Binary

by Sarah Cole

  Somehow, I find a knife in the bed and I don’t waste time as I take it and plunge it into his neck. A satisfying gurgling sound escapes his throat as I drag the blade in place. Blood spills out over my hands, slippery and warm. Proud of my handiwork, I look to his face again so I can finally look into the cold, dead eyes of Lance Jennings. Instead of the cold gray eyes I was expecting, I’m met with Carter’s lifeless green eyes, still widened in shock.

  “No!” I cry, pulling the knife from him. “Oh my God, what have I done?” my hands shake as I scream in horror. “Look what you made me do!” I try to wipe the blood away, but there’s no putting it back. I can’t put Carter back together because I killed him. I destroyed him like I promised I would.

  “I’m so sorry, baby… I’m so, so sorry,” I sob into his bare, bloodied chest. “I didn’t mean to.”

  I wake with a start, my heart pounding in my chest and my eyes slick with tears. My room is still dark, and quiet. The kind of quiet that I remember all too well. That’s when I hear it. A muted footstep, and the soft brush of fabric on fabric – barely audible, but it ricochets inside my head, snapping me out of my nightmare and into reality. As quietly and quickly as possible, I roll off my bed and onto the floor, ignoring the sharp pain in my ass cheeks from last night. I open the drawer on my bedside table and pull out my gun. The magazine is already in place from last night – not having had a chance to clean it and I tuck it into the waistband of my pants. I reach under my bed to the row of tactical blades I keep strapped there, and slide one out. Hand to hand is my specialty because I’m fast, and can think even faster.

  I stand quietly, and plant my back against the cool drywall just inside my bedroom door. I open my mouth and take a deep breath to steady my breathing. I’ve done this before multiple times, I have no idea why I’m so shaken. Usually these situations are on my own terms, ones that I have meticulously planned and studied. Closing my mouth, I wait for another sound in the dark, and I hear it again. The same slow brushing of fabric as someone moves slowly, and almost silently through my house. I move just a little closer to the door. In the dark, I’m well hidden in the corner. I wait until I hear the soft footsteps at the doorframe and I hold my breath as the dark shadow crosses my path. It is hard to see clearly in the dark, but I can sense his size and I don’t know how to approach this.

  I decide just to go for it, but he stops, and I stop.

  “I know you’re in here, little girl,” a thick Russian accent rumbles through my bedroom. “You think you’re tough? Let’s play.” He slowly walks, looking around, but I’m still hidden in the shadows.

  Either I’m even more crazy than I think I am, or I realize I just don’t have shit to lose, because I launch myself at the man not knowing what the hell I’m up against. He turns just as I’m about ready to hit him and sends me flying sideways into my dresser with one hit that has my ears ringing so loud that I barely hear his laugh. The force of the impact knocks the gun loose from my waistband and it skids across the floor and somewhere into the darkness that I can’t see.

  “Is that all you’ve got?” I ask, going at him again.

  “You got some fire in you. I like that.” He lands a punch to my cheek that causes my head to rattle around like a ball in a basket. He moves to hit me again, but this time I block his hit with my forearm. Ignoring the bruising pain, I switch the knife to my other hand, twirl it in my fingers and manage to stab him somewhere in his side, but it doesn’t seem to faze him. I pull it out seeing the blade coated in his blood and something inside me clicks. Just like it always does.

  The sound of our exertion fills the room as we trade hits back and forth, neither of us able to land any of significance.

  “You can’t do any better than this? Timur and Yury must’ve been bigger pussies than I thought.” He’s baiting me, waiting for me to lose my cool and slip up, but I don’t change. I keep fighting even though my eye is nearly swollen shut. But I’ve learned something as we dance around each other destroying my bedroom. This man is slow, and he has a pattern to his hits, whether he realizes it or not. He’s just big and solid muscle, so my hits don’t have the impact they need.

  I take my knife and drop to my knees underneath him in a fluid motion, my satin pajama bottoms allowing me to slide on the smooth hardwood, and I use all my weight to ram the knife in his groin around where I know there’s a major artery. He lets out a guttural cry that is higher pitched than I expected.

