Dark Obsessions Vol II

by Thompson, Claire

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Chapter 9

  The ruby dangling from its gold chain was cool and hard beneath her fingers. She stroked its faceted edges as fragmented phrases of her mantra drifted through her mind.

  I exist to serve…I am a cunt…I am the property of Pirate Island…of Alex…to please and obey…to suffer…

  Mara was startled from her reverie by an arm sliding gently around her shoulders. She turned to see one of the girls, who had settled beside her on the couch in the TV room. “Hey,” the girl said, “how’re you doing?”

  Mara stared at the girl’s pretty face and shiny, curly brown hair, trying to recall her name. Finally a word slipped into her mind and then she remembered—Esmé. The girl who was dead to the outside world, killed in a car accident in Madrid. What had Mara died of, she found herself wondering, though it didn’t matter, really. There was no one left to care. Her world was here now.

  I am the property of Pirate Island… I exist to serve…I belong to Alex…

  “Earth to Mara. I’m talking to you.”

  A little of the heavy fog that blanketed Mara’s thoughts since her return to the quarters lifted. She regarded Esmé, who looked so pretty in her little red dress, her ample curves barely contained in the clingy fabric. She seemed to be waiting for a response to a question, though for the life of her, Mara had no idea what she might have asked.

  “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

  “I said it’s good to have you back, Mara.” She lowered her voice as she leaned in closer. “We thought maybe you weren’t coming back. When a girl is taken by Alex for rehabilitation training, they sometimes don’t.”

  Taken by Alex.

  I exist to serve, to suffer, to please and obey…

  Esmé’s voice lowered to a whisper. “Joanie was taken a month or so after she got here,” she confided. “She didn’t talk for a week after she came back. You’re doing good, Mara, really. You’ve only been back two days and already you seem to be coming out of it. You’re strong.” She gave Mara’s shoulder a squeeze.

  Mara pulled away, a little more of the fog lifting from her brain. “Joanie was taken? You mean by Alex?” Had Alex fucked Joanie’s pussy, too? Was Mara not quite as special as she’d imagined?

  Esmé nodded and bit her lip. “She won’t talk about what happened, but when she came back, she couldn’t sit down for like a week. She says she doesn’t remember, but how could you just forget? She wasn’t torn up or anything that I could see—I think the damage might have been internal.” Esmé shuddered.

  Esmé placed her hand on Mara’s thigh, her mouth once again near to Mara’s ear as she whispered, “What happened, Mara? Was it terrible?”

  Mara said nothing.

  She stared down at Esmé’s hand still resting on her thigh. Was it terrible? She mulled over the question. Vague images of the first days as zero whirled in a dark dance through her memory, but it was a jumble, and it was better not to dwell too long. Still, Esmé’s question had triggered something in her mind, recalling the claustrophobic feeling of the tiny room with its bucket and newspaper, and how thin the mattress was beneath her aching body.

  I exist to serve, to suffer…

  The cold bathwater closing over her head again and again, her lungs burning, her heart pounding.

  I am a cunt, a piece of ass…

  There was a table and rope, her arms aching, her forehead pressed hard against the padded leather, her legs splayed wide.

  I am property… I exist to suffer…

  Mara’s pussy twitched, a lingering throb, a muscle memory of the sharp prick, and then again, and again. The needles. The blood. The terror.

  No. No. No, no, no, no. Alex only did what had to be done to teach me. To correct me for my disobedience. To help me understand my place and my reason for being. Turning away from Esmé, Mara reached for her mantra, pulling it like a protective cloak over her thoughts. I exist to serve, to suffer, to please and obey. I am a cunt, a piece of ass. I am the property of Pirate Island. I exist to serve, to suffer, to please and obey. I am a cunt, a piece of ass. I am the property of Pirate Island. I exist to—

  “Let’s go, girls. Time for bed.”

  Esmé pulled sharply away. Mara looked up to see Dawn before them, her hands on her hips. “You’ve had a two-day vacation. It’s time to get back into the swing of island life.”

