Deadly Captive

by Bianca Sommerland

  The warmth of the rum, a drink I normally couldn't stand, spread through me.

  Meeting the searing in my veins, it won over, diluting the pain until it was nothing but a memory. Covering my face with my hand, I rolled onto my side, drawing up my knees until I could move them no further in the close confines of the coffin. I knew I looked pitiful, but I didn't care. What concerned me was finding a way to keep my mind from snapping in response to the violation and agony.

  The throbbing between my thighs passed, leaving only a bruised feeling inside.

  A hand pressed on my side, then pulled me until I was once again on my back.

  "Open your legs, Lydia. This will be less painful," Chrissie said softly.

  I hesitated. A hand dove into my hair, gripping hard. My eyes shot open.

  Bruno leaned down close to my face. "Don't forget, Lydia. We can still bury you."

  Blinking back tears, I spread my thighs. I watched Chrissie slip a silver shaft inside me and inhaled sharply as it began to vibrate. My sore lips closed around it as she pushed it all the way in.

  "Close your legs now," Chrissie said. "And push your hips up."

  Having lost any will to object, knowing there was no point, I pushed my hips up.

  Something prodded between my ass cheeks, a finger, well lubed. Something bigger followed, cold, something that felt much like the metal shaft in my pussy. She slid it all the way in as well, turning it on before she left it there.

  "Down now." She pressed her hand on my stomach. I obeyed again. "Good. Now don't move."

  I had to fight to remain still. The vibrations ran through my whole body, the stimulation a painful ecstasy. Jaw clenched, I battled with the compulsion to writhe and moan. I edged on climax.

  Something dropped on my chest.

  I felt it moving, felt more "somethings" join it. Whatever it was, it was long and sleek. I sensed more things dropping around me into the coffin. I heard hissing, slithering, and small movements. When I opened my eye, my climax died before I could reach it.

  Snakes, on me, around me. Large, hairy spiders scuttling about. I opened my mouth to scream.

  Bruno clamped his hand over my mouth. "You have a choice, Lydia. You can start freaking out, which will entertain, but not for long, and we'll close the coffin and bury you with these things for an hour." He paused, smiling when I shook my head. "Or you can ignore them and do your best to come, hard, while giving us a little show. Do whatever you need to. We've generously provided some tools to make it easier. Make it good. Don't scream unless it's while you cum. Then, afterward, we'll take you out. Panic like a little girl, and we'll leave you, for the hour, and then take you out to think of something else that will be more fun."

  He moved his hand. I swallowed spasmodically, shuddering as a spider crawled over my belly, and a snake slithered against my side. Recalling my practice of controlling my breaths and ignoring my surroundings so I could center, I imagined myself somewhere else, with someone else, untouched by the horror around me.

  I imagined being with Joe.

  The room I saw was sunlit, with large windows opening onto the view beyond the mountain I'd dreamed of before. Everything was soft, natural colors, no black other than the jacket Joe was wearing, and the little teddy I'd dressed in, just for him.

  "You want to watch me?" My tone was teasing, saucy as I skipped around him.

  Joe chuckled and took me against him. "Would you do that?" he asked, smiling broadly.

  He walked over and dropped down onto the soft beige couch.

  I nodded, stepping up between his thighs, kneeling down between them. "Would you like that?"

  Joe nodded. I smiled.

  "Where do you want me?" I asked, running my hands up his thighs.

  Joe groaned. "Right here. Right now." He grinned at my pout. "On the table." He shook his head, watching me as I pushed up to sit on the table, lifting the bottom of the teddy so he could see my pussy. "God, you're hot."

  I smiled at him, then slowly slid one strap off my shoulder, then the other, pulling the material down to bare my breasts. He reached out. I playfully slapped his hand away.

  "Watch." I scooted over and lay down. "For now."

  I cupped my breast, lifting it, and lowered my head to tease my tongue against my nipple.

  My other hand slid down my stomach, eagerly dipping between my thighs so I could touch my pussy, already wet at the thought of him watching me.