  I pop up off the floor, and land a combination of hits to him and finally with my foot, nail a driving kick to the blade he’s still struggling with and lodge it in his skin up to the hilt.

  “You bitch!!!” he roars.

  “I hear that a lot,” I pop back, trying to keep my mind on anything other than my aching, fatigued body. He must catch his second wind as he throws his body at mine, forcing me backwards like a ragdoll. The back of my head cracks against the edge of the dresser, sending a nauseating pain through my skull. I must black out for a few seconds, and I come to with him on top of me and his hands around my neck. I try to fight and claw at his hands, but it’s no use. He’s bigger and stronger, and my hand hurts so bad that I can’t hardly move it. He shifts slightly and I feel something hard lodged beneath my shoulder.

  I somehow find it in me to reach behind me with one hand and grab the handle of my gun that I happened to land on. In one fluid motion, I bring it forward and disengage the safety with my thumb. Even in the dark, I can see his shocked expression. I act, and shove the barrel in his face and pull the trigger. His body drops heavily onto mine, his face on mine and I feel the warmth of his blood as it spills out over my face and neck. I can smell it and taste it as it coats my lips and face, and I panic as his heavy body lays on top of mine. His face flops lifelessly to the side as I shove it away and I roll myself out from under him.

  I limp to the door and flip on the light switch. My eyes squint to adjust to the light, but I almost wish both of my eyes were swollen shut as I take in the sight in front of me.

  “Son of a motherfucker,” I curse. Pretty much everything is busted, knocked over, or covered in blood in some way. In the light, I realize that two of the fingers on my left hand are completely dislocated and sticking out at odd angles, explaining the pain and lack of motion moments ago. I grit my teeth and pull to reset them, and my stomach rolls with the pain as it radiates up my arm.

  Ignoring the body on the floor, I make a list of items to replace in my bedroom and hop into the shower to rinse the sticky blood from my body before setting to work on the other cleanup.

  It takes me hours to clean the blood from myself and my bedroom, and by the time I go out to the garage to grab the big black tarp from the garage, the sun has been up for a while and the birds are chirping.

  It takes me a lot longer than it should to wrap the body up in the tarp considering one of my hands is injured and my body and mind are exhausted. Typically, I have a plan for this, but since I have no idea who this guy is or who may be looking for him, I have to think. The only solution I can think of is a contact I made on the Dark Web, and I cringe at what I’m about to do because I know that this guy makes me look like I’m completely sane. The only other time I’ve worked with him is when I hired the hit for Sergei Mirsky in prison. I pull out my phone and send a coded text to the number I have saved, and I wait. Twenty minutes pass as I stare at the wrapped body on my bedroom floor, when the phone finally rings with a blocked call.

  “Yes?” I answer, because hello seems a little too friendly in this situation.

  “So, we meet again. What can I do for you, Anika?” his deep, smooth voice responds.

  “I need your help. I have something that needs disposed of.”

  “I can be there Monday.”

  “But it’s Saturday!” I protest. “What the hell am I going to do with him until Monday?”

  “Do you have a deep freezer?” he questions.

  “Yes…” I respond slowly. I know where he’s going with this.

>   “There you go. Look, I’ll discount it for the delay, but I have another obligation. If you cut the trash in half for me, I’ll do it for ten. Take it or leave it.”

  “Fine,” I huff, already gagging at the thought.

  “Wrapped tight. Two bags. Ten thousand, cash. Seven AM. I’ll send you the location.” He hangs up abruptly. Wilder James doesn’t give a shit about phone etiquette apparently. I growl in frustration as I plant my hands on my hips and kick the unmoving roll of plastic. “You ruined my weekend, asshole.”

  “I’m so glad I have a privacy fence,” I mutter nonsense to myself as I use my legs as leverage and drag the world’s heaviest dead body through my house and out my back door, and set to work on Mr. James’s requests.