  Someone else appeared in the doorway. It was Alex. He had come back for her. He missed her. She barely noticed as Esmé slipped silently through the back way toward the girls’ bedrooms.

  “I’ll take it from here, Dawn,” Alex said, his brilliant green eyes fixed on Mara’s face. “You may go now.”

  Mara was peripherally aware of Dawn’s departure, but she couldn’t look away from Alex’s compelling gaze. He pointed to the floor in front of the sofa and Mara sank at once to her knees, her eyes trained on his feet as they came to a stop directly in front of her.

  “How are you, Mara?”

  It was good, so good, to be Mara again, instead of a zero. A rush of happiness suffused Mara’s being. “I’m well, sir,” she replied, her eyes still downcast.

  “I have some exciting news for you, but first, I have a few questions.”

  Mara waited.

  Alex put his hand on her head.

  “Remind me, Mara, why do you exist?”

  “To serve, to suffer, to please and obey,” Mara replied promptly.

  His fingers twisted hard in her hair. Mara gasped with pain but remained perfectly still.

  “What are you, Mara?”

  “I am a cunt, a piece of ass.”

  He tightened his grip on her hair. Tears sprang to her eyes and she blinked them back. “Who do you belong to?”

  “I am the property of Pirate Island,” she said. He pulled at her head, forcing her face upward. She knew what he wanted her to say, and she admitted it freely. “But I belong to you, sir. I belong to you.”

  A slow, sensual smile moved over his face, his fingers easing their hold. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, you do. That’s why I think you’re ready now to join the hunt.”

  “The hunt?” Mara’s heart clutched in her chest, the memory of the whispered conversation on the beach with Raeanne returning to her.

  “That’s right.” Alex nodded. “You’ve been selected, along with Raeanne and Cassie. Training begins in the morning. I know, as my personal property, you will do your very best to please me.”

  Mara shot up in bed, her heart pounding, her body drenched in sweat. The nightmare that had engulfed her was already fading from her mind, but the terror that suffused it continued to linger as she showered and groomed.

  After morning calisthenics Raeanne, Cassie and Mara were told to remain behind while the other girls returned to the quarters for breakfast. “Okay, girls,” Curtis said. “I assume y’all know you’ve been chosen for the hunt this time around. Over the next couple of days, we’ll be working on your wilderness survival skills. This morning I’m going to take you into the backwoods where the hunt will take place so you can get familiarized with the terrain.”

  Raeanne said, “Excuse me, sir, but can you give us some details about this hunt? I mean, we’ve heard bits and pieces from the other girls but—”

  “It’s pretty simple, really,” Curtis interrupted. “A group of guys, half of ’em probably drunk off their asses, are going to descend on the woods where three naked girls are waiting. You’ll be set loose an hour or so before they get there to give you a chance to hide good and proper. You want to give them a challenge, so they get their money’s worth.” His grin was ugly. “You’ll be monitored by island staff, so don’t even think about leaving the designated terrain. Your goal is to avoid capture for as long as you can. Last girl standing wins a full forty-eight hours of free time.”

  Mara glanced over at the other two girls. Cassie was staring at the ground. Raeanne met Mara’s gaze, a resolute look coming over her face. Clearly, it was going to be each girl for herself
.

  Curtis clapped his hands and headed toward his golf cart. “Climb aboard.” They rode in silence along the perimeter of the island and then turned off the paved paths, moving between sand dunes toward a dense clump of trees. Curtis parked the cart near some scrub brush and gestured for the girls to get out.

  Mara stepped onto the sandy soil covered with vines and roots, grateful for her sneakers, hoping she’d be allowed to wear them on the day of the hunt.

  I exist to serve…to suffer…I am the property…

  Curtis reached into the back of his golf cart and pulled out three small backpacks. He dropped a pack on the ground in front of each of the girls. “Open your pack and take out the items so you’re familiar with your gear. You’ll be issued an identical pack the morning of the hunt. First thing you want to do is put on the insect repellant. This particular repellant makes you less appealing to snakes, too.”

  “Snakes!” Cassie squeaked.

