Cursed Angels

by Edwards, Anna

  "My room," I reply and turn to leave, but she calls me again.

  "Why?" she asks.

  "Like I told her. I don't fuck in public. You may get your kicks from watching my ass as it plunges my dick in and out of a screaming and bleeding victim, but I don't. I prefer to do it in private where, as you told me to, I can break down every last one of her defenses. Make her the little slut you want her to be." To emphasize my point, I stick my tongue out and lick the girl's cheek. She squirms in my grip, but it's too tight for her to escape.

  Rebekah's nostrils flare. She's pissed but knows this is her own doing.

  "Make sure you keep her locked in. I don't want her escaping and getting into anything she shouldn't."

  I smirk.

  "How about I just keep her tied to the bed? You seemed to enjoy my use of handcuffs."

  Miss Ward's cheeks turn pink, and she glares at one of the soldiers who sniggers.

  "Just do your job." Rebekah turns away and stomps off down the corridor, her heels clicking a furious pattern as she goes.

  "Come on, girl," I say to the still squirming wreck under my arm.

  I sweep her up into my arms and carry her to my room. My butler stands there ready to obey, but I dismiss him instantly for the rest of the day and place the girl straight on my bed before sitting on the edge of it.

  "There are no cameras in here," I tell her. "I've checked, so we can speak freely. The bathroom is over there. Take a bath. Relax as much as you can. I'm going to get us some food, and then I want you to sleep. I'm guessing it's been a few days since that last happened."

  She lets out a sob but places her hand over her mouth to try and hide it.

  "Don't worry. You need to cry, you do so. Don't hold it in. What you've been through, no woman should ever have to face."

  "I thought I was going to die."

  "You'll get out. You have my word." I stand up. "Anything you particularly fancy to eat?"

  She shakes her head.

  "Why are you helping me? That woman, she’ll kill you."

  I swallow deeply. "Because I was once like them, and I allowed someone I care for very much to be hurt in precisely the same way you have been and worse. She saved me, and now I need to start putting right my wrongs. Go bathe. I'll lock the door after me so nobody can get in."

  She nods, and I head toward the door.

  "Archer." The girl uses my name this time, and I turn to face her. Her blue eyes look up at me from under the tangled locks of her jet-black hair. "My name is Reagan."

  Chapter 27

  Samara

  Time is running out, and I don’t know how we’re supposed to find someone who doesn’t want to be found. With every hour that passes, I know that soon, Archer will be forced to do something he doesn’t want to. That’s what hurts me the most, knowing he’s the man I remember but living a life I despise.

  “Here,” Hunter says, pointing at the screen. When I round the desk and glance at what he’s showing me, I know we can finally make this right. The address isn’t far from here, but we’ll need to leave now if we’re going to make it back in time.

  “This is a town over. Maybe she’s been watching her sister’s activities.”

  “Or maybe she’s helping her. We can’t rule out any possibilities.” Hunter offers easily, and I know that’s a possibility, but then, why hide out like this? The surveillance footage shows her with blonde hair. Nothing like Diana’s.

  “Do you really think she would do that? Live an undercover life and do this shit?” I’m not convinced, but I wouldn’t put anything past her. Diana was a good woman, someone that was trustworthy. Many times over the years, she’d broken down when we sat around the table, drinking till the early hours of the morning, and she’d tell us that her life was far from perfect. I always wondered how she found me, but if she knew her sister was running the operation at The Factory, then she must’ve chosen me specifically. The question is, why?

  “Something doesn’t make sense, that’s for sure,” Hunter tells me. “And that’s why we need to get out of here and find her.”

  Nodding, I head into the bedroom to grab my holster. Shouldering it on, I make sure it’s secure before shrugging on the leather jacket Diane gifted me. Hunter is already at the door when I make it back to the living room. His gaze shines with excitement, and I know this is what he lives for. The hunt, the kill.