  I unwrap the tarp and grab my saw as I take in his graying face. “Well pal, if you didn’t have a split personality before, you will now.” I laugh at my own joke, and try to ignore how bizarre things are becoming.

  Chapter ELEVEN

  CARTER:

  I throw my gym bag over my shoulder and adjust my tie with my other hand. It’s still early, and the streets have yet to fill with many people as I walk back to the parking garage. Out of the corner of my eye I catch sight of long, dark hair under a baseball cap. She’s wearing loose sweats that are tapered at the ankle and a zip up hoodie. I’d know her anywhere, even with her unusually casual attire. I’m about ready to go to her, but I stop when a man with a buzz cut, bulging muscles, and tattoos shuts his trunk and walks to her, leaning down to whisper in her ear. She places her hand in his for a moment as a few more intimate words are shared between them and he leaves her on the sidewalk as he gets into his blacked-out Audi and pulls away. All I can do is stand and watch as she waves at him and gets into her car and turns the corner.

  What the fuck was that? Is he the reason she won’t commit to me? I didn’t hear a word from her all weekend after our night together, and while it was frustrating, I just figured she needed some time. Apparently, she needed another man. Pissed off, I storm back to the office and throw my bag on my office floor.

  I’m surprised to find that Leanne is sitting at her desk at this early hour. She looks up with wide eyes as I hover in the doorway. “When Anika gets in, let her know she’s to come to my office immediately.” I try to school my expression, but Leanne shakes her head.

  “Mr. Linwood, Anika just called to say she wouldn’t be in today. She said she’d send you a message shortly. She isn’t feeling well.”

  “Bullshit,” I grind out, surprising my secretary. I never lose control.

  “Sorry, Leanne. I’ll be in my office if you need me.” she just nods and I shut my door so I can pace without having her think I’m even more insane than I appear today.

  For hours, I sit and pace cursing myself for wanting her and getting involved. This is why I don’t do relationships or fall in love. It isn’t worth all the shit, except for this time I can’t shake the feeling that it is. She’s different. She’s fascinating, and all I want to do is unwrap every single layer of her, damaged or otherwise until all that’s left is her is the part of herself she usually hides. I’m falling hard for this girl, even if it is one sided, and I promised I wouldn’t give up. If that means having to compete against someone else to do it, then so be it, because she’s mine.

  *****

  “I was wondering when you were going to show up. It took you longer than I thought it would,” her low voice says in greeting as she opens her front door to me. The first thing I notice is the purple bruising on either side of her face, and the swelling around her eye.

  “What the fuck? Did he do this to you?” I lean down so we’re eye to eye and I can get a better look, and realize it’s a few days old as the other edges are beginning to yellow. I try to touch it but, she swats my hand away violently.

  “No, I was cleaning on Saturday and I fell down the stairs while I was carrying a box. I couldn’t catch myself.” She explains, and I do notice that the air is still heavy with the scent of cleaners.

  “Christ. Did you go to the hospital?”

  “It’s just some bumps and bruises, Carter. I’ll be fine.” She gestures for me to step all the way in, and shuts the door behind me.

  “What is he to you?” I ask, back on the subject. She doesn’t even look surprised I know.

  “I saw you watching,” she explains, probably seeing my confusion.

  “Tell me then, Anika. What is he to you? Your boyfriend, a casual fuck?”

  “He’s no one. None of the above. Just an old friend that asked me to build a computer. I was too sore to do anything this weekend, so I told him to meet me this morning,” she’s casual about it.

  “It didn’t look that way.”

  “Carter, look at me,” she stresses. “I can’t promise you many things, but I can promise you that there is nothing going on there.” I look at her for a second longer, and I see her. I see the open Anika that I love.

  I step closer taking her into my arms, and it feels so right. “You’re mine. Only mine.” I say, kissing her lips. Her body molds to mine becoming pliable. “I need to be inside you. You need to learn who you who belong to.” I grab her hair, and she winces at the pain. I almost feel bad, but when she moans, that guilt fades away.