  Rotating my fingers gently over my clit, I dropped my head back, groping my breasts, one, then the other, until both nipples stuck out. Then I let my other hand join the first at my pussy, pushing two fingers in, then lifting them to my mouth to lick at the sweet fluid. Joe groaned and stood, walking to the end of the table so he could get a better look. I knew he wouldn't wait long before joining in.

  I felt for the end of the vibrator in my pussy, holding it with my thumb and forefinger. I began moving it around. Moving my hips, I pulled the shaft out a bit, then lifted as I shoved it back in.

  Joe dropped his pants, already erect, his large dick pulsing with desire as he dropped to his knees. I gasped as he pushed my hands away, grabbed me by the hips, and drove into me.

  Wrapping my legs around his waist, I pulled him in deeper.

  Eight tiny legs skittering over my breast broke my concentration. Refusing to look, I forced myself to imagine Joe, trying to find a way to make all the sensation of my body fit what I imagined Joe doing. In my mind, that crawling on my breast became a grasping touch, Joe's hand trying to take hold while he moved, but slipping away before he could get a grip, so fevered were his motions. The squirming on my belly was his hand moving down before he blindly reached my clit and began toying with it.

  "Lydia, I want to cum, I want to fill you up, but I won't until you do." Joe gritted his teeth. I could feel him holding back.

  "Cum with me, Joe. I want to feel you jam inside me, want to feel you lose control when I do." I was so close. My body began trembling, reaching the brink.

  "I love your pussy, Lydia." Breathing hard, Joe began to move faster. "Tell me it's mine, no matter what happens."

  His words had me tumbling over the edge, dragging him down with me as I cried out.

  "Yours, oh God, Joe, it's yours."

  Wetness pooled out between my thighs, and I convulsed, holding the shaft in when it would slip out with the moisture, riding the orgasm until it drained me. I relaxed back down, too worn out to be bothered by the other inhabitants of the coffin, or the two sick freaks who watched me. In my mind, I was lying with Joe, basking in his warmth as he held me close.

  A sharp motion and the feeling of something biting into my inner thigh snapped me back into the present. I looked down and stifled a scream. A snake had embedded its fangs in my flesh.

  Bruno laughed and swooped me out of the coffin. Setting me on the sofa, he took hold of the snake, one hand around its head, just below the jaw, and the other a few inches down the length of its body. Then he jerked his hands apart. Blood spurted over me as the reptile spasmed in the throes of death. I watched in horror as Bruno tore open its jaw and then put his mouth over the wound.

  "Gotta get the venom out." The blood spilled down his chin as he lapped at the wound and swallowed. The wound closed under his ministrations. Finally, he backed away.

  I heard a ringing. Chrissie took a phone from the side table, flipping it open.

  After speaking in a low voice for a few moments, she hung up and came to me, jabbing a needle into my arm. "Anti-venom. Just in case." She looked at Bruno. "Cyrus said to bring her back."

  Bruno nodded and lifted me, waiting while Chrissie covered me with a blanket.

  "You did very well, Lydia. You can keep the clothes. We'll bring the rest of the snacks as well. You can share them with Joe."

  I nodded listlessly, content just to be leaving the room. The images of what had happened flashed behind my closed lids, tearing at my sanity. I pushed them away, focusing instead on the lights of the hall as we pass
ed, letting them burn my mind clear.

  All that mattered was it was over, even if only temporarily. I was going back to Joe. He would take care of me. That was all that mattered.

  Chapter Thirteen

  When I returned to the room, the light was off. Joe had taken me from Bruno, not saying a word as he carried me to the bed, laying me down as Bruno closed and locked the door behind him. I held onto him, pressing every inch of my body against his, letting his warmth cover me, making all well. I was almost asleep before I realized something was wrong.

  I wasn't sure how I knew. Joe hadn't said a word, had simply held me, knowing I needed it without asking. But the way he held himself, something in his eyes, haunted me.

  Joe remained asleep as I slipped out of bed, not moving even when I turned on the light and returned to his side, pushing him flat on his back so I could look him over.

