaning toward me. As soon as I turn to look at him, he kisses me firmly on the lips, his tongue slipping into my mouth. I feel his hand reach up under my t-shirt, cupping my left breast and squeezing it tight as his thumb strokes the nipple. At first, I want to pull away; I want to punc
h him and scratch his eyes out for putting us in so much danger. After a moment, however, I surrender to the kiss, letting him touch and fondle me all he wants. My heart is still pounding and I'm still a little short of breath, but I'm starting to think that there's at least a little method to Mark's madness. He might be crazy, and he might be unpredictable, but I don't think he's out of control; on the contrary, I think he's got everything completely under control, including me.

  "Did I scare you?" he whispers, pulling away for a moment.

  "No," I say, determined not to let him see that I was terrified.

  "What about now?" he asks, looking deep into my eyes. "Am I scaring you now?"

  I stare at him, unable to answer.

  "Do you want to know something, Elly?" he says, a faint smile forming on his lips as he continues to stroke my breasts under the t-shirt. "You passed the test".

  "The test?" I reply. It's almost as if my mind has gone completely blank.

  "Everything that happened at the hotel," he says, "was just the first part. The second part was to see what you'd do after we left. I wanted to see what you'd do once we were in the car. I wanted to push you a little more and see if you're truly ready for the game".

  I wait for him to continue. "Well?" I ask eventually. "Am I?"

  He nods. "I can hardly believe it's true," he says, "but I think you are. I've met a lot of girls, Elly. A lot of girls. Any of them would have been terrified by this point, and they'd have run screaming. To be honest, running away would be by far the most rational and sensible thing to do at this point, but you're still here. Right now, you could get out of the car and run off into the darkness, but you're still here, and that tells me something about you. It tells me you're ready".

  I take a deep breath, as a tingling feeling of nervousness and anticipation starts to rise through my body.

  "I want you to understand that you can still walk away," he continues. "Right now. You can get out of the car and go home. You can leave at any point". He pulls his hand out from under my t-shirt and brings it up to my face, carefully moving some of my hair aside so he can get a better look at my face. "Do you understand, Elly?"

  I nod.

  "And do you want to leave?"

  I know I should go. I should get out of here while I still can, but there's something keeping me from leaving. I don't know whether it's because I want to stay with Mark, or because I feel as if I'm starting to discover a whole new side of my own identity, but I'm absolutely certain of one thing: I'm not going anywhere, not yet. "I'll stay," I say, though my voice sounds a little weak and uncertain.

  "Okay," he says, smiling as he unbuckles his seat belt and opens the door, stepping out of the car. "Come on," he says.

  I take another deep breath, and finally I get out of the car. It's a cold night, with a chill wind racing along the street, but at least there's no more rain. As Mark steps up behind me, he removes his coat and places it over my shoulders, and I immediately feel a little warmer.

  "What are we doing here?" I ask, glancing around at the dark buildings.

  "You'll see," he replies, taking me by the hand and leading me along the pavement until we reach a dark, nondescript door set in the side of a tall, imposing building that soars above us into the night sky. Reaching out, Mark knocks on the door, before turning to me. "We're here, Elly," he says with a smile. "Welcome to a new world".

  Seven

  1896

  When I open my eyes, it takes a moment before I remember what happened. The room is dark, with the only illumination coming from a small gas burner on a nearby table, but overall the contrast to my previous state could not be stronger: whereas previously I was cold and wet on the ground, now I'm warm and dry in a bed. I sit up, and although I'm still a little stiff and sore from the beating I took, my injuries don't seem to be too bad. The biggest change, however, is that my leg is no longer hurting. I pull the bed-sheets away and look down to see that I'm wearing a proper splint, and a bandage is covering the wound itself; I peel the edges away, and see immediately that the crude stitches left in place by John the Pig have been replaced by a much more professional effort.

  "You'll be fine," says a female voice nearby.

  Turning, I see a familiar face standing in the doorway. Lady Henrietta deHavilland, also known as Lady Red, steps into the room. She's wearing a dark red gown with a shawl over her shoulders, and she smiles as she takes a seat nearby.

  "I had someone take a proper look at your leg," she continues, fixing me with a curious stare that seems to be half smile and half hatred. "A surgeon friend of mine, actually. There wasn't time to obtain your consent, but I trust you have no complaints about being treated by the finest hands in the country". She pauses for a moment. "You were kept sedated for a short while, so the wound could heal".

  "How long?" I ask.