  “How’s your ass?” I ask, kissing my way down her neck as she presses herself harder against me.

  “Ready for you,” she responds turning away from me and towards her bedroom, and I follow. The room is simple, but beautifully decorated with black walls and floors with thick white trim and wainscoting with a thick white rug with dark gray diamond pattern that looks brand new and a massive white linen upholstered bed with white fluffy bedding. Her bedside tables are antiqued mirrored and everything flows perfectly with the rest of her house. I walk to the side of her bed, and find that she’s still standing in her doorway looking at me with a worried expression.

  “Crawl to me, Anika,” I say, and the way she immediately drops to her knees has me nearly coming undone. She stops at my feet and sits on her knees, waiting for my next command.

  “You’ve been researching, haven’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “That makes me happy. Good girl.” I praise and she smiles up at me with her bruised face, and even with it, she’s the most stunning thing I’ve ever seen as she waits for me.

  “Undress for me, Anika, but stay on your knees,” I say and she does so immediately, revealing herself to me. “Now take my cock out.”

  I watch as she struggles with my belt and zipper, only using one hand. “Anika, let me see your other hand, baby.” She lifts her hand to me without meeting my eyes. It’s swollen, bruised and her knuckles are raw.

  “Stairs?” I question.

  “Yep. Dislocated a few fingers,” she snaps.

  Planting a soft kiss to her battered hand, I say, “You better watch that sassy mouth of yours little, girl or I’m going to punish it.”

  “Maybe that’s what I want. I’ve been a bad girl, Carter.” I look up at her ceiling and groan. I love control, but it seems I have none around this woman. I want to own her, but the truth is, she owns me. Body and soul. I help her out and unfasten my pants.

  “Then your wish is my command.” I look down to her. “Open your mouth. You’re going to take what I give you, and you’re going to like it. If I get what I want, then I’ll give you what you need.” She opens her mouth, and while she looks incredible on her knees kneeling for me, waiting for my next command, I’ve changed my mind.

  “Go get a scarf,” I say and she looks slightly amused as she obeys, returning from the closet with a long scarf in hand and kneels before me once again. My chest swells with pride as I watch her.

  “Very good,” I practically purr at her. “Get up on the bed, baby.”

  I watch as she lays back amongst the fluffy covers and I crawl in alongside her and begin binding her wrists together. Once her wrists are bound, I have her roll over.

  “How bad have you been, Anika?” I ask,
pulling my leather belt through the belt loops on my slacks.

  “So bad, Carter. I need punishing,” she says seductively and I motion for her to roll over. Most women say things like that trying to be seductive, but the way Anika says it with complete sincerity is at times both unnerving and thrilling.

  She rolls over on top of the cool sheets, exposing her backside to me and I can still see the evidence of our fun from the other night. She loved it, there’s no doubt, but I’m left unsettled at the lasting marks of punishment. I’ve never hit a woman that hard before-they’ve certainly never begged for it in the way she did, like she needed it to breathe. I don’t want to mar her beautiful skin, but I want the pleasure in knowing that I can. I’m a sick bastard, there’s no doubt, but I’m a sick bastard that wants this woman happy.

  I trail my fingers down the lines of ink on her back wondering where they begin and where I should start translating.

  “They’re my sins,” she mumbles so quietly I almost miss it.

  “Your sins?” I ask.

  “I have them written on my skin because they’re too terrible to say out loud. My mother used to say that the only way to be shown God’s mercy was to confess your sins and wear them openly. I didn’t understand it at the time thinking if God knows all, then why does he need for me to repeat my wrongs that he already knows. It wasn’t until later I learned that the confession wasn’t for God, it was more for me…to admit and own my sin and accept whatever punishment it brings me.” She speaks in quiet remembrance, and suddenly I understand this complicated woman just a little bit more. I don’t know what she’s seen in this life, but I know she carries it with her and it goes much deeper than the ink on her skin.

  “Carter.” S,e prompts, suddenly reminding me of the fact she’s waiting on me to do something.

  “We don’t have to-” I begin.