  It was the blood I saw first, fresh blood, seeping through the cloth of his shirt and jeans.

  Black bruises marred his flesh, and his eyes where nearly swollen shut. A trickle of blood spilled from the corner of his split and battered lips. I covered my mouth with my hands. What had happened to me was horrible, but I knew from just this cursory inspection that what Cyrus had done to Joe was worse.

  I went to the table, which was covered with the colored bowls of snacks. I emptied one of the bowls into one of the others, not caring when a good part of its contents scattered to the floor. Bringing the bowl to the bathroom, I rinsed it out and filled it with warm water. I lathered a bar of soap in my hands, and then dipped them into the water.

  Returning to the room, I set the bowl beside the bed and grabbed hold of one end of the sheet, ripping off a large shred. I dropped the rag into the bowl of soapy water and sat carefully on the side of the bed.

  Doing my best not to wake him, I removed his clothes, trying not to rip them, knowing he didn't have many. Wringing out the rag, I began to clean off the dry blood, meticulously rinsing and washing, emptying the bowl when the water became cruddy with the coagulated mess. It took me several trips, and I had to keep tearing fresh strips from the sheet because the pieces of cloth rapidly became too bloody to be of any use.

  But, eventually, Joe's body was clean. Now, it was much easier to see the mess of wounds. Nothing I'd suffered so far equated to what had been done to Joe's large frame.

  He'd been whipped; that much was obvious. I could tell from the dark patches that marked most of his body surface that he'd been beaten as well. The whipping and the beating by themselves would have been more than enough to bring him low. But, as painful as the slashes and bruises on his skin appeared to be, none of them concerned me as much as the other wounds, the ones that were still sluggishly seeping blood.

  I found three long cuts on his stomach. A smaller one marred his shoulder, another, his thigh. I tended to these first. The others were deep enough to need stitches, but the smaller wounds were worse. They weren't simply cuts. Joe had been stabbed.

  That the wounds weren't gushing blood was something of a comfort, but only a little. I couldn't tell whether there was internal bleeding, or whether nerves or muscles had been affected. The best I could do was bind the wounds tight in thick wads of folded sheet fabric, hoping my efforts would do some good.

  By the time I was done, I'd wrapped most of Joe's chest. I found wounds on his thighs and arms that I hadn't noticed before, and I tended to them as well. Once I was done, I fetched a glass of water and tried to wake him, hoping that taking in fluids would help heal him. Barely conscious, Joe let me tilt him up and then sipped at the water. He was out cold before I could lay him back down.

  I tried to think of something more, a way to ease his pain, a way to speed healing. Tears threatened, but I didn't allow myself to be weak. Joe needed my strength.

  It was all I had left to give.

  Other than stay strong, all I could do was wait.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I had taken to lying at Joe's side, head against his chest, just to make sure his heart kept beating. For so long, he was still, so very still, his breath shallow. Flesh cold, pale as death. I knew if he died, I wouldn't last much longer. No logic supported this belief, but I didn't need logic. I just knew.

  It was the beating that woke me. It was still just a dull throb, but it was a little louder, a little stronger than it had been in a long time. I sat up. His eyes were open.

  "Joe." I smiled tremulously, refusing to cry.

  "Lydia." The ghost of a smile strained at his lips. His fingers twitched. I could tell he was trying to move. The fact that he did not have the strength to do so frightened me.

  I tried to hide my fear and took his hand. "You had me worried."

  Joe emitted a sharp breath; it was an attempt at laughter. The swelling around his eyes had subsided a little, just enough to allow them to open to slits. The slight cringe he made when he opened them revealed how much the effort cost him. "I don't believe it. You're strong, Lydia. You wouldn't let a little thing like me being roughed up get to you."

  It was Joe's way of telling me to hang on, no matter what. The lump in my throat made it painful to swallow. He sounded too much like he was accepting this could be the end for him but needed to know it wouldn't be for me.

  Selfishness made me want to deny him. The words were there, crying for release.