  In the SUV, he starts the engine, and we’re speeding away from the cottage with dust following us as we make our way down the road. There aren’t many cars on the road, and this place is pretty much a ghost town, especially late in the afternoon.

  My mind is still on Archer. The fear that they’ll hurt him runs through me, and I wonder just how much he can handle before he falls under their spell again. Years ago, he wasn’t chipped, and he still did it. He told me it was to save me from the fate that many of the girls in The Factory have, but it still scares me that he was susceptible to them. To their influence.

  “You know,” Hunter says, his eyes still on the road, “this will be over soon. We’ll kill the bitch and shut down her operation.” He sounds so confident. Like nothing in the world can stop us. But that’s who Hunter is. He’s always been overly sure of the jobs he’s been on, and none of them have failed.

  “I know.” My response is short, but it’s filled with fear about what could happen if something goes wrong. I’ve lived with the need for revenge all my life. I trained because I wanted to take Rebekah Ward and mutilate her until there was nothing left but the shell of a woman. And more than that, I wanted to watch that house burn down.

  Hunter places a hand on my thigh, offering a squeeze. It’s his way of saying I’m here for you, and I feel at ease, more so than I have since I first saw Archer again. As the sun sets on another day, my heart aches because we’re still so far from the end.

  The silence offers me a calm serenity. Before each job, we’d always sit quietly, allowing the adrenaline to course through our veins. I didn’t choose an easy life after I escaped, but it’s the road that brought me here.

  An hour later, we’re pulling up to a small, detached house that looks like it’s seen better days. The porch is nearly falling apart, but when we exit the vehicle, I notice a glimmer of light in one of the windows. The curtain falls closed, and I know she’s seen us.

  Pulling my gun from the holster, I race up the steps toward the entrance. I don’t think twice before I lift my boot and kick the door off its hinges. The old decrepit wood flies away from the jamb, and I’m inside the living room face to face with a woman who could be Diana’s twin.

  “What the hell do you want? Who are you?” she bites out, lifting a gun, but before she can move, I’m on her, wrestling the weapon from her hands. The small 9mm slides across the floor, my hand wrapping around her neck.

  “Diana was my trainer,” I tell her, causing her to still. Her mouth falls open, her eyes wide with shock. “I’m here to find out if you’ll help kill Rebekah, or are you going to choose death instead?”

  Hunter is behind me, his warmth cocooning my back as he reaches for my gun. It’s trained on her forehead when he cocks it, the click causing her to wince.

  “Answer us!” His deep, booming voice rumbles through the room. And she stares at him before turning her gaze on me.

  “I’ll help you.”

  Chapter 28

  Archer

  Reagan's soft snores come from the bed as I watch over her like a protective angel. After a bath and some food, she let the exhaustion in her take over, and her eyelids fluttered shut. It was only then I allowed the anger within me to surface. How could someone steal this girl from an innocent life and bring her into this place? How many lives have been stolen over the years? I can’t even imagine. Samara, Reagan, and I are but a small number in a large pool of people corrupted by Rebekah Ward’s evil mind. I itch to wrap my hands around Rebekah’s neck and squeeze tighter and tighter until the life ebbs from her, and she’s descending into the hell she deserves.
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  The muscle in my jaw ticks with frustration and fury. I wish I could get ahold of Mara and have her soothe the savage beast pacing inside me, but I know it would be too risky. After disappearing for a few days, Rebekah will watch me like a hawk, ready to pounce should I do anything out of character. The one she’s gotten used to is an egotistical maniac with a penchant for murder and destruction. It’s who she believes I am and who I must show her I still am.

  Slipping quietly from my bedroom, I lock the door. I don’t want to risk anyone coming for the poor girl in my bed while I’m gone, but I need to get rid of some nervous energy within me. I'll explode if I don’t. My butler appears, and I wave him away with instructions nobody is to go into my room, and if I find out they have, I’ll castrate him. He turns as white as a sheet and hurries away to wherever it is he disappears to when I tell him to fuck off. Hopefully, he stays there. I'll never trust anybody in this place.