  Curtis laughed cruelly. “Trust me, sugar, snakes will be the least of your worries.”

  Mara lifted the flap of her backpack and reached inside. She pulled out a plastic bottle of water, a can of insect repellent, a small first-aid kit, sunscreen, an energy bar, a coil of rope, a red bandana and a roll of toilet paper.

  She sprayed the insect repellent on her body and used the bandana to tie back her hair. Curtis directed them to put their packs on their backs and follow him into the cool shade of the woods.

  They walked single file, picking their way carefully over a thicket of tangled roots and dried twigs. Curtis pointed out various trees and bushes along the way. “That there is a black myrtle. Over there are scrub pines. That one is a red cedar. We got live oaks and water oaks here on the island—you’ve seen those along the main roads. Those taller trees are the evergreen cedars. They’re good for climbing.” He halted suddenly and pointed to a small body of scum-covered water. “You’ll want to watch out for the salt bogs. They’re hard to see sometimes, especially when you’re running.”

  He brought them to a small clearing and pointed to a tall, sturdy tree. “The rope in your pack will be helpful when climbing trees. We’ll go over some basic knots, but the first thing you’ll need to do is scope out the good climbing trees.” He walked to the tree and patted its trunk. “Look for a tree with strong branches that can hold your weight, like this one.”

  He gestured to the girls, indicating with his hand they should come closer. When they all stood before the tree, he said, “You’ll want to watch out for trees with lots of low branches. Even though it might look easier to climb, a tree with low branches could be rotting. If a tree is missing bark, it might have a virus or fungus, which could mean it’s weaker and less sturdy. You also want to check there are no animal nests up there.” He waved toward the foliage on the higher branches of the tree. “You don’t want to invade a critter’s territory and piss him off.”

  Curtis led them deeper into the woods, pointing out more trees that would be good for climbing, and those that would not. He showed them how to use the ropes to sling over the base of thicker branches and how to tie knots that would hold the ropes in place as they climbed. Finally, he said they were ready to try climbing one for themselves.

  “You’ll be naked, of course, for the actual hunt, but since this is just practice, I’ll let you keep on your tops and shorts today.” He turned first to Raeanne. “Let’s see if you were paying attention. Shimmy on up that tree, girl. Use the rope like I’ve been showing you.”

  Raeanne moved to the tree and stared up at it as if taking its measure. Wrapping her arms around the trunk, Raeanne placed a foot on a tree knot and hoisted herself upward. She grabbed the rope she had put over her shoulder and slung it so it draped itself perfectly over a thick branch. Using the rope for support, she pulled herself up until she could reach the branch with her hand.

  Mara watched, extremely impressed with Raeanne’s strength and dexterity, doubtful she would be able to duplicate it. When Raeanne was perched on a branch high overhead, Curtis turned to Mara. “Go on. Your turn. Get on up there.”

  Mara tried to copy what Raeanne had done. The bark was rough and scratchy against her arms and legs. She managed to get partway up the trunk, but when she threw her rope, it missed the branch. A large black beetle chose that moment to scuttle over her arm. With a startled squeal, Mara dropped the rope and slid partway down the trunk, skinning the insides of her thighs in the process.

  Curtis reached for her, pulling her from the tree trunk and setting her none too gently on the ground. “That happens during the hunt, you’ll give yourself away, girlie. There’s a lot worse than little beetles in here so you better get used to it. Now, up you go. Try it again.”

  After what seemed like days but was probably only an hour or so, all three girls had learned to climb a tree at least passably well. Next Curtis made them play a tortuous game of hide-and-seek, forcing them to hide, one at a time, giving them a few minutes head start before he and the other two girls sought them out. At the end of the dreadful game, he tied Cassie, who had been found the most quickly and the most often, to a tree, binding her arms around its trunk with rope. He then smacked her bare bottom with his open hand until it was beet red and she was crying.

  At midday, he allowed them each to eat an energy bar and drink a bottle of water, and then he had them run relays between the trees, picking their way over brambles and treacherous roots as they stumbled along, exhausted and soaked with sweat.