  I wanted to tell him I refused to go on without him. I had watched Mary die, had held her as she drew her last breath. There was no way I would do the same with him.

  A nobler instinct told me to give him some peace. No matter how it hurt me, he deserved the assurance, even if it was a lie. "You're right. Hell, I've made it this far. I'm not about to give up now."

  Joe managed a stronger smile now. His eyes watered, as the creases that formed around them dug into scabbed flesh. This time, he succeeded in not reacting to the pain.

  Moving carefully from the bed, trying not to jar him, I went to the table and got the glass of water I kept there, ready for whenever he was responsive enough to take a sip. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I eased him up, tilted the glass, and watched him swallow more than he'd managed in a while. It gave me some hope.

  "Mind getting me something a bit stronger than water?" Joe's voice sounded faint, as though speaking tired him. I was tempted to tell him it wasn't a good idea, but I couldn't do it. So long as he was breathing, I would give Joe whatever he wanted. Or try, anyway.

  I fetched the bottle of rum, drained what was left of the water into the bathroom sink, and then returned to Joe's side. The liquor seemed to smooth away some of the strain in his features.

  For a while, there was silence. The quiet was not unwelcome; I was content just to listen to him breath. I noticed the bright color on his cheeks, but I fooled myself into believing it was a good sign and not a symptom of a dangerously high fever. I told myself whatever was necessary to maintain my delusion that he was recovering. I blinded myself to any indication otherwise.

  "Lydia."

  I looked up. I had been staring at his chest, just watching it rise and fall. "What?"

  "I want to tell you something." He licked his swollen lips and tried to clear his throat.

  I shifted closer. "What is it, Joe?"

  Opening his eyes as wide as he could, Joe struggled to rise, cursing and wincing when his body wouldn't allow it. "That's just it, Lydia. That's not my name. I want to tell you. I want to hear my name cross your lips, just once."

  I stood and stepped back, shaking my head. "Hell, no. You save that for when you're feeling better, for when I can scream at you for lying to me all this time. I don't want to hear it now."

  The tormented, panicked scream building in my chest demanded release. I denied it. It was bad enough that I had just denied him his final revelation. I wouldn't burden him even more by making him watch me suffer.

  I tried to lessen the blow of my words. "Tell me something else, Joe. You never talk about your past. I want to know who you were. What you did."

 
Joe gave me a grim smile. "You really don't want to know."

  Arms crossed, I shot him a stubborn look. "No. I really do."

  Letting out a heavy sigh, Joe inclined his head slightly. "I killed people."

  I blinked and shook my head. "What?"

  Joe's lip curved a little. "The last was a sixteen-year-old boy."

  Mouth open, forgetting to breathe, I stared at him. I caught the twinkle in his eyes and realized he was enjoying my reaction. There was more to it. "What did he do?"

  Joe seemed even more pleased by my question. I had a feeling he was happy that I trusted him enough not to assume the worst.

  "He raped and killed a twelve year old girl." I swallowed, watching as he again tried to shift his body into a more comfortable position. Reaching out, I pushed his pillow, futilely trying to help. It was no use. There was no way to make his wretched pain bearable.

  "How can you be sure it was him?" His actions were justified, but I needed to know he had no doubt of the boy's guilt.

  "There were tapes of him dragging the girl into the boy's locker room where she was found. It would have been an open and shut case. The boy ran. The cops were chasing him. I found him first." Joe closed his eyes. "Her blood was still covering him.

  He was holed up in an abandoned warehouse."

  The morbid question popped out of my mouth before I could stop it. "How did you do it?"

  His eyes went cold. "Quick."

  I nodded. As much as part of me wished the little bastard had suffered, another part liked that Joe hadn't taken pleasure in the kill. No doubt, some would still condemn Joe for taking the law into his own hands, protesting that the boy could have been rehabilitated. As far as I was concerned, Joe had efficiently prevented the boy from hurting anyone else.

  "So you were what, some kind of vigilante?" I bit my lip, noticing that Joe was losing his hold on consciousness. Before long, I would be resting my head on his chest again to assure myself he was still alive.