  Changing into a pair of track pants and a T-shirt before slipping on a pair of running sneakers, I leave my rooms. Again, I lock the front door and double check that it’s secure. I put the keys in my pocket along with my phone and stride purposefully toward the outdoor training field.

  It’s been a while since I’ve been here, and my body screams for a workout. The sun shines brightly overhead, and I shield my eyes with my hand until they adjust. It’s a warm day, and I curse myself for not bringing any water, but then it hits me that I’m the “boss” here. If I want water, I only have to click my fingers, and it’ll arrive. That’s the part of having my own mind back I’m struggling to understand. I was a bastard before. I took what I had to, murdered when I had to. I shake my head. I can’t think about that. Only bad things come from those thoughts. I need to focus on getting through the next few days. And then a life with Mara once this hell is all behind us.

  “You,” I point at one soldier, and he sprints up before saluting like I’m a general in the Army. “Get me a bottle of water and a towel,” I order without stopping my stride across the field toward the assault course.

  “At once, sir.” He lowers his hand and scuttles off into the main building. That felt good. This part of being a leader I can cope with. Everyone likes to be a bossy asshole occasionally. It’s built into us. The killing and maiming of the children is the part I hate and refuse to ever allow again.

  I reach the assault course — similar to those the army has set up for the soldiers who go to war — with giant walls, rope swings, holes dug into the earth filled with mud and water, which you have to crawl through. Those standing around waiting their turn realize who I am and salute me.

  “Who’s next?” I ask. A small boy puts his hand up and pushes his way timidly through the crowd. He reminds me of myself when I came here, all skin and bones, gangly in an awkward teenage body. “What’s your best time?” I question.

  “F-f-four minutes a-a-and twenty-f-f-five seconds,” he stutters and stares in fear at the course in front of him. It’s one of the tougher out of the three here.

  My best time is one minute thirty-two, and it’s the course record. It was achieved two years ago now. Nobody has come close. My friend Liam is second best at one minute fifty. I damn near died the day I set my record.

  Everything ached after I’d finished, and my heart felt like it would beat out of my chest because it was hammering so fast. I think I collapsed and laid at the finish line for about ten minutes afterward. Until one of the other men threw a bottle of iced water over my head. I shot up and dunked his head into the muddy water until he was begging for mercy.

  For some reason, I remember little after that incident, it’s like something erased it from my memory. First thing I knew, I was waking up back in the dormitory with a girl riding my cock like everything was normal.

  Lazily, I rub at where the incision in my skull still heals. They must have reset my memory that day. I wonder why? What was it that triggered that particular scene? I can only hope my memory continues to come back, and I can figure it out.

  The gangly lad coughs, and I refocus my attention back on him.

  “Am I all right to go, sir?” he asks.

  “Let’s do it together,” I tell him, and his eyes go wide.

  “But . . . but . . . but . . .,” he stammers. “I’m nowhere near as good as you.”

  “Doesn’t matter. I’ll help you. Give you some tricks of the trade on the way. See if we can beat, no, annihilate that best score of yours. What do you say?” I raise an eyebrow at him and start to limber up. Hamstring stretches and raising my hands high above my head to loosen the muscles.

  “Yes, please, sir.” The boy does a few of his own stretches and then goes to stand on the start line. I take my place next to him, and glance at the soldier with the stopwatch.

  “Three, two, one . . .,” he counts down, and we sprint to the first obstacle, three ropes in a line, the gap between the second and the third bigger than the first and second. The gap to the landing on the other side of the third is farther still.

  I grab hold of the rope and in one easy swing take the second rope in my hand and then onto the third. A backward and forward movement, and I land on the platform on the other side without even breaking a sweat. I turn around and find the boy hanging like a sack of potatoes on the second rope trying desperately to reach out for the third. He’s still a few inches away and utilizing all his strength on the first obstacle. No wonder he takes over four minutes. He must be dead on his feet by the time he gets to the end. Sometimes these kids just need to build muscle tone and cardio strength before someone puts them on a course like this.