  By the time they returned to the quarters at dusk, all three girls were streaked with dirt, grime and dried sweat, and covered in scratches and tiny cuts from the brambles and nettles that reached out to whip at their skin and grab at their feet.

  The next day, naked this time, they did it all again.

  ~*~

  Wes Armstrong stood apart from the other two men on the deck of the yacht, nursing his drink. Bubba Horton’s other guest, Jed Thomas, was laughing uproariously at something the multimillionaire had just said.

  Bubba reached for the bottle of very expensive single malt scotch and waved it toward Wes. “Hey, Tom, get over here. Your glass is empty.”

  Wes made his way over the dark, polished wood of the deck, a wide smile plastered on his face, glad they couldn’t see his eyes behind his sunglasses. To Bubba Horton, owner of Horton Industries, Wes was Tom Cartwright, an independently wealthy entrepreneur with a finger in lots of South American pies, many of them filled with fruits just this side of the law, quite a few more he’d hinted were downright illegal, but very profitable.

  As a DEA agent, Wes had spent the better part of the last two years deep undercover. Horton was hard to get close to, but Wes had finally established himself as a bona fide bad boy, eager to get a piece of Horton’s extremely lucrative drug trade. All he needed now was some hard evidence to take the bastard down.

  Swinging this trip to Pirate Island had been an unexpected coup, as Horton had made it clear the place was off the grid, all very hush-hush and invitation only. While Wes wasn’t particularly interested in the high-class, no-holds-barred prostitution outfit Bubba had informed him awaited them, he was very interested in the intelligence he’d received from another undercover agent located in Mexico about middle-of-the-night heroin and cocaine shipments that it was strongly suspected funneled their way into the US via this tiny, private island.

  Horton had picked Wes up on the way from a trip down to Mexico, and from the looks of the armed thug stationed outside the hold down in the bowels of the yacht, Wes was nearly certain they were making more than a pleasure stop at Pirate Island. Illicit cargo was going to be offloaded at some point during the weekend, probably their first night there, and Wes planned to catch the event on video if at all possible.

  He had already alerted his boss at DEA headquarters to be on standby for his call, and the Coast Guard had also been placed on alert, in the event the yacht left without disgorging its cargo, and needed to be apprehended while at sea. Wes hoped they could make the bust whi
le still on the island, in order to incriminate not only Horton and his buddies, but also the men who were taking the shipment for distribution on the mainland to strung-out runaway kids who meant nothing more to these pieces of shit than cold, hard cash.

  Just another few days masquerading as an entitled, arrogant, over-sexed asshole, and Wes hopefully would be able to bring this particular assignment to a successful conclusion. The bad guys would be caught with their pants down and, while it was only a drop in the ocean of the illegal drug trade, it was his contribution, however small, to humankind. Beyond the loftier purpose, Wes was looking forward to the look on Bubba’s face when he figured out what had gone down.

  As the sun was setting, the captain eased Horton’s yacht expertly into the small harbor alongside the barrier island. Two young men in white shirts and black pants were waiting at the dock to tie off the boat and take the men’s bags. The captain, apparently, planned to remain aboard.

  A dark-haired Latino man sat in a shiny red golf cart, the words Pirate Island stenciled in gold paint on the side. Wes and the other two men climbed into the cart, which glided silently away along a paved road toward the resort. Two men, one in his fifties, the other in his early thirties, were waiting out front to greet them, both wearing Hawaiian print shirts and white shorts, heavy gold watches on their wrists.

  The older of the two stepped forward as the cart rolled up to the building. “Bubba, old buddy, I’m so glad you could make it. I hope you’re ready for the weekend of a lifetime.” Bubba climbed out of the cart and the two men shook hands heartily.

  “Great to see you, Dan,” Bubba boomed. “I’ve been waiting two years for an invitation to the hunt. I can’t wait.”

  The hunt? Wes sighed inwardly. A bunch of drunk old guys dressed in camouflage brandishing shotguns and chasing after wild boar was not his idea of a good time.