  "Twelve days," she replies.

  I take a deep breath. When I try to get out of bed, I find to my surprise that I have no particular difficulties. My leg seems almost as good as new, while my other injuries are little more than a few bumps and bruises. "Your hospitality is surprising," I say, glancing over at the door. This whole situation seems too easy; I'm quite sure that despite the appearance of conviviality, I'd be killed instantly if I made a break for freedom.

  "You were in a bad way," she continues. "Whoever treated you before, they did an admirable job given their apparently limited resources, but they didn't close the break properly. Your blood was being slowly poisoned. I'm led to believe you would have lasted no more than a day or two longer. You would have begun to develop a strong fever, and eventually you would have collapsed and died. I'm sure you wouldn't have wanted that to happen, would you?"

  "It depends," I say. "What's the alternative?"

  "You're a cautious man," she replies. "I like that. You're also capable of taking care of yourself, which I like even more. Killing Mr. D'Oyly was the mark of someone who knows what he's doing, and you came surprisingly close to killing Mr. Blake as well".

  I sigh, remembering that brief moment when I believed I had sent Blake into the cold depths of the Thames. "It wasn't for lack of effort," I mutter eventually.

  "My associates and I have killed a great many people," she continues. "None of them presented us with the same level of difficulty as your good self. I might even be prepared to admit that, in some respects, we rather under-estimated you. When I send Mr. D'Oyly to finish you off, I certainly never considered the possibility that he would fail. He was quite the most delightfully vicious Mr. Blue I've ever encountered. He certainly made for a welcome change after Mr. Lockhart's inadequacies".

  "You killed Edward Lockhart," I say.

  "I had him killed," she replies, "and I watched it happen".

  "And Inspector Matthews?"

  "I think you already know the answer to that," she says. "After all, you watched most of it unfold". She smiles. "Don't be surprised, Mr. Pope. The fact that you were able to observe our activities at all, even for a moment, was not an act of mere good luck on your part. We were aware of your presence, and we allowed it to persist. I found you to be rather interesting as you scurried about on the fringes of our activities. In all the time that the game has been played, no-one has ever got so close to the heart of the whole thing. I believe such brilliance should be rewarded". Getting up from the chair, she walks over to the bed and sits next to me. "Look at me," she says. "What do you see?"

  "A woman," I reply.

  She laughs. "Is that all?"

  "A killer".

  "What about my face," she says. "What do you see in my face?"

  I stare at her for a moment. "You look tired".

  "I am tired," she replies. "I'm forty-nine years old, Mr. Pope. I've been playing the game since I was in my twenties. That's a long time to be involved in something so draining". She smiles. "Now what do you see?"

  I pause. "If you don't want to play, why don't you stop?"

  "One cannot stop," she says. "When one plays the game, one know
s there are only two possible ways out. Death, or victory".

  "It seems there's a lot of death," I point out, "and not much victory".

  "When someone wins," she replies, "the game will be over". She removes the shawl, revealing her bare shoulders. "Now what do you see?"

  "Skin," I say. "You're a middle-aged woman trapped in a young woman's game".

  She shakes her head. "On that point, Mr. Pope, you're wrong. The role of Lady Red is traditionally filled by a woman of my age. In fact, it was something of a surprise that I was picked to take the role when I was so young. My predecessor felt it was worth shaking things up a little, so I had to grow up fast. It wasn't easy at first, but eventually I learned what I should do. Now here I am, entering the twenty-sixth year of my participation, and I am by far the longest-serving player who has ever been part of the game".

  "And yet you haven't won".

  She smiles. "You really don't understand how the game works, do you?" After a moment, she slips her dress down, exposing her large, rounded breasts. "Now what do you see, Mr. Pope?"

  "Desperation," I reply.

  "And what else?"

  "Someone who think she can use sex to gain power over other people".

  "You think that's not true?"

  "I think it's a last resort".

  She smiles. "I might not have quite the body of some of the younger ladies who take part in the game, but I make up for this deficiency in other ways. I've quite lost track of the number of lovers I've had in my life, but I can assure you that I have learned something from each of them". She lowers the dress until her entire upper body is exposed. "Have you had many sexual conquests, Mr. Pope?"

  "I've had a few," I reply.

  "I'm sure you've had more than a few," she says. "A charming, handsome man such as yourself, with a hint of danger about his person, must surely attract the ladies with no great difficulty".

  "I tend not to spend my time in places where there are many ladies," I point out.

  "Do you want to touch me?" she asks.