  “Pull your legs up and swing them backward and forward,” I encourage him, “Like you’re on a swing in the park. Remember when you were a kid.” He can’t be over seventeen, if that, so he must remember being on a playground.

  A memory enters my mind of Samara in the garden of the orphanage sucking on a popsicle and swaying backward and forward on the old wooden swing we found hidden amongst the undergrowth. I wonder if she’ll allow me to buy a swing for our bedroom when I get out of here.

  She looked so happy and carefree. My dick stirs. Fuck. I’m supposed to be doing an assault course, not getting a hard-on in a field full of soldiers. Focus, I admonish myself. I return my attention back to the boy, and he’s got enough momentum now to go from the second rope to the third and then straight onto the platform.

  “Wow,” he exclaims. “It always takes me forever to do that. My arms are shorter than everyone else's, I swear.”

  “It’s not about your arm length. It’s all in the swing,” I tell him as we run for the next obstacle, a tunnel full of mud and water. Go under to get through it. “You all right with this one?” I ask. He nods and dives straight through. I follow him, and before I can draw breath again, we are both sprinting over crisscrossed platforms of wooden beams above yet more water. They are small and tricky to navigate, but with holding our hands out like airplanes, we are over them in no time, leaving the gigantic wall in front of us to hop over. I take a deep breath to steel myself. Launching myself at the wall, I flip myself over and land two footed on the other side. I wait for the boy to follow me, but I realize he isn’t. I step back around the wall to find him dangling from one of the wooden slats about halfway up.

  “Another one I’m not so good at,” he shouts down. This poor boy does need to build the muscles in his arms.

  “Jump down,” I tell him. He immediately does as I say. “You’re wasting strength by starting at the bottom. You need to go as high as you can to start off. Use your momentum from a run up and the natural bounce in your knees to propel as high as you can. I’m certain the muscles in your arms are burning now from hanging onto to ropes back at the start, but that is why you have to go for it. As soon as you land, know where you’re going next, and have your lead hand moving toward that spot. Have your brain one step ahead each time. If you pause, the lactic acid in your muscles will slow you down.” I motion for him to take a few steps back. I run for the wall a
gain. Leap at it, and straight over again. I come back around. “See what I mean?”

  “Yes, sir,” he says.

  “Your go.” I step aside. The boy takes a deep breath and runs for the wall and leaps three-quarters of the way up it and finds a rung above his hands to hold on to. In no time, he’s at the top and hauling himself over. I applaud his effort as I walk around to the other side just in time for him to land on the ground next to me.

  “I did it.” He looks shocked, and I try not to laugh.

  “Quit wasting time.” I point toward the finish line.

  “Shit,” he exclaims. “I forgot.” He takes off toward the line, and I jog after him. He crosses and looks expectantly at the soldier with the stopwatch.

  “Three minutes and twenty seconds,” the soldier tells him.

  “A full minute off my personal best.” The boy jumps up and down. Some of his contemporaries come up to him and offer congratulations.

  “Thank you, sir,” he shouts over them all but can’t shake my hand for he’s dragged off in a whirlwind of boys, soon to be men, wanting to know all the secrets I imparted.

  “You did a good thing there.” A feminine voice comes from behind me. It’s not one that sends a shiver of pleasure up my spine though. No, only Samara can do that. It’s one that boils my blood with fury.

  “Rebekah.” I turn around to face her. She’s dressed in her usual tight-skirted suit with high heels. This one is purple. She looks out of place here amongst the sweaty, gym-wear clad men. “If you listened to my advice and improved their fitness first, then the times would be much better. You don’t just throw a kid in at the deep end and hope he swims.”

  “You did,” she retorts with a playful rise of her manicured eyebrow. How did I ever find this woman attractive? The chip must have distorted my views of what was sexy in a woman, because this brash, made-up skank of a person is nothing like my natural and stunning Samara.